there was commotion that day in dallory. an offer such as this of richard north's, coming as it did in the very midst of distress and prolonged privation, could not be rejected off-hand without dissenting voices. the few men who had not joined the union, who only wished to get back to work, pleaded for acceptance as if they were pleading for life. strangers also--that is, gentlemen who had no direct interest in the question--went about amongst the men, striving to impress upon them where their obligations lay, and what their course ought to be. one of these was dr. rane. there had been a good deal of sickness lately--when is there not where privation reigns?--and the doctor's services were in great requisition. every house he visited that day, every workman with whom he came into contact, he spoke to forcibly and kindly: urging them all most strongly not to reject this opportunity of putting themselves right with the world. it was one, he said, that might never occur again, if neglected now. dr. rane, whilst blaming the men, was sorry for them; keenly sorry for their wives and children.

he had had a very fatiguing day. when the dusk of evening came on, he went and sat in the garden, tired and weary. bessy had gone to spend the evening at ham court with miss dallory; and the doctor had promised to fetch her home. his ruminations still ran, as ever, on getting away from dallory; but at present there seemed to be little chance of his doing it. unless he could dispose of his practice here, he would not have the wherewithal to establish himself elsewhere. had oliver rane been a less healthy man than he really was, he would long ago have thought and worried himself into a nervous fever.

it grew darker. dr. rane struck his repeater--for it was too dark to see the hands--wondering whether it was time to go for his wife. no; not quite, he found; he could delay another quarter-of-an-hour yet. and he lapsed into his musings.

the seat he had chosen was under the great cedar-tree at the extreme corner of the garden, close to the wire fence that divided his ground from mrs. cumberland's, and also close to that lady's back-door. some foliage of clematis and woodbine would have hidden him from any one on the other side even in daylight, and dr. rane felt as solitary as he would have felt in an african desert. from his own troubles his thoughts went roaming off to other matters: to his mother's long sojourn at eastsea; to wondering when she meant to return home; to speculating on what the workmen's answer to richard north's call would be.

"will they show the white feather still? it is nothing less, this cowardly grovelling to the dictates of the union," soliloquized dr. rane; "or will they respond to dick like men of sense, and go back to him? if it were not for those agitators----"

"i can tell you what it is, mr. tim wilks--if you don't choose to keep to your time and your promises, you need not trouble yourself to come worrying after me later. a good two mortal hours by the clock have i been at green's waiting for you."

the above, succeeding to the sound of footsteps in the lane, and uttered in jelly's sharpest tones, cut short dr. rane's musings. a short squabble ensued: jelly scolding; tim wilks breathlessly explaining. from what the doctor, sitting in silence, and unsuspected, could gather, it appeared that jelly must have had some appointment with tim--no doubt of her own imperious making--which he had failed to keep, and had come running after her, only to catch her up at the garden-door.

jelly put the key in the lock, and stepped inside the garden: the servants sometimes chose that way of entrance in preference to the front. during the absence of mrs. cumberland jelly acted as mistress, entertained her friends, and went in and out at will. mr. wilks meekly remained where he was, not daring to cross the threshold without permission.

"is it too late to come in, miss jelly?" asked he.

"yes, it is too late," retorted jelly; the pair not having the slightest notion that any eavesdropper was near them. but the word could not justly be applied to dr. rane: he did not want to hear what was said; felt rather annoyed at the noise and interruption.

"i couldn't get home before," resumed timothy, "though i ran all the way from whitborough. when a young man has his day's work to finish, and that in a lawyer's office, he is obliged to stay beyond hours if necessary."

"don't tell me," said jelly, who stood with the half-closed door in her hand in the most inhospitable manner. "you could have come home if you'd chosen."

"but i couldn't, miss jelly."

"you are always stopping beyond hours now. that is, saying that you do."

"because we have been so busy lately," answered tim. "our head clerk, repton, is away through illness, and it puts more work on the others. dale's as cranky as he can be, and works us like horses. if you'll believe me, miss jelly, i hadn't time to go out and get any tea. i've not had bit or drop inside me since one o'clock to-day."

this pitiful view of affairs a little pacified jelly; and she dropped her sharp tone. dr. rane was wishing they would take their departure. he would have done so himself, but that he did not altogether care to betray his presence.

"why does that old dale not get another clerk?" demanded jelly. "i should tell him plainly if i were you, tim, that going without my regular meals did not suit me."

"we should not dare to say that. much he'd listen if we did! as to getting another clerk, i believe he is doing it. repton's doctor says he'll never be well again, so dale thinks it's of no use waiting for him."

"you were to take repton's place, if ever he left," said jelly, quickly.

