prisoner. You are charged with robbing your master of £31 17s. 6d."

Paul was amazed. For a few minutes he was unable to speak.

"I do not understand you," he said at last. "What robbery do you mean?"

"The money you received yesterday," said Joe Marlings.

"Why, it is in the drawer in Mr. Elton's private room. You saw me put it there, Joe, and you too, William Fenning."

"You put it in the drawer certainly," said William Fenning; "but you came here in the middle of the night and took it out again." "Why, I came here," said Paul, "only to""You had better not commit yourself," said one of the policemen. "Whatever you say now will be used as evidence against you."

"I am sorry for you, Paul," said Mr. Elton (who had arrived home early that morning), entering the workshop-" very sorry. You were the last I should have suspected-but you must come before the magistrate; and, if you can prove your innocence, no one will be more pleased than myself."

So Paul was taken to the police-court-Mr. | Elton leading the way, his workmen following, and all the idlers of Maybury bringing up the

Adam Moor, who had evidently been taking something to give him courage for any crossexamination, remembered the evening as if it was yesterday. After work he went to the Blue Dragon, it being a club-night, and passed the evening with some jolly good fellows. They talked politics and parish matters, but he never said a word about the money to anybody; and if he had, no one could have got into the workshop, as Paul had the only key, and the door was too strong to be broken open, even if it had been, which it wasn't. He was surprised to hear that Paul had taken the money; for he had known him ever since he was a boy, and there wasn't a more industrious lad in all Maybury.

a short time after, the foreman gave their verdict "Guilty."

A scream was heard from the far-off end of the court, and Paul saw his mother being carried out insensible.

The Judge said that it was impossible to deal leniently with the prisoner, for it was no common offence. It was not like a poor man taking money to keep his family from starving; but here was a case of broken trust-of a man who had received every kindness from his master, had good wages, and yet could rob that master of a sum of money which had been left in his care. His sentence was seven years' penal servitude.

Paul was led away from the court with the maddening thought in his mind that his good name was gone for ever. However, there is no need to dwell on his grief, nor on that of his mother and the few old friends who still be

his trial he was on board ship, in company with men who had committed every conceivable crime, bound for one of the convict islands.

Joe Marlings, who seemed to look upon a witness-box as a good place for a quiet snooze, said the evening in question was "awful hot." As soon as he reached home from work, he went to sleep under the trees in his back-lieved him innocent. Within a short time of garden, and did not wake till it was time to go to bed. Begging his worship's pardon, but, as the court was "awful hot" too, he would sooner be in bed than where he was. He wouldn't pick up a penny if he saw it lying in the street,-[A voice in the crowd: "No, Joe, you'd be too lazy to stoop "]-much less rob his master, the kindest, betterest

Here he was told he might retire.

Peter, the boy, on account of his tender years, was excused from appearing.

In defence, Paul Dale said he was innocent, True, he entered the workshop alone at the hour mentioned, but it was only to fetch his tools. which he particularly wanted at home. While looking for the basket, he fancied he heard a noise in the room below, but, finding no one there, he put it down to the wind or his imagination. He had now no doubt that it was the robber he heard, though how he came and went so quickly, and by what means he opened the drawer, he could not make out. He did not think it was any of the workmen, though they all knew the money was there. That found upon him was his own savings, which he was about to take to the bank; and no one was more surprised than himself when he heard of the robbery.

The Judge, in summing up the case, said that facts were very much against the prisoner. The story Paul had just told was very well of itself; but any thief could invent a tale like that when found out. He was known to have received the money; had the only keys of the private drawer and workshop in his possession; was seen to enter the place secretly, at a late hour in the night (the story of the footsteps below, the jury might believe if they could, but if William Fenning watched Paul enter and come out again, he would surely have noticed if anyone else had entered the workshop in the meantime); and money equal to the amount of that stolen was the next morning found in the prisoner's possession.

The jury retired; and, when they came back

66

CHAP. III.

AFTER LONG YEARS."
Seven years have passed.

nals, has listened to their vile oaths and disgustPaul Dale has been the companion of crimiing language, and has heard and seen so much whether there was any good left in the world, or if he was not dreaming some hideous dream. first few months of his transportation, Paul used But his own nature is the same. During the to wonder whether it would be a sin to put an end to his life, thinking it would be almost impossible to live seven years in such company and he thought of his poor old mother and Nellie Raynot fall into some of their sinful ways; but when dian angel, he would become calmer, and pray for mond, whose memory haunted him like some guarhelp to live sinless through the bitter long years which were before him. O! what weary years they were! The same monotonous work every day; and when that was over, no companion but his own miserable thoughts. At first he hoped to find some one amongst the prisoners who was not hopelessly bad, or who had already repented, whom he might make his friend and companion; but his search was useless, and he was shunned, laughed at, insulted, and, if it had not been for his strong arm, would have been worse treated, merely because he was better (morally, for there were some there who had been "fine gentlemen" once upon a time) than the others.

that is wicked that he has sometimes wondered

to

And at last his time was up, and he returned
England.

