would put in one’s way—that, on my succeeding at length in arriving at the outer porch, and being enabled to don my hat once more, there was not a single trace of either her mother or herself to be seen anywhere in sight.

Here was a disappointment! While getting-out, I had made up my mind to track them home, and find out where they lived; and now, they might be beyond my ken for ever.

I had noted them both so keenly, as to their appearance and the manner in which each was dressed, for, in spite of mother and daughter being alike “in mourning,” there were still distinctive features in their toilets, that I could not have failed to distinguish them from the rest of the congregation.

But now, my plans were entirely overthrown. What should I do in the emergency? Stop, there was Horner; I would ask him if he had seen them. There, dressed a merveille and with his inseparable eye-glass stuck askew in the corner of his left eye, he stood listlessly criticising the people as they came forth from prayer, in his usual impertinently-inoffensive way. He was just as likely as not to have seen them, and could naturally give me the information I sought about the direction in which they had gone.

“Jack Horner,” as he was familiarly styled by those having the honour of his acquaintance, was a clerk in Downing Street languishing on a hundred-and-fifty pounds per annum, which paltry income he received from an ungrateful country in consideration of his valuable services on behalf of the state. How he contrived merely to dress himself and follow the ever-changing fashions on that sum, paid quarterly though it was, appeared a puzzle to many; but he did, and well, too. It was currently believed, besides, by his congeners, that he never got into debt, happy fellow that he was! notwithstanding that, in addition to his hopes of promotion at “the office,” he had considerable “expectations” from a bachelor uncle, reported to be enormously wealthy and with no near kindred to leave his money to save our friend Horner, who cultivated him accordingly.

No, Horner never got into debt. He was said to be in the habit of promptly discharging all his tailor’s claims punctually every year, as the gay and festive season of Christmas—and bills!—came round.

Truth to say, however, there need not have been any great astonishment concerning Horner in this respect. The surprise would have been that he had not discharged his just obligations to his tailor and others; for his habits were regular, and he was guiltless of the faintest soupçon of extravagance. He never played billiards, did not smoke, did not care about “little dinners” at Richmond or elsewhere, never betted, never went to the Derby, seldom, if ever, patronised the theatre, unless admitted through the medium of orders; consequently, he had no expenditure, with the exception of that required for his toilet, as he eschewed all those many and various ways mentioned for running through money, which more excitable but less conscientious mortals than himself find thrown in their way.

His neatly-clad form and constant eye-glass were in great request at all tea-parties and carpet dances that took place in the social circle to which he belonged; but, beyond such slight beguilements of “life’s dull weary round,” his existence was uneventful. His character altogether might be said to have been a negative one, as the only speciality for which he was particularly distinguished was for the variety of intonation and meaning which he could give to his two favourite exclamations, “Yaas,” and “Bai-ey Je-ove!”—thus economising his conversational powers to a considerable extent, which was a great advantage for him—and others, too, as he might, you know, have had little more to say.

Horner’s principal amusement when at home on a Sunday, was to go to church; that is, if he had not to go to town, which was sometimes the case even on the great day of rest, through his diplomatic skill being required in Downing Street. This was what he said, pleading his having to adjust some nice and knotty point of difference between the valiant King of Congo and the neighbouring and pugnacious Ja Ja, or else to remonstrate, in firm and equable language, as Officialdom knows so well how to do, against the repeated unjustifiable homicides of the despot of Dahomey, in sacrifice to his gods, beneath the sheltering shade of the tum-tum tree.

Well, what of that—you may pertinently remark—a most praiseworthy proceeding, surely, on his part to go to church whenever he possibly could? Granted; but then, Horner was prone to indulge in another practice which might not be held quite so praiseworthy in some people’s view.

Quite contrary to his abnormal mode of progression, he would hasten out of the sacred edifice immediately after the doxology; and, planting himself easily and gracefully in a studied attitude some short distance from the doors, would from that commanding position proceed to stare at and minutely observe the congregation, collectively and severally, as they came tripping forth from the porch after him. This was, really, very indefensible; and yet, I do not think that Horner meant to commit any deliberate wrong in so doing.

Be the motive what it may, such was his general habit.

He would always courteously acknowledge the passing salutations of men-folk with an almost imperceptible nod, so as not to disarrange the careful adjustment of his eye-glass, or disturb the poise of his beaver: to ladies, on the contrary, he was all “effusion,” as the French say, dashing off his hat as if he metaphorically flung it at their feet for a gage d’amour, not of battle—just like an Ethiopian minstrel striking the gay tambourine on his knee in a sudden flight of enthusiasm. All in all, Horner was essentially a ladies’ man, his points lying in that way; and, although what is popularly known as “harmless,” he was not by any means a bad sort of fellow on the whole, when judged by the more exacting masculine standard, being very good-natured and obliging, like most of us, when you did not put him out of his way or expect too much from him.

To me at this crisis of my fate, he appeared for the nonce an angel in human form. He would be just the person who could tell me in what direction my unknown enchantress went. I would ask him.

Fiat.

“Hullo, Horner!” I said, tapping him at once on the shoulder, and arresting him from the abstracted contemplation of two stylish girls in pink, who were just turning the corner of the churchyard out of sight.

“Yaas, ’do?” he replied, moving his head round slowly, as if it worked on a pivot which, wanted greasing, so as to confront me. He was as mild and imperturbable as usual. An earthquake, I believe, would not have quickened his movements.

“How d’ye do?” responded I to his mono-syllabical greeting. “I say, old fellow,” I continued, “did you chance to see which way two ladies went who came out a minute or so before myself? One was middle-aged, or thereabouts; the other young; both were dressed in half-mourning. They looked strangers to the parish, I think: you must have seen them, I’m sure, eh?”

“Bai-ey Je-ove! Two middle-aged ladies; one dwessed in hawf-mawning?—”

“Nonsense, Horner!” said I, interrupting him; “what a mess you are making of it! I said one lady was middle-aged; and both dressed in half-mourning.”

“Weally, now? No, Lorton, ’pon honah; didn’t see ’em, I asshaw you. Was it Baby Blake and her moth-ah, now, ah?” and he smiled complacently, as if he had given me a fund of information.

“Baby Blake!” I ejaculated in disgust—“why, Horner, you’re quite absurd. Do you take me for a fool? I think I ought to know Baby Blake as well as yourself by this time, my Solon!”

“Yaas; but, my deah fellah, I don’t know who you know, you know. Bai-ey Je-ove! there’s Lizzie Dangler. Who’s that man she’s got in tow, ah?”