in actual want when Maxwell found her out again. Poor child! she may have been ashamed to tell him she was in debt, and so put off writing. It was only the other day he found her living in this poor cottage.
"I could not be brave enough to stay away any longer. Maxwell would do what is needful, but I could not let my — my wife be a burden on him. We are carrying out a little plan which will place her in comparative comfort. She came here from miserable London lodgings in the autumn; the place is damp and cold for her, but she could not pay her way from it again. Maxwell has now found a suitable home in a better climate, where she will move immediately. He has gone to make the final arrangements."
Such was the tale told by the unhappy man, the wreck of the gallant Falkland, to the sorrowful listener. Not all at once, or in one continuous story; only by degrees did the unfortunate sufferer find words, and the listener was too stricken with grief at first to press him with inquiries: but after a time Falkland was able to proceed with his narrative, and Yorke to help him on by asking questions; and in the influence, perhaps, of the sympathy of his newly-found friend, and the long silence broken, the once proud and reserved man at last overcame the difficulty of speaking, and for many hours of the long evening the two sat together in the little parlour, by the dim firelight, while Falkland told the sad story of which an abstract has here been given.
"No," said he, in reply to a question put by his friend, "I have no purpose to disclose myself. From the terror which such a discovery would cause her in every way she shall of course be saved. No, I did not come here to shock her with the dismal sight of my mutilated features; but I could not resist the overwhelming desire which possesses me to look on her once more. I have been here two days, and she has not left the house. When Maxwell comes again he may be able to persuade her to take a walk with him past this house. The one desire which possesses me is to see her sweet face once again, before I drag myself away into some corner, to await the end which a merciful God will surely not defer much longer. Maxwell tried to dissuade me, but I felt that I could know no peace if I allowed this chance to pass away. I must see her dear face once more before I die. Sad it will be, and changed, I know, for he tells me she has suffered much; but it is still the face of truth and innocence: and oh! Yorke, it is the one satisfaction I am allowed to feel as the innocent cause myself of her unhappy situation, that even if I had not come between her and her first love — for such I know now Kirke must have been — it would not have saved her from her present state of want and desertion."
It seemed to Yorke as if it added to the grotesque horror of the situation, that their conversation should have been interrupted by the entrance of the landlady bringing Falkland's supper, and to tell him that his own meal awaited him in the other room. She had evidently learnt so much of her lodger's habits as to know that he wanted to be alone while taking food; and Yorke readily divining his wish, retired for a while, and notwithstanding the excitement of the situation, found himself able to eat his own meal — found himself indeed hungry from his long fast, and discussing coolly with the landlady the commonplaces of the day, — doing so the more readily in order to divert the curiosity which she displayed on finding that he was acquainted with the invalid gentleman, whose object in staying at the inn at such a season she naturally wanted to find out
And now, as the hours went on, spent chiefly by Yorke in listening to his companion, the time came for him to decide what to do for the night. It was only half an hour's walk to "The Beeches," but the house would probably be closed by that time, and his return so late might excite curiosity; while to pursue the business of the morning, as would be expected of him if he went back to "The Beeches," would in his present frame of mind be utterly distasteful. Indeed, for the time, Yorke felt wholly unlike a lover; his heart was too full of the emotions kindled by this, sudden awakening of old associations to find room for the selfish pleasure of the hour. To stay at the inn, on the other hand, was hardly practicable, and Falkland was evidently tired and needing rest. Besides. Mrs. Polwheedle, whom all this time he had quite forgotten, might be in real distress and need of his services. So taking leave of his unfortunate friend, and promising to return again shortly, he started off on foot, there being no conveyance available, to catch the last train up to town from Shoalbrook; and hurrying along the muddy road, had time to think at leisure over the strange revelation which that day had brought before him, while almost dismayed to find him-
