"Clawthorp Asylum, Friday, 2 P.M.

"DEAR SIR,-I am happy to say the operation has been thus far successful. The patient's fingers have ceased to twitch. He has lifted his hand to his head, and tried to raise himself on his pillow. Also, has spoken a few words relating to his accident, which he supposes has just happened. These are symptoms of returning volition and sensation. I trephined over the site of the middle meningeal artery on the left side, and, to my great pleasure, found a large clot of blood between the bone and the dura mater, which I removed. I will only add that perfect tranquillity is essential to the successful progress of the case. Your obedient faithful servant,

"T. GRIERSON."

"Order a carriage and horses for Clawthorp, to be ready in ten minutes!" exclaimed Clinton, springing up from his seat. "I cannot myself enter that hateful place again, but you must, Mr. Nutt. You must be on the spot. You must be ready to see Winthrop the instant Grierson permits."

Despite Sir Reginald's anxiety to obtain immediate information concerning his lost son, Mr. Grierson positively forbade any one to enter the sick man's room except his sister. Excitement would undo the good that had been done, and endanger the man's life. For a week or so the most absolute quiet was indispensable.

Nevertheless, the functions of the brain being healthily at work and the system relieved, in two or three days Winthrop evinced a great desire to converse.

Therefore, when Mr. Grierson called one morning, and had seen the patient, and conferred with Lucy, he came to the conclusion that the quiet system was in this case a decidedly exciting one. So, sitting down by Winthrop's bedside, he. asked him, in a friendly, cheerful tone of voice, whether there was any one he would like to see-any of his friends he would like to have a talk with?

Winthrop's eye immediately lighted up. He replied that there was some one he would give anything to see.

"Ay, ay! And who is that, Winthrop ?-who is that?" "Sir Reginald Clinton," was the reply. Mr. Grierson shook

his head.

"Not yet, Winthrop! Not yet! Too exciting-too exciting!"

"Well, then," rejoined the patient, "let me see Mr. Lovell,

the rector of Okenham. I'm sure it will do me good. I've something on my mind, doctor, and I shall not be easy till I have said what I want to say."

Mr. Grierson reflected a moment. Then, rising from his chair, said, cheerily

"I believe you are about right, Winthrop. But mind, if I drive Mr. Lovell over here this afternoon, and we find you all in a flurry, I shall just drive him home again without his seeing you. Do you understand, Winthrop ?"

"Doctor, I don't think I shall be excited. It will do me good-it will, indeed! I have been longing for it this many a day, only I was a coward and dared not speak. Now, lying here and not knowing what will become of me, I feel I must make a clean breast of it-I must make amends, so far as I can, whilst I have life and reason left to me."

Grierson nodded his head in an encouraging sort of way, and then very deliberately walked to the door, which he opened and shut with equal deliberation. But, the moment he was in the passage, he started off for Dr. Crayfoot at a pace which almost became a good swinging trot.

The proprietor of Clawthorp Retreat was not particularly gracious in the reception of Grierson's intelligence. He poohpoohed the notion of a clergyman, signifying that he, Dr. Crayfoot, was as good as a parson any day of the week," and would be proud to hear all that Winthrop had to say, and give him sound practical advice into the bargain. This liberal offer did not seem precisely to satisfy Grierson. He declined it with a smile of a more grim description than usual, and commissioned Mr. Nutt to keep guard over Winthrop's door, and suffer no one except Lucy to enter the room.

In the afternoon, according to his promise, the surgeon reappeared with Lovell. The latter, after Grierson had gone upstairs and seen the state of his patient, was shown into Winthrop's room.

At first the sick man was agitated, but a few words of friendly encouragement restored him to composure. Then, as soon as every one but Lovell and himself had left the room, Winthrop began to converse on the subject near his heart. First, however, he stipulated that Lucy should be provided for, and that no one should suffer from any revelations he might make. This Lovell readily promised. Winthrop then commenced his statement, pausing at times to take rest.

It was a tale of crime and sorrow. He had been the confi

dential servant of Sir Reginald, many years ago, when Sir Laurence was alive. His master, then Mr. Clinton, was wild and dissipated. Though still under age, he married at Florence an Italian lady, very beautiful but violent in temper. In a moment of angry jealousy she fled to England with her child, to seek Sir Laurence, and claim his aid and protection. She had with her a large sum of money and costly jewellery. Winthrop was sent after the signora to dissuade her from appealing to Sir Laurence, who was wholly ignorant of the marriage. The temptation was too strong for him. He was in debt and difficulties, and wanted money. The signora never reached Sir Laurence. She died in Clawthorp Asylum. Harrill, an attendant at the asylum, and Dr. Crayfoot, the proprietor, were accomplices in the scheme, and shared in the spoil.

Lovell, at any other time, would have listened to the details of Winthrop's narrative with interest; but now the great point was the recovery of Clinton's missing son.

