The Dandy began to think he didn't quite like his job, but he had resolved to go through with it. "You make my task very difficult," said he; "and yet you must know, it is only in your interest I speak at all. Sit down, Ainslie, and let me assure you that the subject cannot be more painful to you than it is to me.'

Gerard sat down, took a paper-cutter from the writing-table, and began tapping it irritably against his teeth, while Burton watched him with about as much compunction as he might have felt for an oyster.

was only through Gerard, as he believed, that he could crush the White Rose to the earth. Men have such different ways of showing their attachment. The kindly, gallant spirit, the stuff of which a really brave heart is made, can continue loyal even under defeat, can sacrifice its own happiness ungrudgingly to hers, whom it loves better than self, and while writhing in its acutest sufferings, can obey the first instinct of pluck, and say, "I am not hurt."

But the cur, howling under punishment, turns fiercely on the once caressing hand, tears and

worries at the heart it cannot make its own, and, cruel as cowardly, seeks or creates a hundred opportunities to inflict the pain it feels. Burton hated Mrs. Vandeleur with a hatred that sprang from pique, disappointment, and a sense of conscious unworthiness discovered by one whom he had hoped to deceive. Therefore, he determined to be revenged. Therefore, he swore, in his own idiom, "to spoil her little game." Therefore, he stuck at no baseness, however unmanly, to detach her from the one person in the world who could have made her happy.

But effectually to work out his plans, it was necessary to be on good terms with the enemy. He had written many notes, wearied a score of common friends, and submitted to much humiliation with this object. Now he began to see the fruit ripening he had been at such charges to bring to maturity.

"It is not yet too late," said he, standing on the hearth-rug and gesticulating impressively with his umbrella, "for what I have to tell you. Had she been your wife, of course I must have held my tongue. Ainslie, the world says you are going to marry Mrs. Vandeleur. I don't ask you whether this is true; but you and I were boys together, and there is something you ought to know, which shall not be withheld by any foolish scruples of mine."

Gerard felt his very lips shake. There was more at stake here than wealth, honour, life, but he steadied himself bravely, and bade the other "go on."

"You have cared for this woman a great many years, I fancy," continued Burton, in grave, sympathising tones. "Believe me, from my soul I feel for you. But it is better you should be undeceived now than hereafter. Hang it! old fellow," he added, brightening up, "they're all so, you may depend upon it. There never was one born worth breaking your heart about."

The paper-cutter broke short off in Ainslie's grasp. "Blacken! Talked about!" he exclaimed furiously; then, checking himself, added in a calmer tone, "I believe you mean kindly, Burton, but you have proved nothing, even now.”

The latter opened his pocket-book, took from it three or four folded papers, smoothed them out methodically on the table, and observed

"I suppose you know Mrs. Vandeleur's handwriting? Look at those!"

They were receipts of recent date for large sums of money, paid, as it would seem, by Burton to Mrs. Vandeleur's account, and represented, indeed, the withdrawal of certain investments he had made, during their pecuniary confederacy, on her behalf. Gerard opened his eyes wide, as also his mouth, but common sense had not yet quite deserted him, and he pushed the papers back, observing

"I don't see what these have to do with the question. They refer, apparently, to some matter of business between-between Mrs. Vandeleur (he got the name out with difficulty) and yourself. It may or may not be a breach of confidence to show them, but (and here he hesitated again)—but I don't suppose a man takes a receipt from a woman he cares for!"

"Confound the gold-digger!" thought Burton; "where did he get his knowledge of life?" He turned a franker face than ever on his friend, and searched once more in the pocket-book.

"You talk of breach of confidence," said he. “I am the last person in the world to betray a trust. But see the corner in which I am placed. Am I to keep faith with a woman to the destruction of my friend? Jerry, you are a man of honour. What would you do in my case?"

"I cannot advise you," answered the other in a faint voice, "and I cannot understand you. There seems to be something more to say. Let us get it over at once."

"She has made love to a great many fellows besides you, Jerry," said the Dandy. "Mind, I'm too old a bird to credit half or a quarter of the scandal I hear, but, at the same time, I cannot shut my eyes to what I see. Ask any man in London, if you don't believe me. You've not been in the world so much as I have; and besides, you're such a fierce, game sort of chap, people would be shy of telling you anything they thought you didn't like. It is only a true friend who dare take such liberties. I don't want to hurt your feelings. I don't want to blacken anybody's character; but, Jerry, indeed this lady is not fit to be your wife. You wouldn't like to marry a woman that's been talked about."

