client, and Mr Pemberton her counsel, was a very cheering event. But-the bitter in the cup. What of that ride by midnight, and Dagentree's claim on that widowed heart? Alas, poor Sophia!

These were the thoughts which rushed through my mind, as she told me her eventful tale. When she finished, with much real feeling in my heart and in my voice, I inquired what Mr Rendelson thought of the matter.

She coloured and looked embarrassed. "It is needless," she said, "to have half confidences. Mr Rendelson thought the owner of Bonthron might perhaps share it with him. I declined, for although I rather liked the man, I hardly trusted him. He has taken it mortally amiss, and although we are still ostensibly friends, I know he hates me, and he is a man who, when he hates, will injure. Now, what do you advise?"

"I can hardly say; your statement is so completely unexpected, and so strange. Remarkable as it may appear, I believe I am in possession of one or two facts which may turn out to be important to you. Of one thing I am quite clear. You must have the whole affair probed to the bottom. Painful as it may be, the truth or falsehood of that tale must be ascertained."

"I agree with you. You may easily understand

my natural shrinking from such an investigation. But I am now quite prepared for it. For myself, whatever the truth, I have steeled myself to bear it. I am aided in this, perhaps, by a strong conviction that the tale was false from the first. Will you undertake to help me?"

I was on the point of accepting this charge with an effusion somewhat too warm for a lawyer. I was restrained by a memory, not of my wig and gown, but of that detestable special train. Still I professed myself ready to undertake that service; and, I am afraid I said, any other which she thought fit to impose.

"But what is to be said about the burglary, Mrs Carrington? Who could have a motive for that?"

"I own I am puzzled to imagine. Besides, the evidence to Briggs having been the perpetrator, or connected with the act, seems conclusive, I am sorry to say."

I thought otherwise, for reasons of my own. "I suppose the police have been here?"

"Yes-but of course I have said nothing to them about that man. I told them about Briggs; and I suppose he is in custody by this time."

"Then I fear I must hurry back. But I accept your commission gratefully, and all that energy and sympathy can do, shall be done."

"I feel sure of that," she said. And there was a little tremor in her voice, and a little pressure from her hand, that drove the special train out of my head, for a moment.

A

CHAPTER XXIII.

WINDING UP.

S I rode home, my brain was in a whirl with the events of the morning. Mrs Carrington's identity with the disconsolate myth of Amiens I could not get over, and her escape from the shipwreck was almost too startling to be credible. Nor let me be accused of unfeeling levity. It is true I did not mourn over the departed Trench; and although I was sorry that Mrs Carrington did not know whether she had been married or not, I rejoiced that it had been reserved for Eustace Pemberton to solve that great mystery. So, for a little while the husband, the widow, the shipwreck, the Yankee, and Briggs, danced a confused measure through my thoughts, until my horse, by knuckling over a loose stone and nearly falling, recalled my scattered

senses.

I came to the conclusion that there was a deep plot, in the hands of experienced agents. Reflecting over the disjointed incidents of the week, I felt sure

that the photographer had been in the neighbourhood for no good purpose. That Briggs had anything to do with the burglary I did not imagine for a moment, although at first I was puzzled and perplexed by the positive statements of the Bonthron servants. Before, however, I had ridden a couple of miles, I haċ formed a tolerably connected theory on the subject, and had resolved on the line of action I should adopt.

As to Mrs Carrington's story, I was compelled tɔ admit to myself that it might be true-as likely, perhaps, to be true as to be false-that Trench's first wife was alive, or had been so at the date of the second marriage. If so, it was a sad fate for her and her boy. But then, if Eustace Pemberton proved the falsehood of the tale-?

I was framing a very glowing result, when, jogging round a corner, came a hired fly, with a constable on the box beside the driver, and another inside, along with the unlucky burglar, Briggs. Loud did the culprit shout to 'me, and the fly stopped.

Certainly, if extreme agitation could be held a proof of guilt, Briggs was undeniably guilty. He was white, vociferous, and terrified; and could hardly articulate, from fright.

"Lord, save us, sir! Lord, have mercy upon us! Mr Pemberton-oh, sir, save me! I be innocent as a