The Volume Of The Sacred Law.

consider what you should do . I am sure that a Culverhouse is not guilty of dishonor where women are concerned ; but you astonish me beyond measure . In the morning we will talk of it . Without another word let us get to our beds ; I must think what is to be done . I must think , my boy—think ! " " God bless you , Ford ! Good night ! "

" Good night ! " It was past ten when the lawyer woke in the morning . He had not laid down to sleep before a silver streak had drawn itself along the sky far out where the toilers of the deep had cast their nets into the black waters of the Northern seas .

CHAPTER IV . And then forget their passions in the dread Of tills their desolation . THE smoking-room of the Corinthian Club was almost empty . It was New Year ' s Day . A couple of half-pay Colonels lounged

in front of the fire , puffing suffocating clouds of smoke from their fourpenny cigars . A man who has served the best years of his life in the Army , and who has entered the grey-hair stage with nothing but his reduced pay and position to Jive upon , must smoke fourpenny cigars if they are of his own purchase . He must also

kill most of his time at the club he belonged to when he did not wear square-toed shoes suspiciously bidden beneath seedy " spats " long since past the meridian of ordinary wear . Half-pay officers generally appear to be bachelors or widowers . Nobody knows where they come from or whither they go . They turn up at eleven

in the morning , to scan the paper and pass comments on the weather and the latest divorce case with a congenial spirit of their own order . They smoke . They sleep . They bully the waiters and make complaints to the steward if their threepenny cup of coffee is not heated to the recruisite temperature of their special fancy . They lounge into the billiard-room and pass a couple of hours watching

the play . They obstruct their younger fellows in reading the "tape , " and ask all sorts of ridiculous questions upon matters they don ' t understand . They take a cup of tea and a well-toasted muffin They seize upon the first editions of the evening papers , and sleep again . They snore . They leave the club-house at six . They take

a pennyworth of " 'bus " to some remote corner of Bayswater or Ftilham . They dine off a greasy mutton chop , without potatoes , and the next morning at eleven o'clock they are again members of the Corinthian .

The smoking-room was almost empty this New Year ' s Day , for men were away at their homes welcoming in , amid the dead memories of the past year , the hopes and ambitions of the present . Besides two old military men , a few young bloods , who have kicked over the domestic traces , are discussing the programme of a suggested stay in London , and are somewhat annoying , with their

boisterous talk—young bloods of the Corinthian are sometimes boisterous—a gentleman seated at one of the tables engaged in answering a rather formidable pile of correspondence . Suddenly the tumult ceases , for one of the number has recognised the individual in black , and whispers to his companions that it is the Earl

of Culverhouse , only come into the title but a few days . Two of the fellows are on intimate terms with him , but as be would , perhaps , wish they did not speak , they quietly leave the room to carry on their discussion somewhere else . It was only yesterday that his father was buried . The news of

the " sudden death of the Earl of Culverhouse from heart-disease , accelerated by the excitement of 'the ancestral feast , ' which was held earlier in the evening on which the sad event occurred , " had fallen upon the world and astonished it . But tlie world forgets these tilings without much trouble when it has sent a two-guinea wreath

and an empty carriage to represent its grief at the funeral . The body was laid in its last resting-place in the churchyard where all the Culverhouses lie buried , and was followed by the immediate male relatives of the deceased and the Freemasons of the Province of Durham . Immediately after the funeral , the Ladies Caroline

and Alice started , under the care of a maiden aunt , for a protracted stay in Italy , and Lord Crowdley—now the Earl—had journeyed to London . By the advice of Mr . Ford , it was arranged that his lordship should go at once to Chertsey and there disclose his identity to his wife , to remain hidden from the eyes of the world for a couple of months , and then bring the Countess home to

Culverhouse , all being prepared by Mr . Ford for her reception . While passing through the metropolis , the Earl had called at his club for the letters which must have accumulated for the past fewdays , and thus we find him writing , the day after his father ' s funeral , in the smoking-room of the Corinthian . He had decided to

telegraph his coming about three in the afternoon , so that he might reach " The Cottage" before dusk . He would not change his clothes , as their sombreness might be the means of first breaking the news to Gertrude . It was snowing fast as he left the cab at Waterloo , several minutes before the train started ; and the ground

was covered with it , beaten up into filth by the horses' hoofs and cart-wheels . A dull , leaden sky and a dull heart are hardly welcome at the New Year , but it is not always the most glorious daybreak that ends in the repose of a peaceful night . How long and miserable the journey down ! Chertsey at last , and snowing fast .

The fleecy flakes had fallen and covered the country to the depth of a foot , so that traffic was extremely difficult . The plump , red face of Tom , the head porter , stared in amazement when Mr . Rawlinson went by him at the barrier without his usual greeting .

" Bit dickey , I suppose , " thought Tom , who believed Mr . Rawlinson , the husband of the lady at " The Cottage , " to be a commercial traveller . Old Muffles , the only cabman the village boasted , was warming himself at the porters' fire whilst his horse was exposed to the weather outside . He came rumbling out at the voice of the traveller , and touched his greasy cap to the best customer Chertsey had ever known .

" Winter at last , sir , " said Muffles . " This is what I call a reg'lar rasper 1 Much more o' this ' ere , and cabs won't be . much blooming use . 'Ome , sir ? " " Yes ! Muffles , I ' m afraid you will have some difficulty after you cross the stream ; however , get as far as you can . " And Mr . Rawlinson shook the snow that had gathered already on his

coat , and stepped into the cab . A year hence—only one short year !—under somewhat similar circumstances , he remembered this day of all others in hi :, lifetime . A year hence , when the snow was falling thicker than it was here , his mind came back to this little winter village of the Thames

across the waste of waters over which his anguish hovers like an ocean mist . Old Muffles thrashed his horse as far as the old turnpike-road on the Middlesex side , where it was impossible to proceed , so the

Earl alighted , and faced the half-mile to the cottage on foot . It was slow progress , for the snow had drifted on the bank , and in places he sank up to his knees . Presently he came within sight of the house , and saw bright lights in some of the windows , as if welcoming him home . The gate was quite snowed up , and almost hidden , but he broke through the hedge at its side , and reached the

porch after a terrible scramble . He bad not been seen , —that was certain ; perhaps his telegram , owing to the storm , had not been delivered , and he came unexpected . Ellen , the jmrlor-maid , answered to his ring , and stood amazed at the sight of her master .

" Where's your mistress , my girl ? " he asked her , as he shook the snow from his garments . " Hasn ' t a telegram been delivered here ? " " Yes , sir , " replied the girl ; but she hesitated , and the Earl

saw it . " Well , where ' s your mistress ? ' ' " Mistress is not here , sir . " " Not here !" " No , sir . She left home the day after Christmas Day , and has not returned . Hasn't she been with vou , sir ? "