' Oh, you are to homo !' he says, with a sneer ; 'theiiunkey said as how he didn't know. It ain't the kind o' night heavy Hwellw lileo John Abbott, Esquiro, of Abbott Wood, would bo liko to go out promenadin'. It's as black as a wolf's mouth, and comia' down liko blazes.'

1 Sit down, Sleaford,' says Mr Abbott, in a tono ot marked civility. Ho sends ono of tho carvod and cushioned chairs whirling on its castors toward him, but Mr Sloaford only glancos at it with pro found contempt. 'Ib is, as you cay, the deuce and all of a night to bo out in. Bub now that you are here, if thero is anything I can do for you '

' Ah ! if there is,' returns Mr Sleaford, still sardonic ; ' as if there was anything a rich gont liko Mr Abbott couldn't do for a poor bloke liko me. Aa if I would tramp it through mud and water a good throe milo for the pleasure of lookin1 ab your jimcrackg nnd axin' arter your 'elth. Yes, there is eomothin' you can do for me, and, what's more, you've gob to do ib, or I'll know the reason why.'

Tho Bneor changes to a menoco. Mr Abbott rises with precipitation, opens the door quickly, and looks down the long, lighted passage. Thero are no oaves droppers. Eo closes the door, locks ib, rind facea his man. The dangor is here, and ho doss not lack pluck bo meeb ib.
