drew from his attendance at table, he came down | loudness of Allan's voice, and the bluntness of stairs with a nautical problem on his mind, and asked his fellow-servants if they any of them knew the relative merits "on a wind," and "off a wind," of a schooner and a brig. The two young men had sat longer at table than usual that day. When they went out into the garden with their cigars, the summer twilight fell gray and dim on lawn and flower-bed, and narrowed round them by slow degrees the softly-fading circle of the distant view. The dew was heavy; and after a few minutes in the garden, they agreed to go back to the dryer ground on the drive in front of the house. They were close to the turning which led into the shrubbery when there suddenly glided out on them, from behind the foliage, a softly-stepping black figure-a shadow moving darkly through the dim evening light. Midwinter started back at the sight of it, and even the less finely-strung nerves of his friend were shaken for the moment. "Who the devil are you?" cried Allan. The figure bared its head in the gray light, and came slowly a step nearer. Midwinter advanced a step on his side, and looked closer. It was the man of the timid manners and the mourning garments, of whom he had asked the way to Thorpe-Ambrose where the three roads met. "Who are you?" repeated Allan. Allan's request. He ran over in the same feeble flow of words with which he had deluged Midwinter on the occasion when they first met. "It was on the road, Sir," he began, addressing himself alternately to Allan, whom he called “Sir,” and to Midwinter, whom he called by his name, "I mean, if you please, on the road to little Gill Beck. A singular name, Mr. Midwinter, and a singular place; I don't mean the village; I mean the neighborhood-I beg your pardon, I mean the 'Broads,' beyond the neighborhood. Perhaps you may have heard of the Norfolk Broads, Sir? What they call lakes in other parts of England they call Broads here. The Broads are quite numerous; I think they would repay a visit. You would have seen the first of them, Mr. Midwinter, if you had walked on a few miles from where I had the honor of meeting you. Remarkably numerous, the Broads, Sir, situated between this and the sea. About three miles from the sea, Mr. Midwinter about three miles. Mostly shallow, Sir, with rivers running between them. Beautiful; solitary. Quite a watery country, Mr. Midwinter; quite separate, as it were, in itself. Parties sometimes visit them, Sir-pleasureparties in boats. It's quite a little net-work of lakes, or, perhaps—yes, perhaps more correctly, pools. There is good sport in the cold weather. The wild-fowl are quite numerous. Yes. The Broads would repay a visit, Mr. Midwinter, the "I humbly beg your pardon, Sir," faltered the stranger, stepping back again confusedly. "The servants told me I should find Mr. Armadale-"next time you are walking that way. The dis"What, are you Mr. Bashwood?" "Yes, if you please, Sir." "I beg your pardon for speaking to you so roughly," said Allan, "but the fact is, you rather startled me. My name is Armadale (put on your hat, pray), and this is my friend, Mr. Midwinter, who wants your help in the steward's office." tance from here to Little Gill Beck, and then from Little Gill Beck to Girdler Broad, which is the first you come to, is altogether not more-" In sheer nervous inability to leave off, he would apparently have gone on talking of the Norfolk Broads for the rest of the evening, if one of his two listeners had not unceremoniously cut him short before he could find his way into a new "We hardly stand in need of an introduc-sentence. tion," said Midwinter. "I met Mr. Bashwood out walking a few days since, and he was kind enough to direct me when I had lost my way.' "Put on your hat," reiterated Allan, as Mr. Bashwood, still bareheaded, stood bowing speechlessly, now to one of the young men, and now to the other. "My good Sir, put on your hat, and let me show you the way back to the house. Excuse me for noticing it," added Allan, as the man, in sheer nervous helplessness, let his hat fall, instead of putting it back on his head; "but you seem a little out of sorts-a glass of good wine will do you no harm before you and my friend come to business. Whereabouts did you meet with Mr. Bashwood, Midwinter, when you lost your way?" "Are the Broads within an easy day's drive there and back, from this house?" asked Allan; feeling, if they were, that the place for the picnic was discovered already. "Oh yes, Sir; a nice drive—quite a nice easy drive from