CHAPTER III.

YOUR TEARS DO NOT MOVE ME.'

'Was ever match clapt up so suddenly?'
Taming of the Shrew.

'A night is but small breath and little pause,
To answer matters of this consequence.'

Henry IV.

It was late for Mr. Gerard to be up, but when he went to his room he did not feel as if he could go to bed. His mind was so excited by this unexpected meeting with the son of his dear friend and benefactor that sleep was altogether out of the question, so he threw himself down in a chair and began to think. What a long way back his thoughts had to travel before they reached that portion of the past during which he and the Aylesbury of other years, who lived again in the young man whom he had just seen, dwelt together in

brotherly fellowship! It was twenty-seven years since the Bishop had died, and it would soon be fifty since they had left Cambridge together. Mr. Gerard had spent a great portion of his life in ignorance of the fact that his friend had left a child, and had doubtless lost repeated opportunities of giving help to that child when help was most needed.

'And I was not half kind enough to the poor young fellow to-night,' thought the old man. 'It must be a terrible thing to be ordered off out of the country in this way, and it is quite evident that there is something he is not happy about. I shall not see him again in the morning. I did so want to say that I should like to get up early to say goodbye to him, but I was so afraid of his thinking me and my affection a nuisance. I wish I had said a little more when we parted. I wanted to repeat my wish that he should look on me as a father to whom he could come in

any trouble, and to assure him that my heart shall always be open to him and my help never denied. It is very mortifying to have expressed myself so inadequately while I was

feeling as anxious for his happiness as if he had been my own son.'

Little as Mr. Gerard had to reproach himself with on this score, he did reproach himself, and most bitterly, and he could find no peace until it occurred to him that he could write what he had been unable to say. He took a pen at once and wrote as his heart dictated; but how was he to ensure this note being given to Aylesbury before his hurried departure next morning? It was now midnight, or near it; perhaps some of the servants were still up and about. He took a

candle, and, letter in hand, went noiselessly downstairs. The rooms were all empty-no servant was to be seen. At last, rather than go back to his room with his errand unsped, Mr. Gerard was fain to follow an inspiration which suddenly came to him. He went into the outer hall, and laid the letter down on the mat by the door, with the address turned so as to face anyone about to leave the house. This address was so plainly written in such large characters, and with such very black ink, that any servant who saw it could read it, and the very oddity of the place that had

been chosen would fix the letter in his remembrance. 'That will do,' thought Mr. Gerard; it will do capitally! There will not be many of the servants up at six. Perhaps no one will go near the door till it is opened for that dear boy. I like the idea that the last thing that happens to him on leaving the house will be receiving a kind word from me!'

Happy in mind now, Mr. Gerard began to return to his own room. As he reached the landing which led to it, he saw under a small jet of gas a card hanging on the wall which he had not previously observed. It was intended as a help to visitors and visitors' servants with short memories, and gave a list of the occupants of each room on that floor, and the numbers on the doors of their rooms. 'No. 5, Mrs. Cradock. No. 6, Mr. Gerard. No. 7, Miss Juliet Cradock.' This prompted him to go to the floor above, where, as he had expected, he found a similar card, and learnt that Aylesbury slept in No. 9.

Then he went back to the hall for his letter, and took it to No. 9. The door was slightly open. He knocked, but no one answered.

He knocked again, with a similar result. After a moment's hesitation he went in.

Aylesbury was not there. He is in the smoking-room, perhaps,' thought Mr. Gerard; ‘but I can't find my way there. Besides, if I leave my letter here, that is the best thing I can do.' He laid it on the dressing-table, and felt that this was a better place than the mat. Then he set out on his way back to his own room. As he passed Mrs. Cradock's door, he heard it open and someone begin to come out, but the person, whosoever it was, was arrested by a very angry voice, and he heard the words, 'It's no use crying; your tears don't move me in the least.' That was all he heard, except a fresh outbreak of weeping from someone just by the door. He was vexed at having heard what was not intended for his ears, but it was not his fault. Doubtless Mrs. Cradock was carrying out her intention of upbraiding her niece for encouraging ineligible suitors. The scolding was severe. Why did not the old lady take a more generous view of the situation? She was a millionaire, and could give a handsome dowry without so much as missing it. Why did she