their aid in preserving discipline and acting strictly up to his injunctions as to the sale of liquor, and he has full confidence in their continuing to act as they already have done to the end. In conclusion, he must add that as the weariness increases, a certain amount of slackness is apt to creep in, and he wishes to remind every one under his

command that he will continue to enforce the strictest attention to disci

pline and obedience, and will not hesitate to check any deviation therefrom with the utmost severity permissible by military law."

The armistice would finish on Wednesday night at twelve, and in the forenoon of that day we made extra preparations to meet an attack at the hour when it closed, anticipating an attempt at surprise. But about noon out came another flag of truce, with a letter, which told us of the renewal of the armistice. Shortly after arrived a second relieving officer with more provisions, all which we treated as we had done the first. On the fourth day of the second armistice a third flag came down, requesting me to meet the Boer general, which I agreed to, and went out to a spot out of sight of our defences to meet him.

I was accompanied by my orderly officer, and bugler, the Dutch party consisting of a very fat and very dirty man, of some five feet, any way you measured him, introduced as General Otto; Mr. Cronje, the man on the grey horse I had tried to shoot; a thin fellow, Van Buckstroom, the interpreter; and an old, frowsy-looking thing who carried the flag. They brought a letter, also on a scrap of account-paper, from Joubert, saying peace had been made. This they read out to me, saying at once, without waiting for me to answer, "Of course you don't believe it, but we wish to tell you what we know."

To which I replied that I could only act on an order from my own general, but would consent to allow

matters to go on as they had done, and not fire so long as they did not come near. This satisfied them, and we parted.

Early on the morning of 26th March, I was roused by the news that the Dutch were crowding down to the "drift." We went up to the hill above it, and saw about two hundred of them, with their waggons inspanning, evidently about to cross. A few indeed had come down to the river and crossed while I was looking. They were all unarmed. I saw that it was as had been said; peace was proclaimed, and these were the Boers going home.

But I wished to show them that it was not yet all their own way; at least Standerton was still an English town which they had not been able to take from us; so the mounted troop rode off to the "drift,” and drew up across the road with their carbines ready. The men occupied their places in the defences facing the river; and the Boers were sent back much quicker than they had come. crowd of them then squatted on the further bank in sulky silence. Their oxen were outspanned, and they evidently made up their minds to stop there all day.

The whole

At eight A.M., the officers bearing the official message from Sir Evelyn Wood rode in and delivered it, when we had breakfast, and then rode down to the town. The volunteers were formed up for the last time, and disbanded; the garrison was moved up to camp as sharp as possible; the men withdrawn from the defences; civil law in the person of the Landdrost once more established; and last of all, word was sent to the Dutch on the river's bank that the "drift" was open.

were

Over they came in troops, crowding the stores in search of "French," as they call brandy. Our best efforts

had been used to clean up the town for the arrival of the column, and it was spotless; before evening it had regained its original state, and was as filthy as the dirtiest Dutchman could wish.

So ended the siege, after lasting eighty-eight days of close investment, beating Etshowe by nearly a week, an event we were not a little proud of.

Camp was pitched on the clean grass between Stander's Kop and Fort Alice-safe enough now, though the bullets lying about everywhere told visitors that it had not been so always. The bugles once more rang out, the men saluted their officers as of old; practices both of which we had to drop during the siege, the Dutch getting to know the bugle-calls for meals, pickets, fatigues, and so on, and firing steadily at the place where the men fell in. As for the salutes, we, the officers, were too well known to care for our own men making us a further mark for bullets.

A greater luxury than the rest was the ability to turn in without our boots, some amongst us going as far as to undress before going to bed; a practice many of us found so unusual that they remained as before, minus only the boots.

our

One thing we especially rejoiced at the good feeling which had existed throughout between soldiers and the civilians. Though martial law had been in existence for so long a time, and its powers carried out to the letter, no case of serious disagreement had occurred. The following address from the townspeople of Standerton, presented on the proclamation of peace, speaks truly enough

of how matters stood between

us:

"We, the inhabitants of Standerton, desire to be allowed the privilege of testifying, in the presence of the General, our sense of gratitude to you kindness towards us as a community for your gentlemanly and considerate during the past few months.