"i know i was"--and timothy wilks's voice became so rueful that it might have made dr. rane laugh under more open circumstances. "but when dale made that promise, miss jelly, you see the affair of the anonymous letter had not taken place."

"what anonymous letter?"

"the one that killed edmund north."

"why, you don't mean to insinuate that dale lays the blame of that on you?"

"i don't suppose he thinks i sent it. indeed i'm sure he does not. but he was anything but pleasant over it to me at the time, and he has never been quite the same to me since."

"he is an unjust owl," said jelly.

"one does not look for much else than injustice from lawyers."

"does dale say that letter is the reason of his not promoting you to repton's place?"

"he doesn't say it: but i know that it is so, as if he did just as well."

jelly struck the key two or three times against the door. she was thinking.

"that's through your foolish tongue, timothy wilks. you know you did talk of the matter out of the office."

"they say so," confessed timothy. "but if i did, i'm sure i've been punished enough for it. it's hard that it should stick to me always. why don't they find the writer of the letter, and punish him? he was the villain; not me."

"so he was," said jelly. "tim, what would you say if i told you i knew who it was?"

"i? excuse me, miss jelly, but i should not quite believe it."

jelly laughed. not a loud laugh, but one rather derisive, and full of power. its peculiar significance penetrated to him who was seated under the cedar-tree, betraying all too surely that jelly knew his dangerous secret. even the less sensitive tim wilks was impressed by the sound.

"surely, miss jelly, you do not mean that you know who wrote the letter?"

"i could put my finger out from where i now stand, tim, and lay it on the right person," she answered in low, impressive tones, little suspecting how literally true were her words.

tim seemed overwhelmed. he drew a deep breath.

"then, why don't you, miss jelly?"

"because----" jelly stopped short. "well, because there are certain considerations that make it difficult to speak."

"but you ought to speak. indeed you ought, miss jelly. if lawyer dale got to hear of this, he'd tell you he could compel you to speak."

again there broke forth a laugh from jelly. but quite a different laugh this time--one of mirth. tim decided that she had only been making fun of him. he resented it, as much as he was capable of resenting anything.

"you shouldn't make game, of a young man in this way, miss jelly! i'm sure i thought you were in earnest. you'd make a fine play-actor."

"shouldn't i?" assented jelly, "and take in the audience nicely, as i take in you. well," changing her tone, "you must be soft, tim wilks! the idea of believing that i could know who wrote the letter?"

the hint about lawyer dale had frightened jelly, bringing back the prudence which her impulsive sympathy with tim's wrongs had momentarily put to flight. all she could do, then, was to strive to efface the impression she had made. there existed certain considerations, that made it, as she had aptly said, difficult to speak. but she felt vexed with herself, and resented it on tim.

"see here," cried she, "i can't stand at this gate all night, jabbering with you; so you can just betake yourself off again. and the next time you make a promise to be home by a certain hour to take a late cup of tea with friends at mrs. green's, i'll trouble you to keep it. mind that, mr. wilks."

mr. wilks had his nose round the post, and was beginning some deprecatory rejoinder, but jelly slammed the door, and nearly snapped the nose off. locking it with a click, she put the key in her pocket, and marched on to the house.

leaving dr. rane alone to the night dews under the heavy cedar-tree. were the dews falling?--or was it that his own face gave out the damp moisture that lay on it? he sat still as death.

so, then, jelly did know of it! as he had before half-suspected; and he had been living, was living, with a sword suspended over him. it mattered not to speculate as to how she acquired the terrible secret: she knew it, and that was sufficient. dr. rane had not felt very safe before; but now it seemed to him as though he were treading on the extreme edge of a precipice, and that his footing was crumbling from under him. there could be no certainty at any moment that jelly would not declare what she knew: tomorrow--the next day--the day after: how could he tell what day or hour it might be? oliver rane passed his handkerchief over his face, his hand anything but a steady one.

the "certain considerations" to which jelly had confessed, meant that she was in service with mrs. cumberland, and that he was mrs. cumberland's son. whilst jolly, retained her place, she would not perhaps be deliberately guilty of the bad faith of betraying, as it were, her mistress. yet there were so many chances that might lead to it. lawyer dale's questioning might bring it about--and who could answer for it that this might not at once set in at a word from wilks?--or she might be quitting mrs. cumberland's service--or taking upon herself to right tim with the world--or speaking, as she had evidently spoken that night, upon impulse. yes; there were a hundred-and-one chances now of his betrayal!

he must get away from dallory without delay. "out of sight, out of mind," runs the old proverb--and it certainly seemed to dr. rane that if he were out of sight the chances of betrayal would be wonderfully lessened. he could battle with it better, too, at a distance, if discovery came; perhaps keep it wholly from his wife. never a cloud had come between him and bessy: rather than let this disclosure come to her--he would have run away with her to the wilds of africa. or, perhaps from her.

