miss brancker had told her brother that, whether he liked it or no, she should insist on his taking a month's holiday before he even began to look for another situation, and at the time she quite believed in her power to make him to do so. it was not as if he could not afford a holiday, for he had between three and four hundred pounds put away, which he had saved up month by month, a little at a time, out of his salary. but john in a situation and john out of one were two very different people. to have taken a holiday under his present circumstances would, to his thrifty notions, have seemed both a waste of time and a waste of money. instead of enjoying himself he would simply have "grizzled," to use his own term, and would have come back worse in health, both of mind and body, then he went. even miss brancker, after a day or two, was compelled to admit that it would be useless to press the point further.

john did not lose much time in setting about looking for something to do. his first proceeding was to call on mr. umpleby, the chief partner and manager of the dulminster bank, to whom he was personally known as one of mr. avison's most trusted officials.

no one could have received him more kindly than mr. umpleby received him, to whom, of course, all the facts connected with the trial and verdict were well known. while john went on to unfold, which he did without reserve, his reasons for sending in his resignation, the banker simply interjected an occasional "ah! yes," or "just so," or "i quite understand," but was careful to commit himself to no opinion in the case either one way or the other. john had told him frankly at the beginning of the interview with what purpose he had sought him, and mr. umpleby now went on to explain that, highly as he thought of mr. brancker's business abilities, and greatly as he esteemed his personal character, he was afraid it was out of his power to do anything for him in the way he, mr. brancker, seemed to have half-expected he could do. in the first place, at the present time there was no vacancy of any kind in the bank staff; and, in the second, even had there been a vacancy worthy of mr. brancker's acceptance, it would scarcely have been right and fair, as mr. brancker would doubtless be the first to admit, not to have filled it up from the ranks of the more subordinate members of their own staff, among whom, mr. umpleby was sorry to say, the chances of promotion were by no means so frequent as he would have liked them to be. this latter was a point which it was impossible for john to contend against: in a similar position he would have acted in a similar way. he came away with his hopes a little dashed, and feeling much less sanguine about his future than he had hitherto done.

the next thing he did was to advertise in the local newspaper for a situation, but although the advertisement appeared for three consecutive weeks, it elicited no response whatever. then john fell back on the london dailies, or rather, on two of them, in which an advertisement, drawn up by him, made its appearance day after day with praiseworthy regularity, while, at the same time, he did not fail to wade through the daily lists of situations vacant. it was a heart-wearying task, as hundreds, nay thousands, of others have proved to their cost. sometimes he replied to a likely advertisement; occasionally he received an answer to his own. in the majority of cases his age and his lack of general commercial experience proved fatal barriers to success. in other cases, where his acquirements seemed to be the very things advertised for, and after he had been asked to furnish his name and address, together with those of his referees, would come the inevitable question:

"are you the person who was lately tried on a charge of murder?"

on john's replying in the affirmative, the correspondence would abruptly cease. heart-wearying work, truly! for the first time in his life john began to despair.

hitherto no one save his sister and his friend, mr. kittaway, had been made the confidants of his many disappointments. the knowledge had been carefully kept from hermia. he was unwilling that the sunshine of her young life should be overshadowed by ever so faint a cloud, if he could in any way help it. one evening, however, when his heart felt more than commonly sore, and he and clement hazeldine happened to be alone together, miss brancker and hermia being out shopping, he could not resist pouring the story of his trials and troubles into the sympathetic ears of the young surgeon. sympathy, of course, was all the latter could give in return, and john asked for nothing more.

a few days later, clem made it in his way to call upon his brother at beecham. his chief object in doing so was to tell him of his engagement to hermia, but he determined to mention john brancker's case at the same time, knowing how fully convinced edward was of the latter's innocence.

clem found edward in his office, and was glad to see how much better he was looking than he had looked during the two months immediately following their father's death.

after a little conversation, having reference chiefly to mrs. hazeldine and her affairs, clem said, a faint flush dyeing his cheeks the while:

"and now i've an item of news to tell you which may, or may not, interest you. i am engaged to be married."

edward gave vent to a low whistle. "may i ask the lady's name?"

"miss hermia rivers. i don't think you are acquainted with her, but you may, perhaps, have heard of her existence. she is niece to john brancker, and lives with him at nairn cottage."

edward hazeldine's jaw dropped a little, and he sat staring at his brother for a few moments without speaking. "john brancker's niece!" he exclaimed presently, but not as if addressing himself to clem.

"what is there to be surprised at, may i ask?" queried the latter, with just a shade of annoyance in his voice.

"has the young lady any dowry--any fortune of her own?"

"not one penny," was clem's emphatic reply.

"hum! that's rather a pity, is it not, when there are so many well-to-do young ladies in ashdown--you know how scarce eligible men are in these small provincial towns--among whom, and i say it with no wish to flatter you, you might have your pick and choice."

"that may or may not be the case, but seeing that there is not one among the young ladies in question whom i have any wish to make my wife, there is no need to drag them into the question."

"i was not aware that you were in a position to marry," said edward, coldly; "that is to say, to marry anyone who has nothing but herself to bring you."