From an inner flap of the pocket-book Burton produced a note in a lady's handwriting, and tossed it to his friend. It had no envelope nor address, but there were Norah's free, bold characters; there was Norah's monogram. The very paper was peculiar to Norah, and the scent she had used from childhood seemed to cling faintly about its folds. Gerard was steady enough now, and nerved himself to read every word bravely, as he would have read his death-warrant.

It was the note Mrs. Vandeleur had written long ago to Jane Tregunter, about a fancy ball, and which Burton had abstracted from her writingtable. Every endearing term, every playful allusion, would equally have suited the hurried lines a lonely woman might send to the man she loved. The tears almost rose to his eyes while

over now.

he thought what he would have given for such a production addressed to himself; but that was all It had lasted for-how many years? Never mind. It was all over now. He folded the note carefully in its former creases, and returned it to Burton, observing, very gravely

"You ought never to have shown such a letter as that to a living soul."

"You are the last man who should reproach me," retorted the Dandy, affecting to be much hurt, and feeling, indeed-such is the power of deception in the human mind-that his friend was not using him so well as he deserved! "Perhaps I might have valued it more had I not known the writer's character so well. It would have been the worse for you. Good-bye, Gerard. I never expected your gratitude, and I came here prepared to lose your friendship, but I don't care. I have done my

duty, and some day you will confess you have judged me unfairly."

So the Dandy walked out with all the honours of injured innocence, and Gerard sat him down, with his head bowed in his hands, numbed and stupefied, wondering vaguely how such things could be.

Never before, in any of his adventures, at any stage of his wanderings-in the crisis of danger, or the depth of privation-had he felt so utterly lost and desolate. Hitherto there had been at least a memory to console him. Now, even the Past was rubbed out, and with it everything was gone too. There was no hope left in life-no comfort to cheer -no prize to strive for-no guerdon to gain. promise had vanished from the future-the colour had faded out of nature-there was no more magic in the distance-no more warmth in the sunshine -no more glory in the day.

The

nished a candle. There were yellow dips and white dips, burning, smoking, and flaring. There was laughing, and talking, and giggling, and simpering, and ogling, and flirting, and courting. What a dress party is to Fifth Avenue, a spelling-school is to Hoophole County. It is an occasion which is metaphorically inscribed with this legend," Choose your partners." Spelling is only a blind in Hoophole County, as is dancing on Fifth Avenue. But as there are some in society who love dancing for its own sake, so in Flat Creek district there were those who loved spelling for its own sake, and who, smelling the battle from afar, had come to try their skill in this tournament, hoping to freshen the laurels they had won in their school-days.

"I 'low," said Mr. Means, speaking as the principal school trustee, "I 'low our friend the Square is jest the man to boss this ere consarn to-night, Ef nobody objects, I'll appint him. Come, Square, don't be bashful. Walk up to the trough, fodder or no fodder, as the man said to his donkey."

There was a general giggle at this, and many of the young swains took occasion to nudge the girls

The squire came to the front.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, shoving up his spectacles, and sucking his lips over his white teeth to keep them in place, "ladies and gentlemen, young men and maidens, raley I'm obleeged to Mr. Means fer this honour," and the Squire took both hands and turned the top of his head round several inches. Then he adjusted his spectacles. Whether he was obliged to Mr. Means for the honour of being compared to a donkey, was not clear. "I feel in the inmost compartments of my animal spirits a most happyfying sense of the success and futility of all my endeavours to sarve the people of Flat Creek deestrick, and the people of Tomkins township, in my weak way and manner." This burst of eloquence was delivered with a constrained air and an apparent sense of danger that he, Squire Hawkins, might fall to pieces in his weak way and manner, and of the success and futility (especially the latter) of all attempts at reconstruction. by this time the ghastly pupil of the left eye, which was black, was looking away round to the left while the little blue one on the right twinkled cheerfully toward the front. The front teeth would drop down so that the Squire's mouth was kept nearly closed, and his words whistled through.

For

"I feel as if I could be grandiloquent on this interesting occasion," twisting his scalp round, "but raley I must forego any such exertions. It is spelling you want. Spelling is the cornerstone, the grand, underlying subterfuge of a good

to side at the point of death from the effort to suppress her giggle. Mrs. Means and the other old ladies looked the applause they could not speak.