this beautiful place!” They were by this time ascending the portico steps; Allan leading the way up, and calling to Midwinter and Mr. Bashwood to follow him into the library, where there was a lighted lamp. In the interval which elapsed before the wine made its appearance, Midwinter looked at his chance acquaintance of the high-road with strangelymingled feelings of compassion and distrust-of compassion that strengthened in spite of him; of distrust that persisted in diminishing, try as he might to encourage it to grow. There, perched comfortless on the edge of his chair, "Come, tell us where it was," said Allan, sat the poor broken-down nervous wretch, in trying, a little too abruptly, to set the man at his worn black garments, with his watery eyes, his ease, as they all three walked back to the his honest old outspoken wig, his miserable mohouse. hair stock, and his false teeth that were incapaThe measure of Mr. Bashwood's constitution-ble of deceiving any body-there he sat, politeal timidity seemed to be filled to the brim by the ly ill at ease; now shrinking in the glare of the "I am too ignorant of the neighborhood to know. I must refer you to Mr. Bashwood." lamp, now wincing under the shock of Allan's sturdy voice; a man with the wrinkles of sixty years in his face, and the manners of a child in the presence of strangers; an object of pity surely, if ever there was a pitiable object yet! "Whatever else you're afraid of, Mr. Bashwood," cried Allan, pouring out a glass of wine, "don't be afraid of that! There isn't a headache in a hogshead of it! Make yourself comfortable; I'll leave you and Mr. Midwinter to talk your business over by yourselves. It's all in Mr. Midwinter's hands; he acts for me, and settles every thing at his own discretion." He said those words with a cautious choice of expression very uncharacteristic of him, and without further explanation, made abruptly for the door. Midwinter, sitting near it, noticed his face as he went out. Easy as the way was into Allan's favor, Mr. Bashwood, beyond all kind of doubt, had in some unaccountable manner failed to find it! The two strangely-assorted companions were left together-parted widely, as it seemed on the surface, from any possible interchange of sympathy; drawn invisibly one to the other, nevertheless, by those magnetic similarities of temperament which overleap all difference of age or station, and defy all apparent incongruities of mind and character. From the moment when Allan left the room the hidden Influence that works in darkness began slowly to draw the two men together, across the great social desert which had lain between them up to this day. Midwinter was the first to approach the subject of the interview. The testimonial was very briefly and very coldly expressed, but it was conclusive as far as it went. Sir John considered it only right to say that he had no complaint to make of any want of capacity or integrity in his steward. If Mr. Bashwood's domestic position had been compatible with the continued performance of his duties on the estate, Sir John would have been glad to keep him. As it was, embarrassments caused by the state of Mr. Bashwood's personal affairs had rendered it undesirable that he should continue in Sir John's service; and on that ground, and that only, his employer and he had parted. Such was Sir John's testimony to Mr. Bashwood's character. As Midwinter read the last lines, he thought of another testimonial, still in his own possession-of the written character which they had given him at the school, when they turned their sick usher adrift in the world. His superstition (distrusting all new events and all new faces at Thorpe-Ambrose) still doubted the man before him as obstinately as ever. But when he now tried to put those doubts into words, his heart upbraided him, and he laid the letter on the table in silence. The sudden pause in the conversation appeared to startle Mr. Bashwood. He comforted himself with another little sip of wine, and, leaving the letter untouched, burst irrepressibly into words, as if the silence was quite unendurable to him. "I am ready to answer any question, Sir," he began. "Mr. Pedgift told me that I must answer questions, because I was applying for a "May I ask," he began, "if you have been place of trust. Mr. Pedgift said, neither you made acquainted with my position here, and if nor Mr. Armadale were likely to think the tesyou know why it is that I require your assist-timonial sufficient of itself. Sir John doesn't ance ?" say he might have put it more kindly, but