have always intended to be your friend

"Intended! sir," said Powys, "I know that you have been my friend, and a far better friend than I deserved" Here he made one of those pauses of embarrassment which sometimes mean so much, and often mean 80 little. Mr. Brownlow, who knew more than Powys did, took it to signify a great deal, and the idea gave him strength to proceed; and the fact is, that for once the two, unknown to each other, were thinking of the same thing-of the bits of paper covered with figures that were in Powys's pocket, only their thoughts ran in a very different strain.

"That must be decided rather by the future than by the past," said Mr. Brownlow. "I can say for myself without any doubt thus far, that I have meant to be your friend-but I must have your confidence in return; I do not think you can have any more trustworthy counsellor." As Mr. Brownlow said this, it seemed to him that some one else, some unseen third party, was putting the words into his mouth; and his heart gave a flutter as he said them, though it was little in accordance either with his age or character that the heart should take any such prominent part in his concerns.

As for the young man, there came over his face a quick flush, as of shame. He touched with his hand instinctively, and without knowing it, the breast-pocket in which these papers were-all of which actions were distinct and full of meaning to the anxious eyes that were watching him-and he faltered as he spoke. "I know that you would be my most trustworthy counsellor and I don't know how to thank you," he said; but he had lowered his voice and cast down his eyes. He stood holding the back of the chair, and it trembled in his grasp. He could not meet the gaze that was fixed upon him. He stood shuffling his

feet, looking down, red with embarrassment, confusion, and shame. Was it that he felt himself a traitor? eating the Brownlows' bread, receiving their kindness, and plotting against them? It seemed to his companion as clear as day.

"Sit down," said Mr. Brownlow, feeling his advantage, "let us talk of it as friends" and then he himself made a pause, and clenched his hand unawares, and felt his heart contract as he put the last decisive question. What are those calculations you have been making all day?"

Young Powys started, and became violently red, and looked up suddenly into his employer's face. No doubt this was what he had been thinking of; but the question was so sudden, so point-blank, that it dispersed all the involuntary softenings of which he had been conscious, and brought back to him all his youthful pride and amour propre and reserve about his own affairs. He looked Mr. Brownlow full in the face, and his agitation took a different form. Calculations, sir?" he said, with even a touch of indignation in his voice; and then he too stopped, lest he should be uncourteous to his employer, who he was confident wished him well though he was so strangely curious. “The only calculations I have made are about my own affairs," he went on. "They are of no interest to any one. I am sorry you should have thought I was taking up my time

"I did not think of your time," said Mr. Brownlow, with an impatient sigh. "I have seen many young men like you who havewho have gone wrong-from lack of experience and knowledge of the world. I wish to serve you. Perhaps it is possible-I may have partly divined what is on your mind. Can't you see that it would be best in every way to make a confidant of me?"

All this the lawyer said involuntarily as it were, the words being

put into his mouth. They were false words, and yet they were true. He wanted to cheat and ruin the young man before him, and yet he wanted to serve him. He desired his confidence that he might betray it, and yet he felt disposed to guide and counsel him as if he had been his son. The confusion of his mind was such that it became a kind of exaltation. After all he meant him well-what he would do for him would be the best. It might not be justice-justice was one thing; kindness, friendship, bounty, another and these last he was ready to give. Thus, in the bewilderment of motives and sentiments that existed in his mind, he came to find himself again as it were, and to feel that he did really mean well to the boy. "I wish to serve you," he repeated, with a kind of eagerness. Would not this be to serve him better than by giving to his inexperienced hands a fairy fortune of which he would not know how to make use? These thoughts went vaguely but powerfully through Mr Brownlow's mind as he spoke. And the result was that he looked up in the young man's face with a sense of uprightness which had for some time deserted him. It would be best in every way that there should be conadence between them-best for the youth, who, after all, had he ever so good a case, would probably be quite unaware how to manage itand best, unquestionably best, for himselt, as showing at once what he had to hope or fear. Of this there could be no doubt.

As for Powys, he was touched, and at the same time alarmed. It was the same subject which occupied them both, but yet they looked upon it with very different eyes, The Canadian knew what was in those scraps of paper with their lines of figures and awful totals, and it seemed to him that sooner than show them to any one, sooner than make a clean breast of what was in them, he would rather die. Yet the kindness went to his heart,

and made him in his own eyes a monster. "Divined!" he said half to himself, with a look of horror. If Mr. Brownlow had divined it, it seemed to Powys that he never could hold up his head before him again. Shame would stand between them, or something he thought shame. He had not done much that was wrong, but he could have shrunk into the very ground at the idea that his thoughts and calculations were known. In spite of himself he cast a piteous glance at the whiteness of his elbows-was that how it came about that Mr. Brownlow divined? Pride, shame, gratitude, compunction, surged up in his mind, into his very eyes and throat, so that he could not speak or look at the patron who was so good to him, yet whom he could not yield to. "Sir," he stammered, when he had got a little command of himself-"you are mistaken. II have nothing on my mind-nothing more than every man has who has a-a-life of his own. Indeed, sir," the poor youth continued with eagerness, "don't think I am ungrateful-but I-I-cin't tell you, I can't tell my own mother. It is my own fault. It is nothing to any other creature. In short," he added, breaking off with an effort, and forcing a smile, "it is nothingnothing!-only I suppose that. I am unaccustomed to the world

"Sit down," said Mr. Brownlow; "come nearer to me, and sit down upon this chair. You are very young———”

"I am five-and-twenty," said Powys. He said it hastily, answering what he thought was a kind of accusation; and the words struck the lawyer like a blow. It was not new to him, and yet the very statement of that momentous number seemed to carry a certain significance. The ill-omened fortune which made these two adversaries had come to the one just when the other was born.

"Well," said Mr. Brownlow, who felt his utterance stopped by these