Only Miss Phoebe!" repeated the widow, as if she did not comprehend the words. Then she turned to her son, and smoothed down the ruffled locks on his head; then held out her hand again to arrest the girl as she was going away. "Has your mistress got anything in the house," she asked

"any

soup or cold meat, or anything? Would you bring it up, please, directly soup would perhaps be best-or a nice chop. Ask what she has got, and bring it up on a tray. You need not lay the cloth— only a tray with a napkin. Yes, I see you know what I mean."

"Mother!" cried Vincent, raising his head in utter fright as the maid left the room. He thought in the shock his mother's gentle wits had gone.

"You have eaten nothing, dear, since we left," she said, with a heartbreaking smile. "I am not going crazy, Arthur. O no, no, my dear boy! I will not go crazy; but you must eat something, and not be killed too. Susan is not here," said Mrs Vincent, with a ghastly, wistful look round the room; "but we are not going to distrust her at the very first moment, far less her Maker, Arthur. Oh, my dear, I must not speak, or something will happen to me; and nothing must happen to you or me till we have found your sister. You must eat when it comes, and then you must go away. Perhaps," said Mrs Vincent, sitting down and looking her son direct in the eyes, as if to read any suggestion that could arise there," she has lost her way:

-perhaps she missed one of these dreadful trains-perhaps she got on the wrong railway, Arthur. Oh, my dear boy, you must take something to eat, and then you must go and bring Susan home. She has nobody to take care of her but you."

Vincent returned his mother's look with a wild inquiring gaze, but with his lips he said "Yes," not daring to put in words the terrible thoughts in his heart. The two said nothing to each other of the horror that possessed them both, or of the dreadful haze of uncertainty in which that Susan whom her brother was to go and bring home as if from an innocent visit, was now enveloped. Their eyes spoke differently as they looked into each other, and silently withdrew again, each from each, not daring to communicate further. Just then a slight noise came below, to the door. Mrs Vincent stood up directly in an agony of listening, trembling all over. To be sure it was nothing. When nothing came of it, the poor mother sank back again with a piteous patience, which it was heartbreaking to look at; and Vincent returned from the window which he had thrown open in time to see Phoebe Tozer disappear from the door. They avoided each other's eyes now; one or two heavy sobs broke forth from Mrs Vincent's breast, and her son walked with a dreadful funereal step from one end of the room to the other. Not even the consolation of consulting together what was to be done, or what might have happened, was left them. They dared not put their position into words. - dared not so much as inquire in their thoughts where Susan was, or what had befallen her. She was to be brought home; but whence or from what abyss neither ventured to say.

Upon their misery the little maid entered again with her tray, and the hastily prepared refreshment which Mrs Vincent had ordered for her son. The girl's eyes were round and staring with wonder and curio

sity; but she was aware, with female instinct, that the minister's mother, awful little figure, with lynx eyes which nothing escaped, was watching her, and her observations were nervous accordingly. "Please, sir, it's a chop," said the girl-"please, sir, missus sent to know was the other gentleman a-coming-and please, if he is, there ain't nowhere as missus knows of, as he can sleep-with the lady, and you, and all; and the other lodgers as well"-said the handmaiden with a sigh, as she set down her tray and made a desperate endeavour to turn her back upon Mrs Vincent, and to read some interpretation of all this in the unguarded countenance of the minister; and please, am I to bring up the Wooster sauce, and would the lady like some tea or anythink? And missus would be particklar obliged if you would say. Miss Phoebe's been to ask the gentleman to tea, but where he's to sleep, missus says

"Yes, yes, to be sure," said Vincent, impatiently; "he can have my room, tell your mistress-that will do we don't want anything more."

"Mr Vincent is going to leave town again this afternoon," said his mother. "Tell your mistress that I shall be glad to have a little conversation with her after my son goes away and you had better bring the sauce-but it would have saved you trouble and been more sensible, if you had put it on the tray in the first place. Oh, Arthur," cried his mother again when she had seen the little maid fairly out -" do be a little prudent, my dear! When a minister lodges with one of his flock, he must think of appearances and if it were only for my dear child's sake, Arthur! Susan must not be spoken of through our anxiety; oh, my child! -Where can she be?-Where can she be?"

"Mother dear, you must keep up, or everything is lost!" cried Vincent, for the first time moved to the depths of his heart by that out

He came to her

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cry of despair. and held her trembling hands, and laid his face upon them without any kiss or caress, that close clinging touch of itself expressing best the fellowship of their wretchedness. But Mrs Vincent put her son away from her, when the door again bounced open. My dear boy, here is the sauce, and you must eat your chop," she said, getting up and drawing forward a chair for him; her hands, which trembled so, grew steady as she put everything in order, cut the bread, and set his plate before him. "Oh, eat something, Arthur dear-you must, or you cannot go through it,” said the widow, with her piteous smile. Then she sat down at the table by him in her defensive armour. The watchful eyes of "the flock" were all around spying upon the dreadful calamity which had overwhelmed them; at any moment the college companion whom Vincent had sent for might come in upon them in all the gaiety of his holiday. What they said had. to be said with this consciousness

and the mother, in the depth of her suspense and terror, sat like a queen inspected on all sides, and with possible traitors round her, but resolute and self-commanding in her extremity, determined at least to be true to herself.