I Mr. Bashwood-still hesitating and still timid, don't complain-Sir John doesn't say what the but manifestly relieved by Allan's departure-troubles were that lost me my place. Perhaps sat farther back in his chair, and ventured on you might wish to know-?" He stopped confortifying himself with a modest little sip of fusedly, looked at the testimonial, and said no wine. "Yes, Sir," he replied; "Mr. Pedgift informed me of all—at least I think I may say so -of all the circumstances. I am to instruct, or perhaps I ought to say to advise-" more. "If no interests but mine were concerned in the matter," rejoined Midwinter, "the testimonial would, I assure you, be quite enough to satisfy me. But while I am learning my new "No, Mr. Bashwood; the first word was the duties, the person who teaches me will be really best word of the two. I am quite ignorant of and truly the steward of my friend's estate. I the duties which Mr. Armadale's kindness has am very unwilling to ask you to speak on what induced him to intrust to me. If I understand may be a painful subject, and I am sadly inexright, there can be no question of your capacity | perienced in putting such questions as I ought to instruct me, for you once filled a steward's situation yourself. May I inquire where it was ?" "At Sir John Mellowship's, Sir, in West Norfolk. Perhaps you would like-I have got it with me to see my testimonial? Sir John might have dealt more kindly with me-but I have no complaint to make; it's all done and over now!" His watery eyes looked more watery still, and the trembling in his hands spread to his lips as he produced an old dingy letter from his pocket-book, and laid it open on the table. to put; but perhaps, in Mr. Armadale's interests, I ought to know something more, either from yourself, or from Mr. Pedgift, if you prefer it-" He, too, stopped confusedly, looked at the testimonial, and said no more. by other men, under other circumstances, the action might have been ridiculous. Performed by this man, at the crisis of the interview, the action was horrible. "Mr. Pedgift's time is too valuable, Sir, to be wasted on me," he said. "I will mention what ought to be mentioned myself-if you will please to allow me. I have been unfortunate in my family. It was very hard to bear, though it seems not much to tell. My wife-" One of his hands closed fast on the pocket-handkerchief; he moistened his dry lips, struggled with himself, and went on. "My wife, Sir," he resumed, "stood a little in my way; she did me (I am afraid I must confess) some injury with Sir John. Soon after I got the steward's situation she contracted-she took-she fell into habits (I hardly know how to say it) of drinking. I couldn't break her of it, and I couldn't always conceal it from Sir John's knowledge. She broke out, and-andtried his patience once or twice, when he came to my office on business. Sir John excused it, not very kindly; but still he excused it. I don't complain of Sir John; I-I don't complain, now, of my wife." He pointed a trembling finger at his miserable crape-covered beaver hat on the floor. "I'm in mourning for her," he said, faintly. "She died nearly a year ago, in the county asylum here." He His mouth began to work convulsively. took up the glass of wine at his side, and, instead of sipping it this time, drained it to the bottom. "I'm not much used to wine, Sir," he said, conscious, apparently, of the flush that flew into his face as he drank, and still observant of the obligations of politeness amidst all the misery of the recollections that he was calling up. "I beg, Mr. Bashwood, you will not distress yourself by telling me any more," said Midwinter, recoiling from any further sanction on his part of a disclosure which had already bared the sorrows of the unhappy man before him to the quick. "I'm much obliged to you, Sir," replied Mr. Bashwood. "But if I don't detain you too long, and if you will please to remember that Mr. Pedgift's directions to me were very particular-and, besides, I only mentioned my late wife because if she hadn't tried Sir John's patience to begin with, things might have turned out differently-" He paused, gave up the disjointed sentence in which he had involved himself, and tried another. "I had only two children, Sir," he went on, advancing to a new point in his narrative; " a boy and a girl. The girl died when she was a baby. My son lived to grow up-and it was my son who lost me my place. I did my best for him; I got him into a respectable office in London. They wouldn't take him without security. I'm