"I appint Larkin Lanham and Jeems Buchanan. fer captings," said the Squire. And the two young men thus named took a stick and tossed it from hand to hand to decide who should have the "first chice." One tossed the stick to the other, who held it fast just where he happened to catch it. Then the first placed his hand above the second, and so the hands were alternately changed to the top.

The one who held the stick last without room for the other to take hold had gained the lot. This was tried three times. As Larkin held the stick twice out of three times, he had the choice.

And soon all present, except a few of the old folks, found themselves ranged in opposing hosts, the poor spellers lagging in, with what grace they could at the foot of the two divisions. The Squire opened his spelling-book and began to give out the words to the two captains, who stood up and spelled against each other. It was not long before Larkin spelled "really" with one 7, and had to sit down in confusion, while a murmur of satisfaction ran through the ranks of the opposing forces. His own side bit their lips. The slender figure of the young teacher took the place of the fallen leader, and the excitement made the house very quiet. Ralph dreaded the loss of influence he would suffer if he should be easily spelled down. And at the moment

of rising he saw in the darkest corner the figure of a well-dressed young man sitting in the shadow. It made him tremble. Why should his evil genius haunt him? But by a strong effort he turned his attention away from Dr. Small, and listened carefully to the words which the Squire did not pronounce very distinctly, spelling them with extreme deliberation. This gave him an air of hesitation which disappointed those on his own side. They wanted him to spell with a dashing assurance. But he did not begin a word until he had mentally felt his way through it. After ten minutes of spelling hard words Jeems Buchanan, the captain of the other side, spelled "atrocious" with an s instead of a c, and subsided, his first choice, Jeems Phillips, coming up against the teacher. This brought the excitement to fever-heat. For though Ralph was chosen first, it was entirely on trust, and most of the company were disappointed. The champion who now stood up against the schoolmaster was a famous speller.

Jim had "spelled down" the last three masters. He divided the hero-worship of the district with Bud Means.

For half an hour the Squire gave out hard words. What a blessed thing our crooked orthography is ! Without it there could be no spelling-schools. As Ralph discovered his opponent's mettle he became more and more cautious. He was now satisfied that Jim would eventually beat him. The fellow evidently knew more about the spelling-book than old Noah Webster himself. As he stood there, with his dull face and long sharp nose, his hands

behind his back, and his voice spelling infallibly, it seemed to Hartsook that his superiority must lie in his nose. Ralph's cautiousness answered a double purpose: it enabled him to tread surely, and it was mistaken by Jim for weakness. Phillips was now confident that he should carry off the scalp of the fourth school-master before the evening was over. He spelled eagerly, confidently, brilliantly. Stoop-shouldered as he was, he began to straighten up. In the minds of all the company the odds were in his favour. He saw this, and became ambitious to distinguish himself by spelling without giving the matter any thought. Ralph always believed that he would have been speedily defeated by Phillips had it not been for two thoughts which braced him. The sinister shadow of young Dr. Small sitting in the dark corner by the water-bucket nerved him. A victory over Phillips was a defeat to one who wished only ill to the young schoolmaster. The other thought that kept his pluck alive was the recollection of Bull. He approached a word as Bull approached the racoon. He did not take hold until he was sure of his game. When he took hold, it was with a quiet assurance of success. As Ralph spelled in this dogged way for half an hour the hardest words the Squire could find, the excitement steadily rose in all parts of the house, and Ralph's friends even ventured to whisper that "maybe Jim had cotched his match after all!"

Jim Phillips was a tall, lank, stoop-shouldered fellow, who had never distinguished himself in any other pursuit than spelling. Except in this one art of spelling he was of no account. He could neither catch a ball well nor bat well. He could not throw well enough to make his mark in that famous Western game of Bull-pen. He did not succeed well in any study but that of Webster's Elementary. But in that to use the usual Flat Creek locution-he was "a hoss." The genius for spelling is in some people a sixth sense, a matter of intuition. Some spellers are born and not made, and their facility reminds one of the mathematical prodigies that crop out every now and then to bewilder the world. Bud Means, foreseeing that Ralph would be pitted against Jim Phillips, had warned his friend that Jim could spell "like thunder and lightning," and that it "took a powerful smart speller" to beat him, for he knew "a heap of spelling-book." To have "spelled down the master" is next thing to having whipped the biggest bully in Hoophole County, and

But Phillips never doubted of his success. "Theodolite," said the Squire.