"i simply said that i was engaged to be married," rejoined clem equably. "i mentioned no date for the ceremony. in all probability it won't take place for a couple of years at the soonest, by which time i hope to be in a position which will render my marriage with a portionless girl not quite such an imprudence as you seem, and perhaps rightly, to think it would be now. till that time comes," he added, smilingly, "i will refrain from asking you to congratulate me."

edward sat trimming his nails. his manner implied, or so his brother seemed to think, that he either did not care, or did not wish to discuss the matter further, and clem, on his part, was quite willing to let it drop. he was too used to his brother's little peculiarities of temper and manner to feel in the slightest degree offended at the way his news had been received. he had not deemed it needful to mention that hermia was only the adopted niece of john brancker. he felt that the secret was not his own to tell. it would be time enough to reveal it when he and hermia were man and wife.

"the mention of what i have just told you," he presently resumed, "reminds me of something else which i think it only right that you should be made acquainted with. john brancker----"

"what of him?" demanded edward quickly, his apathy gone in a moment.

"he is in great trouble and distress of mind, and well he may be." with that, clem proceeded to relate all that john in his burst of confidence had told him a few evenings before. edward listened with the deepest attention. when clem had ended, he said hotly, "it seems a great shame, an infamous shame, that an innocent man should be so treated. to have such facts brought home to one is enough to make one despair of one's fellow creatures."

"something ought to be done for him in view of all he has suffered and gone through, but i must confess that at present i don't see what that something ought to be," remarked the younger brother.

"something must and shall be done," said edward, emphatically. "leave the matter with me to think over. i will either call on you, or drop you a line as soon as i see my way."

although matters with edward hazeldine had gone so far well that john brancker had been acquitted, while his father's shameful secret remained unsuspected by anyone, he was far from being a happy man, far from being able to boast of that peace of mind--untouched by anything more serious than trivial business annoyances--which had been his before his father's death. the secret he carried about with him was the nightmare of his life. never was there a man less prone than he to introspective brooding, or the creation of imaginary troubles, yet, despite his native strength of mind, despite his persistent reassurances of himself that, after this lapse of time, after the authorities had apparently given up all expectation of ever being able to solve the mystery, and now that the whole affair seemed buried out of sight and done with, anything could ever happen which would reveal it to the world, and therewith the base and ignoble part played by him throughout--despite all this, the secret which he hid up in his breast was like a slow poison working in his blood, unstringing his nervous system, and to some extent, or so it seemed to him, devitalizing his brain. it was as if his ambition were paralyzed. he lived in perpetual dread of he knew not what. any day, in some mysterious way he could not even guess at, the secret of his father's death might be brought to light. the monstrous injustice of which he had allowed john brancker to be the victim did not fail to still rankle in his heart, an unhealed sore for which it seemed hopeless to find a cure. and now, on the top of all this, came his brother's communication. what was to be done?

it had been his intention to propose to miss winterton early in the new year, but with that black shadow keeping him company wherever he went and refusing to be laid, he had kept putting off the decisive moment from day to day till, for the time being, the opportunity was gone. lord and lady elstree had left seeham lodge for torquay, taking miss winterton with them, and the date of their return was uncertain. edward hazeldine, although he would have been loth to confess it, was not sorry for the reprieve.

ten days after their interview, he drove into ashdown and called on his brother. he had not let the grass grow under his feet in the interim. he had been successful in obtaining the promise of a situation for john brancker in the office of one of his friends, a london merchant in an extensive way of business. mr. lucas, the merchant in question, was under certain obligations to edward hazeldine, and had at once acceded to his request to find a stool in his counting-house for john, who was to present himself there on the monday morning next ensuing. thereupon he handed his brother a note of introduction, requesting him, at the same time, to see john as soon as possible and give him the note, together with the writer's best wishes for his prosperity and success in his new calling. he felt a singular repugnance to calling in person upon the man to whom his moral cowardice had been the cause of such unmerited suffering. it seemed to him as if he should breathe more freely when john was a hundred miles away.

john gave expression to his gratitude in warm terms for the service mr. edward had rendered him, and yet--and yet he felt that it would be very hard to have to break up his little home and sever the many ties which the habitude of years had worn into his daily life till they seemed to have become part and parcel of it. but there was no help for it, and when that is the case to murmur is foolishness. to meet the inevitable with repinings had never been john's way, and it was not so now.

there was no need, however, to make any sudden or immediate change at the cottage. john was to go a month on trial, and should everything prove satisfactory at the end of that time, then would a new home in one of the metropolitan suburbs have to be looked for and settled upon and the dreaded change made. neither by john nor his sister was the probable change regarded with more apprehension than by hermia and her lover. they would be parted; they could only hope to see each other at infrequent intervals; the thought was infinitely bitter to both, but it was a bitterness which they kept to themselves and only spoke of to each other. not for worlds would they have added to the weight of regret which uncle john and aunt charlotte had put up with already.

monday morning came in due course, and john took his departure for london by the seven o'clock train.