and handsome!)”

Number 4.—Francis Herapath, Esquire, Merchant, to James Blake, Esquire, Solicitor.

“Private and Confidential.

“Dear Blake,—Being detained here owing to a miscarriage of some of our luggage, I write this instead of waiting till I see you, as it may be another week before we are home.

“During our travels my daughter has become engaged to a Mr Mark Railsford, apparently a very desirable and respectable young man. You will wonder why I trouble you about such a very domestic detail. The young gentleman was very frank and straightforward in making his proposal, and volunteered that if I desired to make any inquiries, he was quite sure that you, his late father’s solicitor, would answer any questions. I have no doubt, from the readiness with which he invited the inquiry and his satisfaction in hearing that you and I were old friends, that you will have nothing to say which will alter my favourable impression. Still, as my child’s happiness is at stake, I have no right to omit any opportunity of satisfying myself. Anything you may have to say I shall value and treat as confidential.

“I understand Mr R., under his father’s will, has a small property; but of course it will be necessary for him now to find some occupation, which with his abilities I have no doubt he will easily do. As usual, the young people are in a hurry to know their fate, so it will be a charity to them to reply as soon as convenient. Excuse the trouble I am giving you, and, with kind regards to Mrs B. and your sister,—

“Believe me, yours faithfully,—

“Fras. Herapath.”

Number 5.—Mark Railsford to William Grover, Grandcourt.

“Lucerne, September 9th, 18—.

“Dear Grover,—You have often in your lighter moods laughed at the humble individual who addresses you. Laugh once again. The fact is, I am engaged. I can fancy I see you reeling under this blow! I have been reeling under it for thirty-six hours.

“It’s partly your fault. Coming over the Saint Gothard a week ago, I fell in with a family party, Herapath by name; father, mother, boy and girl. They had come part of the way by train, and were driving over the top. The boy and I walked, and I discovered he was at Grandcourt, and of course knew you, though he’s not in your house, but Moss’s. That’s how you come to be mixed up in it. During the last hour or so Miss H— walked with us, and before we reached the Devil’s Bridge my fate was sealed.

“The ladies were in great distress about some lost luggage—lost by the kind offices of the boy—and I went back to Como to look for it. It lost me two days, and I never found it. However, I found the brightest pair of blue eyes when I got back. I will draw you no portraits, you old scoffer; but I challenge you to produce out of your own imagination anything to match it. I don’t mind confessing to you that I feel half dazed by it all at present, and have to kick myself pretty often to make sure it is not a dream. The father, whom I bearded yesterday, nods his head and will say ‘Yes’ as soon as he’s looked into my credentials. Meanwhile I am tolerated, and dread nothing except the premature turning up of the lost luggage.

“But, to be practical for once in my life. Amongst much that is delightfully vague and dreamy, one thing stands out very clear in my own mind at present. I must do something. My loafing days are over. The profession of a gentleman at large, with which you twit me, I hereby renounce. She will back me up in any honest work—she says so. I’ve confessed the way I wasted the last three years. She said she is glad she did not know me then. Oh my, William, it is all very well for you to scoff. I’m not ashamed to tell you what it is that has brought me to my senses. Don’t scoff, but help a lame dog over a stile. My object in life is to have an object in life at present. Give me your counsel, and deserve the benediction of someone besides your friend, M.R.”

The patient reader must infer what he can from these five letters. They are copied word for word from the original documents, and speak for themselves. I am unable to say whether the luggage was found—whether Miss Daisy got her sleeves altered to her liking—whether Arthur found any “fun” left on his arrival, a fortnight late, at Grandcourt, or how soon Mr Blake’s reply to the father’s letter reached Lucerne. All these momentous questions the reader can settle for himself as well as I can for him. He will at any rate be able to understand that when one day in October a telegram reached Railsford from Grandcourt with the brief announcement—“Vacancy here; see advertisement Athenaeum! am writing”—it created no small stir in the manly breast of the worthy to whom it was directed.

He went at once to Westbourne Park and held a cabinet council with his chief adviser, and again, on returning home, called his sisters into consultation. He wrote to his college tutor, drew up a most elegant letter to the governors, read a few chapters of Tom Brown’s Schooldays, and then waited impatiently for Grover’s promised letter.

“You will have guessed,” said that letter, when it arrived, “from my telegram that Moss has resigned, and that there will be a vacancy for a house-master and Master of the Shell here at Christmas. You know how I would like to see you appointed. But—”

“But what?” inquired someone who read the letter over the reader’s shoulder.

“I should not be your friend if I represented this place as a bed of roses, especially Moss’s house. You’ll have hard work to hold your own with the boys, and harder still with some of the masters. You will get more criticism than backing-up from head-quarters. Still it is a splendid opening for a man of courage like you; and all the school would profit by your success. Talk to Podmore about it; he’ll give you good advice. So will Weston. Of course I can do nothing at all but look on sympathetically, and, if you try for the place and succeed, promise you at least one hearty welcome.”

“It seems pretty clear it won’t be child’s play,” said Railsford, folding up the letter.

“It would not suit you if it was,” replied his adviser.

This brave speech went far to make up Railsford’s mind.

In the house at Westbourne Park, particularly, the career opening before our hero was hailed with eager enthusiasm. “Dear Arthur” was in Moss’s house, and at Christmas he would get his remove to the Shell. In both capacities he would have the protecting interest of his prospective brother-in-law, spread like an aegis over his innocent head. “It really seems almost a providential arrangement,” said Mrs Herapath.

“I am sure it will be a great thing for Arthur,” said Daisy.

“It makes one believe there’s some truth in the saying that every man has his niche waiting for him somewhere in life,” moralised Mr Herapath.

That evening a letter came from Arthur to Daisy. The boy, of course, knew nothing of Railsford’s candidature.

“Such a flare-up!” wrote the youth. “Moss has got kicked out! He’s jacked it up, and is going at Christmas. Jolly good job! He shouldn’t have stopped the roast potatoes in the dormitories. Bickers’s fellows have them; they can do what they like! Dig and I did the two mile spin in 11.19, but there was too much slush to put it on. All I can say is, I hope we’ll get a fellow who is not a cad after Moss, especially as he will be Master of the Shell, and I’ll get a dose of him both ways after Christmas. We mean not to let him get his head up like Moss did; we’re going to take it out of him at first, and then he’ll cave in and let us do as we like afterwards. Dig and I will get a study after Christmas. I wish you’d see about a carpet, and get the gov. to give us a picture or two; and we’ve got to get a rig-out of saucepans and kettles and a barometer and a canary, and all that. The room’s 15 feet by 9, so see the