"Arthur, can you think where to go?" she said, after a little interval, almost under her breath.

"To London first," said Vincent "to inquire after him, curse him! don't say anything, motherI am only a man after all. Then, according to the information I get. -God help us!-if I don't get back before another Sunday

Mrs Vincent gave a convulsive start, which shook the table against which she was leaning, and fell to shivering as if in a fit of ague. “Oh, Arthur, Arthur, what are you saying? Another Sunday!" she exclaimed with a cry of despair. To live another day seemed impossible in that horror. But self-restraint was natural to the woman who had

been, as she said, a minister's wife for thirty years. She clasped her hands tight, and took up her burden again. "I will see Mr Beecher when he comes, dear, and-and speak to him," she said with a sigh, "and I will see the Tozers andand your people, Arthur; and if it should be God's will to keep us so long in suspense, if-if-I can keep alive, dear, I may be of some use. Oh, Arthur, Arthur, the Lord have pity upon us! if my darling comes back, will she come here or will she go home? Don't you think she will come here? If I go back to Lonsdale, I will not be able to rest for thinking she is at Carlingford; and if I stay-oh, Arthur, where do you think Susan will go to? She might be afraid to see you, and think you would be angry, but she never could distrust her poor mother, who was the first to put her in danger; and to think of my dear child going either there or here, and not finding me, Arthur! My dear, you are not eating anything. You can never go through it all without some support. For my sake, try to eat a little, my own boy; and oh, Arthur, what must I do?"

"These Tozers and people will worry you to death if you stay here," said the minister, with an impatient sigh, as he thought of his own difficulties; "but I must not lose time by going back with you to Lonsdale, and you must not travel by yourself, and this is more in the way, whatever happens. Send word to Lonsdale that you are to have a message by telegraph immediately-without a moment's loss of time-if she comes back."

"You might say when, Arthur, not if," said his mother, with a little flash of tender resentment then she gave way for the moment, and leaned her head against his arm and held him fast with that pressure and close clasp which spoke more than any words. When she raised her pale face again, it was to entreat him once more to eat. "Try to take something, if it were only a

VOL. XCII.-NO. DLXI.

mouthful, for Susan's sake," pleaded the widow. Her son made a dismal attempt as she told him. Happy are the houses that have not seen such dreadful pretences of meals where tears were the only possible food! When she saw him fairly engaged in this desperate effort to take " some support," the poor mother went away and wrote a crafty female letter, which she brought to him to read. He would have smiled at it had the occasion been less tragic. It was addressed to the minister of "the connection" at Lonsdale, and set forth how she was detained at Carlingford by some family affairs-how Susan was visiting friends and travelling, and her mother was not sure where to address her-and how it would be the greatest favour if he would see Williams at the cottage, and have a message despatched to Mrs Vincent the moment her daughter returned. "Do you not think it would be better to confide in him a little, and tell him. what anxiety we are in?" said Vincent, when he read this letter. His mother took it out of his hands with a little cry.

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Oh, Arthur, though you are her brother, you are only a man, and don't understand," cried Mrs Vincent. "Nobody must have anything to say about my child. If she comes to-night, she will come here," continued the poor mother, pausing instinctively once more to listen; "she might have been detained somewhere; she may come at any moment at any moment, Arthur dear! Though these telegraphs frighten me, and look as if they must bring bad news, I will send you word directly when my darling girl comes; but oh, my dear, though it is dreadful to send you away, and to think of your travelling to-morrow and breaking the Sunday, and very likely your people hearing it - oh, Arthur, God knows better, and will not blame you-and if you will not take anything more to eat, you should not lose time, my dearest boy! Don't look at me, Arthur

H

don't say good-bye. Perhaps you may meet her before you leave perhaps you may not need to go away. Oh, Arthur dear, don't lose any more time!"

"It is scarcely time for the train yet," said the minister, getting up slowly; "the world does not care, though our hearts are breaking; it keeps its own time. Mother, goodbye. God knows what may have happened before I see you again."

"Oh, Arthur, say nothing-say nothing! What can happen but my child to come home?" cried his mother, as he clasped her hands and drew her closer to him. She leaned against her son's breast, which heaved convulsively, for one moment, and no more. She did not look at him as he went slowly out of the room, leaving her to the unspeakable silence and solitude in which every kind of terror started up and crept about. But before Vincent had left the house his mother's anxiety and hope were once more excited to passion. Some one knocked and entered; there was a sound of voices and steps on the stair audibly approaching this room in which she sat with her fears. But it was not Susan; it was a young man of Arthur's own age, with his travelling-bag in his hand, and his sermons in his pocket. He had no suspicion that the sight of him brought the chill of despair to her heart as he went up to shake hands with his friend's mother. "Vincent would not come back to introduce me," said Mr Beecher, but he said I should find you here. I have known him many years, and it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance. Sometimes he used to show me your letters years ago. Is Miss Vincent with you? It is pleasant to get out of town for a little, even though one has to preach; and they will all be interested in 'Omerton to hear how Vincent is getting on. Made quite a commotion in the world, they say, with these lectures of his. I always knew he

would make an 'it if he had fair play."

