crowd I do not mind; but anything like intimacy-tête-à-tête walks or drives-I disapprove; at all events, till we have seen more of him."

"Ridiculous!" rejoined Gertrude, "I never heard of such a thing! Your own cousin, too! And mamma has known him from a boy! Ridiculous!"

Nugent only answered, gently but firmly--"I am sorry to interfere with your little excursion. very sorry. But I really mean what I say."

66

Well, I am to stay at home, then-am I ?”

"It is my wish, dearest Gertrude."

I am

"If you command me, of course I must obey. But nothing in the world shall keep me at home but a downright command, and I do not think you're quite tyrant enough for that," replied Gertrude, endeavouring, but without success, to smile.

Nugent was greatly vexed.

"Go, dear, and put on your habit." he said, shortly.

Gertrude did not like the tone of his voice, but thought it best, having gone so far, to persevere, inwardly resolving to ride only a short distance and then return to Nugent. In a few minutes she descended to the front door, where her horse was waiting, and, after exchanging a friendly greeting with Clinton, who lifted her lightly into the saddle, she put her horse into a canter, and rapidly traversed the park, with Clinton by her side. On emerging into the road, however, they were joined by another horseman. It was Nugent, who had hastily gone to the stables, sent orders to his bailiff Madocks to go to the outlet instead of himself, and mounting his horse, galloped round by the back lane in time to intercept the party.

His countenance was anxious and sad, whilst a slight flush lingered on his cheek. Gertrude herself felt hot and uncomfortable. In short, Sir Reginald Clinton perceived in a moment that some little domestic contretemps had occurred, and that the ride was not likely to be of the most agreeable descrip.ion. As a man of the world, however, he made the best of it by talking fluently on whatever topic came uppermost, and averting his eyes, as far as it was possible without constraint, from the faces of his companions.

Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged he was not very successful in placing either his cousin or Gertrude at their

ease.

The former was deeply wounded. The latter was irri

tated and unhappy. She was displeased with herself, and yet provoked at what she deemed her husband's perversity. He had joined the riding party, indeed, but why? Not in compliance with affectionate solicitations or passionate remonstrances, but simply to prevent her riding tête-à-tête with Sir Reginald Clinton. It was most vexatious!

Lady Maud, when they met at the Clairs', pressed her hand in token of approval. But Gertrude, as soon as an opportunity offered, told her mother what had occurred. The latter, rather to Gertrude's surprise, seemed pleased, and, in a whisper, assured her that all was going well. "You have made an impression, darling; you have made an impression. Anything is better than torpor. Don't be discouraged, but persevere! It is a real kindness to him. He may feel vexed now, but he will thank you hereafter. Regard him as a patient and yourself as a physician. suffers now. It is all for his good, good!"

Never mind what he darling,-all for his

Only, Colonel Clair

The picnic was pretty successful. would talk to Agatha instead of leaving her to Clinton; and Captain Pinkie would quarrel with Sir Eliot Prichard about the game-laws. Nugent was dull. Gertrude talked and laughed with Barclay Fitzomelette all the afternoon. But though Barclay was delightful, and thought he had never been so agreeable, a quiet looker-on would have detected that Gertrude's gaiety was entirely forced, and that in her heart she wished Barclay ten miles off. Clinton told ghost stories to Jessie until her blood ran cold. The rest of the company enjoyed themselves much as usual. There was plenty to eat, and the wine was drinkable-two points not always secured in picnics got up on the joint-stock company principle. The repast over, there was a horrid solo by Captain Pinkie on a clarionet he suddenly produced from his pocket, at the request of an accomplice, one of the Miss Clairs. Then a song or two from the ladies. Another quarrel between Pinkie and Sir Eliot about the game-laws. And, finally, the party adjourned to the Clairs' for tea. Clinton and the Nugents took their way homeward by a short cut across the high land overhanging the sea.

The sky was overcast, and there was every probability of a storm. The springtide was coming in strong and fresh, and the crested waves broke upon the shingles with a roar like thunder. From the heights where the party were riding, a

long stretch of coast was visible; and as the waves advanced with steady tread, like the march of an innumerable army, the beach narrowed more and more, until little was visible save the heaving surface of dusky-green waters, flecked and fringed, as far as the eye could reach, with snow-white lines of undulating foam. Overhead, the clouds swept in broken masses; but towards the horizon, now growing dim and misty, they gathered into dark mountainous ridges. A few rain-drops fell on the faces of the riders, and more than one white seagull skimmed along the edge of the cliff as if in search of shelter.

Nugent's face began to express anxiety. He often turned his head as they rode forwards, as if to listen. The outlet of the river was not more than a mile distant, but was hid from sight by a projecting hill. Gertrude knew too well whither his thoughts were running, but of course there was nothing for it but to push on as fast as possible towards home.