run away! the thought brought a circumstance to his mind. that self-same morning another letter had arrived from his friend in america, dr. jones. dr. jones had again urged on oliver rane his acceptance of the offer to join him in his practice there, saying it was an opportunity he might never have again throughout his lifetime. dr. rane fully believed it: it was, beyond doubt, a very excellent offer; but, alas! he had not the money to embrace it. five hundred pounds--besides the expenses of the voyage and the removal: dr. rane had not five hundred shillings to spare. the tontine money came flashing through his brain. oh, if he could only get it!

the air grew really damp; but he still sat in the dark under the shade of the cedar-tree, reviewing plans and projects, ways and means. to him it was growing as a very matter of life or death.

how long he sat, he knew not: but by-and-by the faint sound of dallory church clock was wafted to him through the clear air. he counted the strokes--ten. ten? dr. rane started up: he ought to have gone for his wife long and long ago.

six o'clock in the morning; and the great bell of the works of north and gass was ringing out upon the morning air! it was a bell dallory had not heard of late, and sleepy people turned in their beds. many had been listening for it, knowing it was going to be rung; some got up and looked from their windows to see whether the street became lively with workmen, or whether it remained silent.

richard north was within the works. he had come out thus early, hoping to welcome his men. three or four entered with him. the bell rang its accustomed time, and then ceased; its sound dying away, and leaving a faint echo on the air. there was no other answer: the men had not responded to the call. nothing more, than that faint vibration of sound remained to tell of the appeal made by richard north.

richard north threw up the proposed contract; and proceeded on a journey without loss of time. some said he went to scotland, some to belgium; but the utmost known about it was that his departure had reference to business. but that he was a temperate man, and given to pity as much as to blame, he could have cursed the men's blind folly. what was to become of them? the work was there, and they drove it away from their doors, driving all chance with it of regaining prosperity. they were forcing him to supersede them: they were bringing despair, famine, death upon a place where content and comfort had once reigned. yes, death: as you will find. surely never did greater blindness than this fall on man!

days went on, and grew into weeks: and richard north was still absent. prospects seemed to be looking gloomy on all sides. to make matters worse, some cases of fever began to manifest themselves at dallory. dr. rane and his brother practitioner, mr. seeley, only wondered that something of the sort had not broken out before.

amidst other places that wore an air of gloom was the interior of dallory hall. madam's insatiable demands for money had been very partially responded to of late: not at all since the absence of richard. even she, with all her imperious scorn of whence supplies came, provided they did come, began to realize the fact that gold can no more be drawn from exhausted coffers than blood from a stone. it did not tend to improve her temper.

she sat one morning in what she was pleased to call her boudoir--a charming apartment opening from her dressing-room. several letters lay before her, brought up by her maid: she had carelessly tossed them aside for some hours, but was getting to them now when it was nearing midday. not very pleasant letters, any of them, to judge by madam's dark face. one was from sidney at homburg, piteously imploring for assistance--which had not recently been sent him; two or three were rather urgent demands for the payment of private accounts of madam's rather long delayed; one was a polite excuse from frank dallory and his sister for not accepting a dinner invitation. there was not a single pleasant letter amongst them all.

"i wonder what dick north means by staying away like this!--and leaving orders at ticknells' that no cheques are to be cashed!" growled madam in soliloquy. "he ought to be here. he ought to force those miserable men of his back to work, whether they will or not. he's away; arthur's away; sidney's away: and with this uncertain state of things out of doors and trouble within, the house is worse than a dungeon. people seem to be neglecting it: even mary dallory stays without the gates. that girl's an artful flirt: as matilda said yesterday. if arthur and dick were back she'd come fast enough: i should like to know which of the two she most cares for. it is absurd, though, to speak of her in conjunction with dick north! i think i'll go off somewhere for a time. should this suspicion of fever prove correct, the place will not be safe. i shall want a hundred pounds or two. and sidney must have money. he says he'll do something desperate if i don't send it--but he has said that before. confound it all! why does not gold grow upon trees?"

madam's dress this morning was a striped lilac silk of amazing rustle and richness. letting it all out behind her, she went down the stairs and through the hall, sweeping the dust along in a little cloud. mr. north was not in his parlour; madam went about looking for him.

to her surprise she found him in the drawing-room; it was not often he ventured into that exclusive place. he had a shabby long coat on, and a straw hat. madam's scornful head went up when she saw him there.

"what do you want?" she asked in a tone that plainly said he had about as much right in the room as an unwelcome stranger.