"It is to your provident and watchful care, and the gallant men serving under you, that we are indebted for our safety during the siege; even when surrounded by overpowering security pervaded all, every one feelnumbers of the enemy. A sense of ing that a masterly mind and a firm hand was at the helm of affairs in our little township; your kindness, as well as the officers under you, making it extremely pleasant for us all.

"Through you we also desire to tender our grateful thanks to the nonunder you, and serving with us; their commissioned officers, rank and file, good behaviour and gallant bearing has endeared them to us all,-in moving back to camp it was like parting from old friends. Men of the 94th, 58th, and others, we can never forget the alacrity and cheerfulness with which, at the call of duty, you went forth to meet our enemies, willing, even to the shedding of your blood, in our defence. Soldiers of camp and garrison, accept our deep and earnest thanks.

"To you it is due, major, whom we are all proud to call our own, that the

defence of Standerton has been so successfully maintained. Words may not express our sense of admiration, but grateful and kindly thoughts of you will for ever dwell in our hearts.

"When the time arrives that we must part, may you have a happy reunion with all the members of your call and the path of duty may lead family; and wherever our country's

you, rest assured our best wishes follow.

"May God's blessing attend you and yours, is the prayer of us all."

ARRIVING in London on the next morning but one, the travellers drove to a family hotel not far from Oxford Street; and after unpacking, and a late breakfast, Clifford set forth to see his lawyers, whose offices were hard by, in a street leading out of Cavendish Square. He was eager for the explanation, and yet nervous and uneasy; the feeling of self-reproach, never absent since Hilda's flight with him, had been growing stronger as time went on, and now that he found himself face to face with

the difficulty, was uppermost in his mind. But as might have been expected in the month of September, both the partners were absent. Mr. Gale had taken a house at Reigate for a few weeks; Mr. Curtis was in Scotland, and the firm was represented by the managing clerk. Clifford knew that this gentleman must be just as well acquainted as the partners with his affairs; and indeed, although Mr. Davies was perfectly civil, his manner plainly indicated his knowledge of what

VOL. CXXX.-NO. DCCXCI.

had passed, and Clifford was painfully conscious of a loss of consideration in the managing clerk's estimation. He was no longer the important client, to be welcomed with effusive politeness, but, as it were, a suitor in difficulties, to be treated on a purely business footing. He could not, however, bring himself to open his case to Mr. Davies, more especially as Mr. Gale was expected to come up to town the next day; and therefore, merely saying that he would call again the following morning to see that gentleman, Clifford left the office, greatly dispirited at the result of the brief interview, and impatient at the delay in giving his explanation, which did not seem the more easy to make for being put off.

As he walked back to the hotel through a stuffy side street, its dirty pavement baked by the hot September sun, and in which the only objects in motion were a couple of organ-grinders and some itinerant vendors of stale fish and sodden fruit, the contrast between

T

this dismal view and the fresh Normandy scenes he had just quitted added to his depression of spirit. The explanation had seemed such a simple thing; but now it bore a very different aspect. The short interview with the lawyer's clerk had brought home to him very forcibly the difficulty of saving his wife's secret, and yet dealing fairly with the trustees. Yet while shrinking from the coming interview, the delay of another day seemed in his present frame of mind still more distasteful; he dreaded even to face Hilda again, while still uncertain how far the wrong done her was not irreparable. Thus uneasily pacing the sultry street, the idea occurred to him that he might employ the afternoon in going down to Sunningdale to see Mr. Bryant. It would be much easier to open the case to him than to the lawyer, and a relief to be parted for the time from Hilda. Starting at once, he could get back by the evening. And he set off accordingly by the first train, it being arranged that Hilda, who declared that she was now quite rested from the fatigue of the journey, should take Arthur in the afternoon to see the "Zoo." Mr. Bryant would probably be at home; at any rate Clifford would not use the telegraph to say he was coming, judging instinctively that the meeting would be less embarrassing if he arrived unexpectedly, without giving his old friend time to adopt a prearranged attitude towards him.

