earnestly about something, and I tried to hear what, and couldn't, for I was hiding round the corner in the court, and the wind blew the voices the other way. But presently they parted, and one or two went up-street, and one or two went down-only this one fellow stopped, and, as soon as ever the others were out of sight, he stepped into the middle of the road, and took aim, and sent this ugly thing right in at your middle window. There was nobody about, and he took to his heels and cut away towards St. John's churchyard, and I came here in a fright, for I thought you might be stunned, or worse. A good thump on the head with that thing might kill a man."

"It might, Dance; and now I think the best thing is to' put the gas out and go home, as you suggest."

"Yes, put the gas out!" responded Dicky promptly. “What an ass I was not to think of that sooner; if they come back they will think you're gone and it will be better for you, and for the office too. They might break every pane from top to bottom, and ravage the shop down stairs, and frighten widow Miles to death. Grinder and his lot are that drunk, they are ready for anything; and the fellows that were in the passage were not a whit better. I say it's a burning shame to make men so drunk as they do in these times."

"It is a burning shame that the men will drink it is all a shame together, Dance. Now, then, I will turn the gas off."

"And I'll just run down to the front door, sir, and see if all is clear, and cut round the corner, and fetch a cab."

And Dance was as good as his word, inasmuch as he went down to the front-door. But, arrived there, the editor heard him close it violently, and, as it appeared abruptly, and lock, double-lock and bolt it, and tear upstairs again, as if the avenging fates were close upon his heels.

Dicky came in breathless and agitated: "Oh, sir, the street is full of them! I knocked one booby off the top

step, and slammed-to the door in their faces.

And Grinder's

there, and all his lot from the Blue Pig,' and a heap of the lowest people in the town. They are all in the front of the house, sir, and you can't get out!"

Christopher looked cautiously from behind the windowblind, and he saw that Dance's words were correct. A mob was assembling, and with no very peaceable intentions, and he could hear Mrs. Miles putting up the shutters in hot haste. How he wished he had gone home an hour ago! but, doubtless, they would have followed him there, and frightened Mrs. Gray, and Maude, and Ambrose most terribly. "No; if the storm must be met, it was better to meet it alone." But Christopher did not at all relish the feeling of being unpopular. He found it decidedly disagreeable. If he had been. Robert Carfax, he would not have cared so much about it.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE NEWS THAT MRS. MAGGS BROUGHT.

MARCIA TREVANION and Miss Liebrecht, with Mr. Carfax, were sitting in the comfortable drawing-room at Singlehurst Manor, while Christopher Gray was communing with his own weary heart, and doing battle with his own weaknesses, in the Chronicle office at Great Copley. Marcia had been at the Bank; she had not attended the funeral, for she had stayed with Mrs. Trevanion and Miss Constantine, while all the others were away. Robert Carfax, as we have seen, accompanied George Trevanion as a kinsman and a mourner, though his relationship was really with the Trevanions alone, and in no wise with the Constantines.

"How very ill George Trevanion looked," said Marcia, as she sat trifling with her coffee-cup; "I had no idea that he was so dearly attached to his uncle."

"He not only looked ill, but he was ill," replied Mr. Carfax. "When the funeral was quite over, I thought he would have fainted; and all the way back in the mourningcoach he was sobbing like a child. He recovered, however, soon afterwards, for he seemed quite himself again when he came down to the dining-room to hear the will read. He was pale, and very grave for him, but perfectly composed." "Yes; Ethel made him take a cordial. He came straight to her as soon as he re-entered the house. She evidently understands him well, for she soothed him into comparative cheerfulness very quickly. She is a charming little wife. never believed till lately that she had so much in her."

"She is not what you could call clever,” replied Robert, "at least, not remarkably clever: but I should say, judging from her countenance and her manner, that she is extremely right-minded, gentle almost to a fault, but capable of being roused into a temporary enthusiasm of heroism, if the life or honour of those she loved best were assailed. I should say she is slow in forming opinions or attachments, but that she is distinguished by a rare constancy in all her tendencies and likings; also, she is evidently of an extremely sensitive nature."