afraid it was imprudent; but I had no rich friends to help me -and I became security. My boy turned out badly, Sir. He-perhaps you will kindly understand what I mean if I say he behaved dis honestly. His employers consented at my entreaty to let him off without prosecuting. I begged very hard-I was fond of my son James -and I took him home, and did my best to reform him. He wouldn't stay with me; he went away again to London; he-I beg your pardon, Sir! I'm afraid I'm confusing things; I'm afraid I'm wandering from the point?" "No, no," said Midwinter, kindly. "If you think it right to tell me this sad story, tell it in your own way. Have you seen your son since he left you to go to London ?" "No, Sir. He's in London still for all I know. When I last heard of him he was getting his bread-not very creditably. He was employed, under the Inspector, at the Private Inquiry Office in Shadyside Place." He spoke those words-apparently (as events then stood) the most irrelevant to the matter in hand that had yet escaped him; actually (as events were soon to be) the most vitally important that he had uttered yet he spoke those words absently, looking about him in confusion, and trying vainly to recover the lost thread of his narrative. Midwinter compassionately helped him. "You were telling me," he said, "that your son had been the cause of your losing your place. How did that happen?" "In this way, Sir," said Mr. Bashwood, getting back again excitedly into the right train of thought. "His employers consented to let him off-but they came down on his security; and I was the man. I suppose they were not to blame; the security covered their loss. I couldn't pay it all out of my savings; I had to borrow— on the word of a man, Sir, I couldn't help it-I had to borrow. My creditor pressed me; it seemed cruel, but if he wanted the money, I suppose it was only just. I was sold out of house and home. I dare say other gentlemen would have said what Sir John said; I dare say most people would have refused to keep a steward who had had the bailiffs after him, and his furniture sold in the neighborhood. That was how it ended, Mr. Midwinter. I needn't detain you any lon-* ger-here is Sir John's address, if you wish to apply to him." Midwinter generously refused to receive the address. "Thank you kindly, Sir," said Mr. Bashwood, getting tremulously on his legs. "There is nothing more, I think, except-except that Mr. Pedgift will speak for me if you wish to inquire into my conduct in his service. I'm very much indebted to Mr. Pedgift; he's a little rough with me sometimes, but if he hadn't taken me into his office, I think I should have gone to the work-house when I left Sir John, I was so broken down." He picked up his dingy old hat from the floor. "I won't intrude any longer, Sir. I shall be happy to call again, if you wish to have time to consider before you decide." "I want no time to consider after what you have told me," replied Midwinter, warmly, his memory busy, while he spoke, with the time when he had told his story to Mr. Brock, and was waiting for a generous word in return, as the man before him was waiting now. "Today is Saturday," he went on. "Can you come and give me my first lesson on Monday morning? I beg your pardon," he added, interrupting Mr. Bashwood's profuse expressions of acknowledgment, and stopping him on his way out of the "there is one thing we ought to settle, ought we not? We haven't spoken yet about your own interest in this matter-I mean, about the terms." He referred a little confusedly to the pecuniary part of the subject. Mr. Bashwood (getting nearer and nearer to the door) answered him more confusedly still. room; "Any thing, Sir-any thing you think right. I won't intrude any longer-I'll leave it to you and Mr. Armadale." "I will send for Mr. Armadale if you like," said Midwinter, following him into the hall. "But I am afraid he has as little experience in matters of this kind as I have. Perhaps, if you see no objection, we might be guided by Mr. Pedgift?" The Sunday morning found Midwinter in the park, waiting to intercept the postman on the chance of his bringing more news from Mr. Brock. At the customary hour the man made his appearance and placed the expected letter in Midwinter's hands. He opened it, far away from all fear of observation this time, and read these lines: "MY DEAR MIDWINTER,-I write more for the purpose of quieting your anxiety than because I have any thing definite to say. In my last hurried letter I had no time to tell you that the elder of the two women whom I met in