I am very glad to see you," said Mrs Vincent. "I have just come up from Lonsdale, and everything is in a confusion. When people grow old," said the poor widow, busying herself in collecting the broken pieces of bread which Arthur had crumbled down by way of pretending to eat, "they feel fatigue and being put out of their way more than they ought. What can I get for you? will you have a glass of wine, and dinner as soon as it can be ready? My son had to go away."

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'Preaching somewhere?" asked the lively Mr Beecher.

"N-no; he has some-private business to attend to," said Mrs Vincent, with a silent groan in her heart.

"Ah!-going to be married, I suppose," said the man from 'Omerton; "that's the natural consequence after a man gets a charge. Miss Vincent is not with you, I think you said? I'll take a glass of wine, thank you; and I hear one of the flock has sent over to ask me to tea-Mr Tozer, a leading man, I believe, among our people here," added Mr Beecher, with a little complacence. "It's very pleasant when a congregation is hospitable and friendly. When a pastor's popular, you see, it always reacts upon his brethren. May I ask if you are going to Mr Tozer's to tea to-night?"

"Oh, no," faltered poor Mrs Vincent, whom prudence kept from adding, "heaven forbid!" "Theydid not know I was here," she continued faintly, turning away to ring the bell. Mr Beecher, who flattered himself on his penetration, nodded slightly when her back was turned. "Jealous that they've asked me," said the preacher, with a lively thrill of human satisfaction. How was he to know the blank of misery, the wretched feverish activity of thought, that possessed that mild little woman, as

she gave her orders about the removal of the tray, and the dinner which already was being prepared for the stranger? But the lively young man from 'Omerton perceived that there was something wrong. Vincent's black looks when he met him at the door, and the exceeding promptitude of that invitation to tea, were two and two which he could put together. He concluded directly that the pastor, though he had made “ an 'it," was not found to suit the connection in Carlingford; and that possibly another candidate for Salem might be required ere long. "I would not injure Vincent for the world," he said to himself, "but if he does not 'it it, I might." The thought was not unpleasant. Accordingly, while Vincent's mother kept her place there in the anguish of her heart, thinking that perhaps, even in this dreadful extremity, she might be able to do something for Arthur with his people, and conciliate the authorities, her guest was thinking, if Vincent were to leave Carlingford, what a pleasant distance from town it was, and how very encouraging of the Tozers to ask him to tea. It might come to something more than preaching for a friend; and if Vincent did not "'it it," and a change were desirable, nobody could tell what might happen. All this smiling All this smiling fabric the stranger built upon the discomposed looks of the Vincents and Phoebe's invitation to tea.

To sit by him and keep up a little attempt at conversation-to superintend his dinner, and tell him what she knew of Salem and her son's lectures, and his success generally, as became the minister's mother was scarcely so hard as to be left afterwards, when he went out to Tozer's, all alone once more with the silence, with the sounds outside, with the steps that seem to come to the door, and the carriages that paused in the street, all sending dreadful thrills of hope through

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poor Mrs Vincent's worn-out heart. Happily, her faculties were engaged by those frequent and oft-repeated tremors. In the fever of her anxiety, always startled with an expectation that at last this was Susan, she did not enter into the darker question where Susan might really be, and what had befallen the unhappy girl. Half an hour after Mr Beecher left her, Phoebe Tozer came in, affectionate and anxious, driving the wretched mother almost wild by the sound of her step and the apparition of her young womanhood, to beg and pray that Mrs Vincent would join them at their "friendly tea." "And so this is Mr Vincent's room," said Phoebe, with a bashful air; it feels so strange to be here! and you must be so dull when he is gone. Oh, do come, and let us try to amuse you a little; though I am sure none of us could ever be such good company as the minister-oh, not half or quarter!" cried Phoebe. Even in the midst of her misery, the mother was woman enough to think that Phoebe showed too much interest in the minister. She declined the invitation with gentle distinctness. She did not return the enthusiastic kiss which was bestowed upon her. "I am very tired, thank you," said Mrs Vincent. "On Monday, if all is well, I will call to see your mamma. I hope you will not catch cold coming out in this thin dress. I am sure it was very kind of you; but I am very tired to-night. Ón-Monday." Alas, Monday! could this horror last so long, and she not die? or would all be well by that time, and Susan in her longing arms? The light went out of her eyes, and the breath from her heart, as that dreadful question stared her in the face. She scarcely saw Phoebe's withdrawal; she lay back in her chair in a kind of dreadful trance, till those stumbling steps and passing carriages began again, and roused her back into agonised life and bootless hope.