"i have come to beg some cotton of matilda to tie up these flowers," was mr. north's answer. "thomas hepburn's little boy is here, and i thought i'd give the child a posy."

"a posy!" repeated madam, scorning the homely term.

"i have no cotton," said matilda, who lay back in a chair, reading. "what should bring cotton in a drawing-room?"

"oh well--i can bind it with a piece of variegated grass," said mr. north with resignation. "i'm sorry to have troubled you, matilda."

"and when you have disposed of your 'posy,' i am coming to your parlour," said madam.

mr. north groaned as he went out. he knew that his peace was about to be destroyed for the day. there were moments when he thought heart and brain must give way under home worries and madam's.

"when did this come?" enquired madam, pointing to a letter that was placed upright on the mantelpiece: one addressed to richard north, in her son arthur's writing.

"this morning," shortly answered matilda, not looking up from her book.

"yes, arthur can write often enough to dick. this is the second letter that has come for him within a week. what did you do with the other?" madam broke off to ask.

"put it into dick's room until he comes home."

"but arthur does not trouble himself to write to us, or to let us know anything of his movements," resumed madam. "we have not had a syllable from him since he sent word that old bohun was dead. is he still in london?--or at his aunt's?--or where?"

"i'm sure i don't know where," retorted matilda, irritated at being interrupted.

neither did she care. madam turned the letter over in idle curiosity: but the postmark was not to be deciphered. leaving it on the mantelpiece, she went to look after mr. north. he stood on the lawn, doing something to a dwarf-tree of small and beautiful roses. there was some wind to-day, and his long coat waved a little in the breeze.

"did you hear what i said--that i was coming to your parlour?" demanded madam, swooping down upon him majestically. "money must be had. i want it; sidney wants it; the house wants it. i----"

mr. north had straightened himself. desperation gave him a little courage.

"i would give it you if i had it. i have always given it you. but what is to be done when i have it not? you must see that it is not my fault, madam."

"i see that when money is needed it is your place to find it," coolly returned madam. "sidney cannot live upon air. he has----"

"it seems to me that he lives upon gold," mr. north interrupted in querulous tones. "there's no end to it."

"sidney must have money," equably went on madam. "i must have it, for i purpose going away for a time. you will therefore----"

"goodness me! here's the telegraph man."

this second interruption was also from mr. north. telegraphic messages were somewhat rare at dallory hall; and its master went into a flutter. his fears flew to his well-beloved son, dick. the messenger was coming up the broad walk, a despatch in his hand. mr. north advanced to meet him; madam sailing behind.

"it is for captain bohun, sir," spoke up the man, perceiving something of mr. north's agitation.

"for captain bohun!" interposed madam. "where's it from?"

"london, madam."

motioning the messenger to go to the house for his receipt, she tore it open without the smallest ceremony, and read its contents:

"dr. williams to arthur bohun, esq.:

"james bohun is dying. sir nash wishes you to come up without delay."

looking to right and left, stood madam, her thoughts busy. where could arthur be? why had he left london?

"do you know?" she roughly asked of mr. north.

"know what, madam?"

"where arthur bohun is."

mr. north stared a little. "why, how should i know?" he asked. "it's ever so long since arthur wrote to me. he sends me messages when he writes to dick."

madam swept into the drawing-room. she took the letter from the mantelpiece, and coolly broke its black seal. even matilda's scruples were aroused at this.

"oh, mamma, don't!" she exclaimed, starting up and putting her hand over the letter. "don't open that. it would not be right."

madam dexterously twitched the letter away, carried it to the window and read it from end to end. matilda saw her face turn ghastly through its paint, as if with fright.

"serves her right," thought the young lady. "mamma, what is amiss?"

madam crumpled the letter into a ball in her agitated hand: but no answer came from her white lips. turning abruptly up the stairs, she locked herself into her chamber.

"she is in an agony of fright--whatever the cause may be," quoth miss matilda, in soliloquy.

ere the day had closed, the household was called upon to witness madam's sudden departure by train. she went alone: and gave not the slightest clue as to where she might be going, or when she would return.

matilda north had aptly worded the paroxysm: "an agony of fright." she might have added: a tempest of fury; for madam was in both. for that letter had given her the news of arthur bohun's present locality--and that he was by the side of ellen adair. what had become of dick? the letter asked. he must hasten and come, or he would be too late. madam did not understand at all. there followed a mysterious intimation to dick; to dick, whom arthur so trusted and who was true as steel; it was more obscure even than the rest; but it seemed to hint at--yes, to hint at--marriage. marriage? madam felt her flesh creeping.

"a son of mine marry her!" she breathed. "heaven help me to avert the danger."

about the last woman, one would think, who ought to call for help from heaven.