Harrill had undertaken the charge of the child, and passed him off as his own. Who he was, and where he was, Lovell at once comprehended. Eager to carry information to Sir Reginald, he only remained a few moments more with Winthrop to comfort and reassure his mind, now humbled and penitent, and then hastened back to Rentworth.

CHAPTER XXXV.

TO AND FRO.

LOVELL and Sir Reginald started for London by the mail train late that night, taking Lucy with them. Nutt was left to look after Winthrop, and have him removed to Okenham rectory as soon as Grierson gave his sanction. Of the Usherwoods nothing had been heard for near a fortnight, except the one fact that Mr. Usherwood was no more. It was concluded that Edward Harrill was with the Nugents in Upper Grosvenor Street. Thither therefore must Clinton repair without loss of time. On the journey Clinton, at first moody and reserved, began to yield to Lovell's quiet sympathy, and before they reached town had revealed much of his personal history.

The signora's flight was in the first instance a relief to him.

He loved another, and as for his child there was no affection lost between them. He gave himself up more recklessly than ever to the pursuit of pleasure and excitement. Winthrop wrote word that the signora, yielding to her husband's wishes, had abandoned all intention of appealing to Sir Laurence, and returned to Paris, taking Edward with her. Afterwards, through some contrivance of Winthrop, information came to him that the signora was leading a life of doubtful morality at Rouen or Havre. He heard this with a kind of bitter satisfaction, and tried to banish all recollection both of mother and child.

Winthrop's disappearance, coupled with the fact that the signora's allowance, made payable at Paris, was not claimed, roused suspicion in Clinton's mind. Could there have been foul play? He did not believe Winthrop capable of any worse crime than dishonesty; but the total silence of the boy's mother gave him passing disquietude. He satisfied hist conscience by writing letters of inquiry; but no clue to the whereabouts of the signora and Edward, or of Winthrop, being discoverable, he put the matter aside, and continued to take his pleasure at one or other of the favourite places of resort in central or southern Italy.

Then a few years afterwards came a great shock, which, for almost the first time in his life, awoke a feeling of contrition in his heart. One whom he loved with all the ardour of which his nature was capable-who had been the cause of the last quarrel between his wife and himself-perished under his very eyes. The carriage in which he was driving her home one dark night, was upset against a bank by the roadside in the environs of Lucca. He himself was little injured, but his companion fell with her head upon a projecting fragment of rock, and, when he raised her from the ground, she was a corpse.

From that time his spirit began to be faintly stirred. Thoughts thrilled through his mind, and, though repulsed, would persist in returning unbidden. Outside the artificial world in which he lived, flashed distant glimpses of something purer, nobler, and more true. Here and there the dense lurid storm-clouds split apart, and for an instant peace and sunshine gleamed through them-then were gone. Still, to casual observers, his course was much the same as heretofore. Only himself knew that a strife was beginning within him, and that he was no longer permitted to sin in tranquillity and comfort.

So it went on till sharp disease seized his whole frame, laid him prostrate for months, brought him to the very brink of the grave. Many were the visions which then slowly passed before his mind's eye-cold, grim, ghastly, they crowded day and night the chambers of his mind. He writhed and strove to shut them out; but at length accepted the infliction in patience and self-abasement, and from that time all was not horror and bitterness. There came snatches of consolation,

whispers of hope and encouragement,

On arriving in London, Lovell and Clinton immediately drove to Grosvenor Street. A yellow fog, such as we seldom see elsewhere, enveloped the streets. The early morning air felt chilly, and an involuntary feeling of anxiety stole over Clinton's mind. It is the natural sensation arising from suspense, and, when followed by calamity, we term it a foreboding of evil; when followed by peace or joy, we entirely forget having experienced it.

Suddenly, however, the cab stopped at the end of Grosvenor Street. Clinton pulled down the window, partly to give himself air, for he seemed to feel difficulty in breathing, partly in order to open the door the moment the servants answered the bell. Once, twice, thrice, the cabman rang, and at length gave a thundering knock, but all to no purpose. The shutters were all closed. The blinds drawn down. Not a sound was heard in any part of the house. Lovell suggested ringing several minutes without stopping. Lucy, with an air of authority which at once carried weight with it, recommended that some one should go down the area steps and tap at the window of the pantry, where one of the servants always slept. This last advice was about to be complied with, when a window in an adjoining house was thrown up, and an angry old gentleman, who seemed to have been rudely disturbed from sleep, put out a nightcapped head, and exclaimed, in a loud testy voice-"No use your knocking and ringing at that rate, cabman. No use on earth. Family's all left town a week ago!" And so saying, down went the window with a crash that seemed perfectly spiteful.

Clinton sank back in the cab. Lucy declared it must be a mistake. Lovell, who had caught a glimpse of a distant policeman, sprang out of the cab, and darted off in the hope of gleaning some more definite information. Presently he returned, exclaiming, "It's all right! They are at Lady