the Gardens had followed me, and spoken to me in the street. I believe I may characterize what she said (without doing her any injustice) as a tissue of falsehoods from beginning to end. any rate, she confirmed me in the suspicion that some underhand proceeding is on foot, of which Allan is destined to be the victim, and that the prime mover in the conspiracy is the vile woman who helped his mother's marriage and who hastened his mother's death. At We Mr. Bashwood caught eagerly at the last sug- "Feeling this conviction, I have not hesigestion, pushing his retreat while he spoke as tated to do, for Allan's sake, what I would have far as the front-door. "Yes, Sir-oh yes, yes! done for no other creature in the world. I have nobody better than Mr. Pedgift. Don't-pray left my hotel, and have installed myself (with don't disturb Mr. Armadale!" His watery eyes my old servant Robert) in a house opposite the looked quite wild with nervous alarm as he turn-house to which I traced the two women. ed round for a moment in the light of the hall- are alternately on the watch (quite unsuspected, lamp to make that polite request. If sending I am certain, by the people opposite) day and for Allan had been equivalent to unchaining a night. All my feelings, as a gentleman and a ferocious watch-dog Mr. Bashwood could hard- clergyman, revolt from such an occupation as I ly have been more anxious to stop the proceed- am now engaged in; but there is no other choice. ing. "I wish you kindly good-evening, Sir,” | I must either do this violence to my own selfhe went on, getting out to the steps. "I'm respect, or I must leave Allan, with his easy much obliged to you-I will be scrupulously nature, and in his assailable position, to defend punctual on Monday morning-I hope-I think himself against a wretch who is prepared, I firm-I'm sure you will soon learn every thing I can ly believe, to take the most unscrupulous adteach you. It's not difficult-oh dear, no-not vantage of his weakness and his youth. His difficult at all! I wish you kindly good-even- mother's dying entreaty has never left my meming, Sir. A beautiful night; yes, indeed, a ory; and, God help me, I am now degrading beautiful night for a walk home." myself in my own eyes in consequence. "There has been some reward already for the With those words, all dropping out of his lips one on the top of the other, and without notic-sacrifice. This day (Saturday) I have gained ing, in his agony of embarrassment at effecting his departure, Midwinter's outstretched hand, he went noiselessly down the steps, and was lost in the darkness of the night. As Midwinter turned to re-enter the house the dining-room door opened and his friend met him in the hall. "Has Mr. Bashwood gone?" asked Allan. "He has gone," replied Midwinter, "after telling me a very sad story, and leaving me a little ashamed of myself for having doubted him without any just cause. I have arranged that he is to give me my first lesson in the steward's office on Monday morning." "All right," said Allan. "You needn't be afraid, old boy, of my interrupting you over your studies. I dare say I'm, wrong-but I don't like Mr. Bashwood." an immense advantage-I have at last seen the woman's face. She went out with her veil down as before; and Robert kept her in view, having my instructions, if she returned to the house, not to follow her back to the door. She did return to the house; and the result of my precaution was, as I had expected, to throw her off her guard. I saw her face unveiled at the window, and afterward again in the balcony. If any occasion should arise for describing her particularly, you shall have the description. At present I need only say that she looks the full age (five-and-thirty) at which you estimated her, and that she is by no means so handsome a woman as I had (I hardly know why) expected to see. "This is all I can now tell you. If nothing more happens by Monday or Tuesday next I "I dare say I'm wrong," retorted the other, shall have no choice but to apply to my lawyers a little petulantly. "I do." for assistance; though I am most unwilling to The day of the picnic came. The lovely morning and the cheerful bustle of preparation for the expedition failed entirely to tempt Midwinter into altering his resolution. At the regular hour he left the breakfast-table to join Mr. Bashwood in the steward's office. The two were quietly closeted over the books, at the back of the house, while the packing for the picnic went on in front. Young Pedgift (short in stature, smart in costume, and self-reliant