Clinton, who had been conversing with Nugent on the subject of the outlet, and saw his evident uneasiness, here pointed to a small declivitous lane which led down to the sea-shore, and exclaimed

"Here, Nugent, that looks like a way down to the water. Why don't you turn off there, and see how matters are going on ? I will escort Mrs. Nugent safely home, I assure you. He can trust me, cannot he, Mrs. Nugent?" he added, turning towards Gertrude, who for her part tried to look as easy and unconcerned as possible.

Nugent, who was not much of a hand at commanding his countenance, looked confused. To leave Gertrude now would seem inconsistent. It would look like sacrificing his religious scruples to his pecuniary interests. No, he would not leave them.

A light flashed over Clinton's pale, delicately-sculptured features, as he quietly looked from one to the other of his companions. It was not surprise, nor was it pity, nor was it amusement—but an expression compounded of all three, and scarcely discernible to any but a close observer. He checked his horse, and said carelessly-"I tell you what, cousin, I'll e'en have a look myself at this wonderful outlet of yours. I begin to take an interest in it."

And, so saying, he touched his horse with the spur, and rode down the lane we have just mentioned with rather more

rapidity than ordinary riders would have thought prudent. As he lost sight of the Nugents, a spectator might have noticed the expression we have alluded to again flash over Clinton's face, but this time more distinctly.

"Poor man!" he murmured to himself—" poor lady! Jealousy, no doubt! Well, I would not willingly hurt them. No, were my heart ever so deeply touched, I have enough on my conscience already!" But at this moment, as his horse turned the corner of the hill, and the broad sea once more opened before him, setting strongly in-shore, he distinctly heard amidst the increasing uproar of the waves repeated screams for help at no great distance along the beach. Gathering, up his reins with sudden energy, he spurred his horse forwards at full speed in the direction from whence the sounds seemed to come.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LOST OR SAVED.

THE bailiff Madocks, to whom Nugent committed the oversight of the works at the outlet of the river Oke, had remained at his post till the labourers were compelled by the advancing tide to strike off work, and collect their tools preparatory to going homewards. He now paced slowly up and down the sea-wall abutting on the masonry of the outlet, watching the vast breadth of sea roaring and foaming up the beach nearer and nearer every minute. The wind was, as we have said, blowing stiffly in-shore, and it was sometimes as much as the bailiff could do to keep on his legs. The sea to windward was almost black, and there was a distant muttering of thunder. The man, who was almost as anxious as his master about the success of the works, began to feel a misgiving as to the ability of the new wall and floodgates to resist the violence of the waves. He left the sea-wall, and walked along the bank of the river to a spot a few hundred yards from the outlet, where a temporary dam had been commenced under Nugent's directions, in order that, in case of the outlet works giving way, there might be still an obstacle to the stream of the inrushing tide. This dam was an immense mass of stones, clay, and timber, and, had it been completed, would have resisted any influx of the tide for a considerable time. But, to make it

effectual, two or three hours' more labour was necessary.

It struck Madocks, that as the weather was rough, and the tide running strong, it would be a wise precaution to set the men to work to finish the dam before the night shut in, and the tide was at the full. Accordingly he hastened after the workmen, hoping to overtake them before they had reached home, and bring them back to the river.

Now, whilst Madocks had been pacing up and down, watching the rising of the tide, two men sat, or rather crouched side by side, beneath the walls of a deserted old lime-kiln in the field adjoining the river. They were both poorly and coarsely clad, but one of the men was more disreputable in general appearance than the other, being begrimed with dirt, whilst his companion, though in much the same sort of attire, was comparatively clean and decent.

"Thou art a poor coward, Master Weston!" said the worstlooking of the two. "A poor coward!" and, as he uttered the words, the man turned the quid of tobacco he was chewing from one side of his mouth to the other, and spat on the ground with emphasis, as if he rather wished Master Weston's face had received the compliment. "A poor coward! But it guv me the pleasure of another look at thy ugly phiz, so I mustn't find fault with thee."

"Harrill, I'm thinking you would have run, too, if you saw your dead wife's face peer over the wall yonder all of a

sudden!"

"What, Madge's? Not I!" said the man, rubbing his bristly chin with the palm of his large, coarse hand in a reflective and meditative mood. "Not I! Oh, what a precious walloping I guv her a month afore she kicked the bucket!"

Weston, although not unaccustomed to his friend's eccentricities, seemed slightly disgusted at this pleasing remi

niscence.

"Not as how," continued Harrill, conscientiously, "Madge hadn't her good points. She could make and mend, and she cooked like a good 'un when there was aught to cook. But she'd too much tongue. That's what ruins half the women in England."

So saying, Harrill paused as if oppressed by the extent and magnitude of the evil, and then added, with a quiet chuckle

"She'd scold till I whopped her, and then she'd scream till I