of the individual into a quiring cathedral universal, and subdued her.  It subdued her with an unwelcome touch of tenderness when she thought of it as involving tenderness for her mother, some chivalrous respect for her mother.  Could he love the daughter without some little, which a more intimate knowledge of her dear mother would enlarge?  The girl’s heart flew to her mother, clung to her, vindicated her dumbly.  It would not inquire, and it refused to hear, hungering the while.  She sent forth her flights of stories in elucidation of the hidden; and they were like white bird after bird winging to covert beneath a thundercloud; until her breast ached for the voice of the thunder:  harsh facts:  sure as she was of her never losing her filial hold of the beloved.  She and her mother grew together, they were one.  Accepting the shadow, they were the closer one beneath it.  She had neither vision nor active thought of her father, in whom her pride was.

At the hour of ten, the ladies retired for the enjoyment of their sweet reward.  Manton, their maid, came down to sit with Nesta on the watch for Skepsey.  Perrin, the footman, returning, as late as twenty minutes to eleven, from his tobacco promenade along the terrace, reported to Manton ‘a row in town’; and he repeated to Nesta the policeman’s opinion and his own of the ‘Army’ fellows, and the way to treat them.  Both were for rigour.

’The name of “Army” attracts poor Skepsey so, I am sure he would join it, if they would admit him,’ Nesta said.

’He has an immense respect for a young woman, who belongs to his “Army”; and one doesn’t know what may have come,’ said Manton.

Two or three minutes after eleven, a feeble ring at the bell gained admission for some person:  whispering was heard in the passage.

Manton played eavesdropper, and suddenly bursting on Skepsey, arrested him when about to dash upstairs.  His young mistress’s voice was a sufficient command; he yielded; he pitched a smart sigh and stepped into her presence for his countenance to be seen, or the show of a countenance, that it presented.

‘Skepsey wanted to rush to bed without saying good night to me?’ said she; leaving unnoticed, except for woefulness of tone, his hurried shuffle of remarks on ‘his appearance,’ and ‘little accidents’; ending with an inclination of his disgraceful person to the doorway, and a petition:  ‘If I might, Miss Nesta?’ The implied pathetic reference to a surgically-treated nose under a cross of strips of plaster, could not obtain dismissal for him.  And he had one eye of sinister hue, showing beside its lighted-grey fellow as if a sullen punished dragonwhelp had couched near some quick wood-pigeon.  The two eyes blinked rapidly.  He was a picture of Guilt in the nude, imploring to be sent into concealment.

The cruelty of detaining him was evident.

‘Yes, if you must,’ Nesta said.  ’But, dear Skepsey, will it be the magistrate again to-morrow?’