in manner) arrived some little time before the hour for starting, to revise all the arrangements, and to make any final improvements which his local knowledge might suggest. Allan and he were still busy in consultation when the first hitch occurred in the proceedings. The woman-servant Not many. The time he was waiting for was from the cottage was reported to be waiting bea time close at hand. low for an answer to a note from her young mistress, which was placed in Allan's hands. On this occasion Miss Milroy's emotions had apparently got the better of her sense of propriety. The tone of the letter was feverish, and the handwriting wandered crookedly up and down, in deplorable freedom from all proper restraint. Monday came and brought Mr. Bashwood, punctual to the appointed hour. Monday came, and found Allan immersed in his preparations for the picnic. He held a series of interviews, at home and abroad, all through the day. He transacted business with Mrs. Gripper, with the butler, and with the coachman, in their three several departments of eating, drinking, and driving. He went to the town to consult his professional advisers on the subject of the Broads, and to invite both the lawyers, father and son (in the absence of any body else in the neighborhood whom he could ask), to join the picnic. Pedgift Senior (in his department) supplied general information, but begged to be excused from appearing at the picnic on the score of business engagements. Pedgift Junior (in his department) added all the details; and casting business engagements to the winds, accepted the invitation with the greatest pleasure. Returning from the lawyer's office, Allan's next proceeding was to go to the major's cottage and obtain Miss Milroy's approval of the proposed locality for the pleasure party. This object accomplished, he returned to his own house to meet the last difficulty now left to encounter-message back. I have got a new hat for the the difficulty of persuading Midwinter to join picnic; and oh the agony of not knowing wheththe expedition to the Broads. er I am to keep it on or take it off.-Yours truly, E. M." On first broaching the subject Allan found his friend impenetrably resolute to remain at home. Midwinter's natural reluctance to meet the major and his daughter, after what had happened at the cottage, might probably have been overcome. But Midwinter's determination not to allow Mr. Bashwood's course of instruction to be interrupted was proof against every effort that could be made to shake it. After exerting his influence to the utmost, Allan was obliged to remain contented with a compromise. Midwinter promised, not very willingly, to join the party toward evening at the place appointed for a gipsy tea-making, which was to close the proceedings of the day. To this extent he would consent to take the opportunity of placing himself on a friendly footing with the Milroys. More he could not concede, even to Allan's persuasion, and for more it would be useless to ask. "Oh, Mr. Armadale" (wrote the major's daughter), "such a misfortune! What are we to do? Papa has got a letter from grandmamma this morning about the new governess. Her reference has answered all the questions, and she's ready to come at the shortest notice. Grandmamma thinks (how provoking!) the sooner the better; and she says we may expect her-I mean the governess-either to-day or tomorrow. Papa says (he will be so absurdly considerate to every body!) that we can't allow Miss Gwilt to come here (if she comes to-day) and find nobody at home to receive her. What is to be done? I am ready to cry with vexation. I have got the worst possible impression (though grandmamma says she is a charming person) of Miss Gwilt. Can you suggest something, dear Mr. Armadale? I'm sure papa would give way if you could. Don't stop to write-send me a "The devil take Miss Gwilt!" said Allan, staring at his legal adviser in a state of helpless consternation. "With all my heart, Sir-I don't wish to interfere," remarked Pedgift Junior. "May I ask what's the matter?" Allan told him. Mr. Pedgift the Younger might have his faults, but a want of quickness of resource was not among them. "There's a way out of the difficulty, Mr. Armadale," he said. "If the governess comes today let's have her at the picnic." Allan's eyes opened wide in astonishment. "All the horses and carriages in the ThorpeAmbrose stables are not wanted for this small party of ours," proceeded Pedgift Junior. "Of course not! Very good. If Miss Gwilt comes to-day she can't possibly get here before five |