Mr. Bryant was at home, and the servant, to whom Clifford was well known as a frequent visitor, led him at once through the house to the garden at the back, where a group of persons-the family and some visitors were engaged in playing and watching a game of tennis. The servant went on in advance

across the trim lawn to announce him, and Clifford could see Mr. Bryant, as the servant spoke to him, rise from his chair under the well-known old cedar, in the shade of which the lookers-on were seated, and come hurriedly forward to meet him. At another time Clifford would have been sure of hearty greetings, and would have passed on to receive the cordial welcome of Mrs. Bryant and the girls; but now Mr. Bryant, holding out his hand with a cold yet nervous manner and grave face, proposed that they should go into the house, and leading the way into his writingroom, through the window which opened on to the lawn, and carefully shutting the door, seated himself, and invited Clifford to do the

same.

Mr. Bryant was even more agitated and ill at ease than his visitor, his kindly feeling for Clifford, and distress that he should be reduced to ruin, struggling with the rankling sense of the injury he believed Clifford to have inflicted on himself. Clifford, who, as he came down in the train, had pondered anxiously how he should open his case, did not find it easier to make a beginning now that the time had come for doing so. He felt very keenly that he had ill-used his old friend; and between the desire to express his contrition for this, and to give only so much explanation as might clear himself of the suspicion of wrong-doing, he hesitated to begin, casting about for words.

The old gentleman broke the awkward silence.

"A bad business this, Robert; a bad business. I suppose you have come to make a clean breast of it at last."

"I do not consider it at all a bad business, Mr. Bryant, I assure you, although there have been unfortunate complications, and I have

unwittingly, I fear, given you and your co-trustee some trouble and anxiety which I might and ought to have spared you, and for which I am very sorry. I am

a poorer

man, indeed, but the loss has been cheaply purchased by the gain, if it were only the money that is in question."

Only the money in question," repeated the other in a tone of irritation; "you have made yourself a pauper, and talk of only the money as if you were going to live upon air. Only the money, indeed! You throw away five thousand a-year to marry a woman who hasn't a farthing-at least so I am told—and then talk about its being only a question of money. And it isn't only a question of money, or at least of your money; there were your trustees and their pockets to be considered. If you must be so Quixotic, and throw away your fortune, at least you might have remembered what was due to me. Gale is quite clear on that point. You were bound in law as well as in common justice-so Gale saysto acquaint the trustees of your intention to break the trust. And you have broken faith with them. They are responsible for every farthing they have overpaid you in their ignorance of the facts; and how are they to recover it, now that you have made yourself a pauper? I always felt that I was a fool to undertake such a trust at all, and so it has turned out."

Clifford suffered Mr. Bryant to run on without interruption, feeling that it would be easier to explain matters if the old gentleman were allowed to relieve himself of his accumulated irritation. He now replied

"Well, then, there is an end of the matter. What is the good of beating about the bush? Just what Gale said when you did not deny it at once. 'Reserves his defence,' says Gale; 'every one knows what that means.'" And the old gentleman shifted his feet and gave himself an uneasy twitch.

"Pray sit down, Mr. Bryant, and let me explain matters. I am married, as I say, but my marriage did not take place until after that of Miss Scallan to Captain Burrard. It took place”

"Then do you mean to say that when the-the lady was living with you in your chambers,-when you were being received in my house, too, like one of the family, and treated like a brother by my girls, -that all this time you were not married to her? Are we to believe all this?"

Now came the moment of retribution for Clifford. There was no evading it. Part of his wife's secret must be told. How gladly would he now have spared her by foregoing his own selfish scheme, had he foreseen, as he might have done, that an exposure of some sort was inevitable, however he might put the case and try to shield her.

"Mr. Bryant," he said, blushing for his poor Hilda as he spoke,