But Paul looked careworn now-at least ten years older than he really was; not that any of his old friends would have recognised him, for

debts.

his sunburnt face, stooping shoulders, and long, gage his cottage and orchard to pay off his beard made him look quite a different man. Of course, as soon as he arrived in England, he hurried off to his native place. There we will precede him, and see what changes have taken place in Maybury since the day when Paul left the town a convicted felon.

Poor Mrs. Dale was dead! She had struggled with poverty for a long time, and her neighbours gave her all the assistance in their power; but from Mr. Elton she would not receive anything, saying that money from one who had appeared against her innocent son would only bring a curse upon her. At last, she was obliged to go to the workhouse; and there, one cold winter morning, she died, talking of Paul in her last moments. Adam Moor has taken the pledge, and is now one of the best workmen in Maybury. Joe Marlings is as sleepy as ever. Mr. Elton, who was sorry for Paul, and yet felt inwardly that he had done right in appearing against him, has prospered in business, though his life has been somewhat cheerless. He is now thinking about retiring from an active part in the business, and the partner who will take his place is, so say the gossips, no other than William Fenning, the Methodist.

Such was the state of affairs when Paul came back to Maybury. He arrived there one autumnal evening, and his first question was about his mother. You can imagine his grief, when he heard of her death, and the poverty in which her last days had been spent. And then he heard that William Fenning was expected to be made what he himself once stood a chance of being, namely, Mr. Elton's partner. His mother being dead, Paul thought it unnecessary to make himself known; so after taking a last look at the cottage in "Cherry-tree Dells," he would quit Maybury and seek work in some distant town, where neither himself nor his previous history would be known.

he was just awakening. As Paul reached Mr. Raymond's cottage, one of the upper windows was opened, and some one looked out at the stars. It was Nellie, looking almost as young and childish as when Paul had asked her to come to the flower-show. But she soon disappeared; and as there was a light in the lower room, Paul ventured to look in through the half-open. window. Two men were sitting in the room, old Mr. Raymond and William Fenning. It may have been a wrong thing to do, but Paul listened, and this is what he heard:

The clover fields looked just as they did when he walked through them full of happy thoughts seven years ago; but his old home had disappeared, and in its place a row of model cottages had been erected. How familiar the walk seemed! What dreamy memories came across him as he passed by the dear old scenes of other days! And there was Cherry-tree Dells," looking the same as ever, and for a few moments it seemed to Paul as if the long years of his transNow, during the seven years William Fen-portation had been a fearful dream, from which ning's worldly prospects had changed more than those of any one in Maybury. Somehow, when Paul went away, William became foreman in the shop, and was soon as much in his master's confidence as Paul had been. Not that Mr. Elton could ever like the Methodist as he once did Paul Dale; but William was certainly a clever workman, and soon knew as much, if not more, of the business than Mr. Elton himself did. Now William Fenning had been well paid, and, as he lived rent-free over the shop (Mr. Elton thought it safe, after the robbery, to have a man always living in the house, in case he should be again absent) had managed to save a good deal of money; so that Mr. Elton, inwardly disliking the man in his heart, though he could see no reason for it, had almost made up his mind to receive him as a partner. So far William had been prosperous; but there was something that made his days blank and cheerless, and kept him awake all night: he hopelessly loved Nellie Raymond. He had loved her long before Paul weat away, though he knew well there was no chance for him; but when the young carpenter left, William thought he would try and court Nellie, and went over to " Cherry-tree Dells" often of an evening. But it was of no

use.

Nellie would scarcely speak to him; and her father, a strict churchman of the old school, disliked him merely because he was a Methodist and a teetotaller. In vain William would tell Nellie of the riches he was accumulating, and of the grand house she should live in if she became his wife; and all through the seven years he would haunt the house where Nellie lived, though he must have known that he was unwelcome. To make things worse, there had been a bad fruit season, and people said old Mr. Raymond had been obliged to mort

"I think you are treating me very unkindly, William," said the old man, in a weak voice: "hav'nt I gone through trouble enough, without your wishing to turn poor Nellie and my. self from our home to wander God only knows where?"