“You have accurately described Ethel," returned Marcia. "Ermy, what do you say?"

I say that Mr. Carfax has shown wonderful discrimination of character. Ethel is all, and more than all he says.” "Dear little Ethel! how sweet she looked in her deep mourning! And, oh! how fond she is of George."

"You do not bring that against her, I hope?" said Robert with a smile.

"Against her! Oh, no! I suppose a wife can never give up loving her husband-yet-still—”

Still, if she make an idol, and find it clay, she will suffer; and the greater her love, the more unendurable will be her pain!"

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'Exactly. I fervently hope Ethel's idol will be found out to be the genuine thing. She deserves to be happy."

"I think she does; but idolatry, being a sin, can scarcely conduce to happiness."

"I never could exactly make out where true love stops, and idolatry begins," was Marcia's rather quick rejoinder. "You very pious people, I suppose, love by weight and measure, lest you should break a commandment. Don't look so shocked, Ermy; what I say is true."

"The point where love merges into idolatry-where it, in fact, becomes unlawful?" said Robert slowly and interrogatively, not noting Marcia's irritable manner. "Theoretically, at least, it is easily determined. Love, however deep, and strong, and fervent, becomes idolatry only when the creature is preferred to the Creator. I do not see that a great human love naturally shuts out the Divine; rather should the great Giver receive the fuller love and gratitude because of His most precious gift. You remember the Gascon poem which says:

"The more I pray, the more I love,
It is no sin, for God is on my side.'

This love that induces prayer, and praise, and hearty thanksgiving, can never be idolatry; it is only when the earthly love demands one thing, and the heavenly love another thing, and the terrestrial is preferred to the celestial, that we are guilty of the sin of idolatry. I think we often use the word 'idol' lightly, not considering how terrible a thing it issomething which is set up in the place of God Himself."

"And there are all kind of idols, some that are detestable in their very nature."

"Yes! such as the love of money, which is the most debasing idol one can worship, and one, too, that is a very Proteus, taking all sorts of shapes and conditions, disguising itself as prudent thrift, or lawful gain, or providing for a rainy day. Or the idol may be worldly ambition of various sorts, or the love of one's own dear self. Yes, there are countless forms of idolatry, into which it is very easy to be betrayed; well was it said by John the beloved, Little children, keep yourselves from idols.""

Well," said Marcia, "of all forms that idolatry may take, I do not think I ever shall be tempted to fall down and worship a golden image. I like to have plenty of money. I like it for what it will purchase, for what I can do with it; but as for the stuff itself, it is dross, nothing but a nuisance. 'Much coin, much care'!"

Also," said Ermy laughing, "it is written in the Book of Modern Proverbs, Little coin, much care.' Of all persons, Marcia, I think you would be one of the most distraite without plenty of money. You have no idea what it is to have to calculate how far sovereigns will go, or how far you are justified in changing the 57. note you have reserved for some special emergency."

"No; I never was poor. I always had enough for my wants, and for all my reasonable wishes. Now, I find that I have enough to do with my money; still I shall buy those book-cases, Ermy, extravagant as you may think me. And oh, that reminds me, Mr. Carfax, from something you said the other day, I fancy you would like to possess the furniture that was in your mother's room when she was here. it not so?"

Is

"It is. I very much wish to have those things which would remind me of her. I have often heard her speak about the oak bureau. Old Chance can value them, and I shall be only too happy to become their purchaser."

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Indeed, old Chance will not come here making valuations, and if you will not just take them, Mr. Carfax, and say no more about it, you shall not have them at all, except I leave them to you in my will. Nonsense! Pay for them indeed! Why, as articles of furniture, apart from the associations belonging to them, they are absolutely rubbish. I will give orders for them to be sent down to the Wood House to-morrow."

"Thank you, they will be very welcome there, and in due time they will be transported to Dorsett's Folly."

"When do you hope to get into your house?"

"Not before the spring. There is so much to be done