She went slowly back to the drawing-room, for it had been some comfort to her to escape so long from the widow. And in the mean time that vivacious personage had been making the best use of her opportunity, and had subjected poor innocent little Dorothy to a protracted operation of that kind which is commonly called "pumping."

Was dear Miss Denison always so bright and industrious? Did not dear Miss Denison sometimes find herself very dull and lonely? Had not dear Miss Denison very much missed her papa's friend Mr. Pauncefort? Were not Mr. Pauncefort and dear Miss Denison very intimate?

Dorothy shook her head till the crisp brown curls danced again.

No; Miss Denison was never dull or lonely, but always had so much to employ her-drawing, and practising, and reading; oh, reading so very, very much. And Miss Denison had seen scarcely any thing of Mr. Pauncefort since Mrs. Harding's last visit; and Dorothy was quite sure she did not miss him a bit.

The widow grew thoughtful after obtaining this information. She had been picking up beads

on the point of her needle while she had talked to Dorothy for the decoration of a very gorgeous pair of slippers which she was embroidering for Sir Jasper; and now she sat pushing her needle dreamily about among the glittering atoms of glass, ruminating upon what she had heard.

If Marcia's intimacy with Godfrey Pierrepoint had made no advance since the spring, was it likely that he would have told her the secrets of his life? It was very possible that Marcia knew nothing, after all, and in that case she was powerless to frustrate the widow's schemes.

"I will try and think she knows nothing, at any rate," thought the widow; "I can effect nothing by a timid policy; and if I fail—I fail. I am not playing quite so desperate a game as Lady Macbeth; and even she was willing to abide the issue."

CHAPTER III.

GENTLEMANLY CHANTAGE.

THE morning sunshine on the fifteenth of September promised fairly for the adventurous spirits who hurried northward behind rushing railway engines, and those still more enthusiastic votaries of the turf who paid their nightly guineas for uncomfortable beds in the sleepy little town of Doncaster, broad awake only for this one autumn week in all the year. The little northern town was bright in the sunshine, flags fluttered in the cool fresh breezes, the vendors of toothsome butterscotch were blithe and busy, and the noise of many tongues sounded on the morning air. Between the town and the race-course there was one throng of pushing pedestrians, who took possession of the high-road, and defied the boldest of charioteers or the most desperate of postillions.

How many of those men would go back the same way in the dusky evening gloomy and crestfallen, was a question which no one cared to ask himself at that early stage of the day's business. Every man in the crowd pushed onward as cheerily as if he had been going to certain fortune.

But if the bright autumn weather afforded satisfaction to those world-worn votaries of the turf who had waded knee-deep in the mud and slush of the Knavesmire, and tramped on Epsom Downs when that broad open country was no better walking than a ploughed field; who had stood in the blinding rain to see the settlement of a dead-heat between two favourites, and had held their places in the ring when the thunder shook the ground under their feet, and the lightning flashed into their eyes until they could scarcely see the figures in their betting-books,-if to such men as these a fine day were matter for rejoicing, what was it to the village children who were to enjoy Miss Denison's festival? A great many pairs of innocent eyes kept watch for that September dawn; a great many guileless hearts beat

VOL. III.

5

happily at sight of that faint glow of yellow light in the east, which brightened as the day grew older.

As the clock in Sir Jasper's study struck twelve, the bells of Scarsdale church struck up a merry peal, and a chorus of shrill voices sounded on the lawn. The Baronet shuddered, and turned with a deprecating gesture to Mrs. Harding, who stood by the open window, arrayed in the freshest of peach-coloured muslins, and the most innocent of Leghorn bonnets.

66

Agreeable, isn't it, ma'am?" said Sir Jasper. "This is what comes of having a philanthropic daughter. I hope you are not philanthropic, Mrs. Harding."

The widow simpered. "I fear I am not nearly so good as Miss Denison; and I only wish I were more like your sweet daughter," she said; "and yet even poor I cannot help feeling some pleasure in witnessing the innocent happiness of my fellowcreatures."

"Don't be good, Mrs. Harding," cried the Baronet; "if you wish to remain fascinating,