"You mistake me, Mr. Raymond," said William; "I was merely stating facts. You mortgaged your cottage and ground some time back; the money will be due in six weeks' time, and you are unable to pay it. Now, I, knowing what a hard man you had to deal with, bought the mortgage of him; so if you cannot pay me when it becomes due, this place is legally mine. But I do not wish to be hard upon you. I have loved your daughter Nellie ever since she and I were children. I love her now more than ever; and if you will only use your influence to make her consent to become my wife, I will tear the deed into a thousand pieces, aud lend you enough money with which to begin the world again."

"But, poor Nellie! she does not love you, and would never be happy as your wife. How ever, I will ask her; but if she refuses, I will not force her to consent. I would sooner be turned from home, and go to the workhouse."

"Very well, Mr. Raymond; your fate is in

your own hands. If Nellie refuses, you know what will be the consequences. Good night."

And William Fenning rose to depart. Paul had heard enough. He dared not stay until William came out, being afraid to trust himself alone with him; so he ran from the cottage, and did not stop until he was far away in the clover fields, when he thanked Heaven that he had been saved from lifting his hand against a fellow-creature, no matter how black the heart of that fellow-creature might have been.

Early next morning Paul left Maybury. He could do no good by staying, for he was too poor to help Mr. Raymond, though he would like to have done so. Even had he been rich, he could never have asked Nellie to become the wife of one who had been found guilty of breaking the eighth commandment; so after lingering by his mother's stoneless grave he left the place, and soon obtained work as a labourer in a sea-side town some miles off, where they were making a dockyard.

CHAP. IV.

CONCLUSION.

any longer. "I have been one for a great many years, and will be one no longer. Nellie Raymond may marry the greatest lout in the village, or die an old maid, for what I care."

He looked, though, as if he would have cared. "Has Nellie rejected you, then?" asked Mr. Elton.

"Yes, this very afternoon. But enough of that now. It's my belief she still loves Paul Dale; and if ever the thief comes back, I hope they'll have a jolly wedding, that's all !"

William said this savagely, as if he knew that such an event could never happen; but he never told Mr. Elton that, now Nellie refused to be his wife, he intended, in a few weeks, to turn her father from his cottage. He thought Mr. Elton was better without such knowledge of his character, until the deed of partnership was signed, or the old man might relent at the eleventh hour.

Before ten o'clock William said he was tired, and would go to bed; and somehow, they all felt a certain relief when he had gone.

"And so to-morrow that man will be your partner?" said the old man behind the cloud.

"But did you lock it the previous night ?" "I thought I had done so, but I must have forgotten it; and you will laugh at what I am going to tell you now. Why, the other night I fancied I saw a ghost."

"Yes," answered Mr. Elton. "I am getting old now, and want some one more active than myself, to look after the business. I don't know how it is, but my memory fails me terribly of late. It was Mr. Elton's birthday. A few old fel- Why, what do you think? Two or three mornlows like himself had dined with him, and theyings I have found the drawer in my private room were now sitting round the fire, drinking their wide open, just as it was when Paul Dale robbed wine and cracking their walnuts. Maybe they me." were thinking what a nice thing it was to be sitting round a bright fire when the autumn wind was raging without, and the rain was beating against the windows. Their conversation was of that friendly kind which is only heard amongst men who have known one another many years; and many pleasant reminiscences of old times were talked over, and many of the battles which they had all fought in their youth, in the great struggle for existence, were fought over again. William Fenning was the only young man there; but somehow he seemed anything but comfortable. In fact, he had looked anything but comfortable for some time past, and when certain things were said, would start, as if he feared what was coming next; and then, ( having interrupted the conversation, would apologize awkwardly, saying he did not know what ailed him that evening.

"A ghost!" cried all the old fellows, in chorus. "Let's hear about it."

"Well, I had been sitting up one night, long after William and Mrs. Grice had gone to bed, when, as soon as I quited this room, I fancied I saw a figure in white, in the passage. As soon as it saw me it rushed upstairs. I told William next morning, and he said that sitting-up late had heated my imagination."

"Why, bless me," said an old fellow, jumping up, "if I don't hear a footstep coming_down stairs now. Perhaps it's your ghost, Mr. Elton; suppose we all go and see."

Mr. Elton took one of the candles from the table, and went quietly towards the door; and the old fellows followed, though feeling somewhat frightened. There was no one in the passage, but a sound of something gliding along was heard in the workshop below. Mr. Elton and the old fellows went downstairs; and there, in a long night-dress, was what Mr. Elton had taken for a ghost, but what they now knew to be a man, walking in his sleep. Mr. Elton held the candle towards him, and they recognised William Fenning, who held a key in his hand, and was about to enter Mr. Elton's private room. Breathlessly the old fellows watched his proceedings. William walked up to the desk and, with the key he had in his hand, unlocked