means in his power. Here, too, he made a fatal mistake; Mrs. Gurnett did wish to rid herself of Mary by sending her to a madhouse; but like the imperious sovereign, Queen Elizabeth, who signed the death-warrant of ill-fated Mary, Queen of Scots, and then would shift all the odium of the murder on Secretary Davison; so Mrs. Gurnett made Willis her stalking-horse, and afterwards laid the whole blame of the sad tragedy that followed on his shoulders.

"It's a heavy charge for a lone widow woman like myself," sighed the widow," to hev the custody o' that poor demented wench; it's more than I can bear, sometimes, and it's just wearing me to skin and bone. Well, what's to do, Judith?" she added, as that withered, cross-grained old dame entered the room, and stood twitching her checked apron in her brown fingers, and looking alternately at her mistress and Willis.

She was a cross old woman, we must confess, and she was very ignorant and stupid, understanding more, probably, about the cows she milked so assiduously, than she did of human nature, or, at least, of the more sensitive and tender feelings of the human mind. She was not gentle, or kind, or loving; but she was not, on the other hand, vicious and cruel, and no particle of the vile passions that actuated Mrs. Gurnett and Willis existed in the heart of this poor woman, with her rugged face and her sullen look.

"I'se just come to say a word about yon wench o' yourn, misses."

"She's no wench o' mine," said Mrs. Gurnett, sharply.

"Weel, wench o' thine or no, mistress, I wad warn ye to look mair after her. She's been none so well in mind or body these last few days. I've got it o' my mind that if she's not weel watched, she'll do hersel' a mischief."

"She's mair like to do me a mischief," replied Mrs. Gurnett, t rtly; "and she has done me enow already. I canna sleep o' neets, and I canna enjoy my victuals, wi' thinkin' o' her and her tantrums, and wonderin' what devilries she'll be at next."

Weel, missus, I reckon she'll not trouble any one much longer i' this world; she's worsened ever sin' her faither deed, and she's verra ill th' neet. Ye suld hev some one to watch her."

"What do you sleep with her for?" asked Mrs. Gurnett, darting a furious look at the old woman.

"Because ye tauld me to," replied the latter, doggedly; "but its sma' use putting an auld woman like me to watch her in ony sort o' fashion. I'se deaf, and I sleep heavy after my day's wark."

"Get thee gone to bed, and dinna prate any longer. I know

one thing, I shall hev to put the wench i' a mad-house if thi' goes on."

best, an' I winna As for putting the there is ony need o'

"Weel, missus, ye ken your ain affairs meddle; but dinna say I hev nae warned ye. poor lassie in a mad-house, I dinna think that. Howsomever, I've said my say, an' I've nowt mair to do wi't; I'se wash my hands o't aw."

And so the old woman did; and when afterwards her mistress tried to wash her hands also, and put all the mire on the lawyer, Judith was the great stumbling-block in the way of Mrs. Gurnett's accomplishing her feat.

"I marvel, ma'am, how you can put up wi' the insolence o' that auld hussey," exclaimed Willis, when Judith had quitted the

room.

"I've a many things to put up wi', Mr. Willis, for I've nae friends. If I knew any person who deserved the name, they would hev helped me long sin' to rid my house o' that mad wench."

"Good lack, madam," replied the lawyer, trying to assume a sentimental air, which ill became him, and laying his hand on his heart, "you have a friend; but, alas! you seem to know him not, one who would die for you-and-and suffer the torture of the rack," be added, floundering dreadfully in this, to him, new style of speech.

Dinna make a fule o' yoursel'," answered Mrs. Gurnett with a tigerish look, which quite daunted the lawyer; "there are nae racks now-a-days, ye ken that weel, an', as for dyin', I want no one to die for me; but I wad ca' that person my friend, and be vastly obliged to him, who wad get that mad wench off my hands, and settled quiet and safe for good and aw' in a mad-house, which is the only place that's fit for her?"

"Weel, ma'am, you know full well I am ready to arrange that matter for you. Only make up your mind. I know a private madhouse some way from here, where Mary might be stowed away, and none be any the wiser. I could come to-morrow evening after dark, and we would soon have her off. I would bring those with me that would know how to quiet her, if she got into one of her devil's moods. Pr'ythee, what was that?" he added suddenly, looking startled. "Did you not hear a noise at yon door?"

And he pointed to a door at the other end of the room, which Judith, when she went out, had left a little ajar.

"I hurd nae noise. One wad think ye had been plotting a murder to look at your white, scared face; 'twas nowt but th' wind soughing round the house, and the ivy-leaves, happen, flapping against the window.

But Willis had spoken truly; there had been a noise outside that door, and there was a ghastly face glued against one of the little greenish panes of glass at the top of the door, and a cold, icy hand clutching the handle. The moaning sound was not the wind, but a smothered wail of mortal anguish.

Poor Mary, with fatal cunning, had feigned sleep when Judith came to bed, and so soon as the old woman lay snoring by her side, which was the case in a few minutes, she got up, and stole away to hearken whether her stepmother and the lawyer were talking about herself; for though her mind was a blank in many respects, the idea that Mrs. Gurnett would put her in a mad-hous was very tangible and ever present.

"I wad make it weel worth the while o' any one to take car o' the wench," said Mrs. Gurnett, after a pause. "Her poor fathe left her a yearly sum, quite enow to maintain her. I suppose she wad be weel treated?"

The last few words were uttered carelessly, and provoked an ironical smile from the lawyer.

“Oyh, as weel as they treat mad folks. They are kind enow to them while they are peaceable, but when they go into their tantrums and rave, why, they maun clap them on a straight-jacket, and chain them down on the straw. And sma' wonder, they are like nowt but wild beasts, and why serve them better? However, I suppose if you get rid of Mary, you'll not inquire too closely into the ins-and-outs of things?"

"As far as regards the wench hersel', no," answered Mrs. Gurnett, who had listened with horrible indifference to the lawyer's speech; "but them Cliftons, and that wretch of a parson Lawson, are always on the look-out; so mind, Mr. Willis, ye maun be careful, and ye maun manage aw the matter yoursel'. I'se gie ye a written warranty to clap her i' the mad-house, but I wad rather it should seem I were driven to the step without liking it; so I'll just slip off somewheres to-morrow, and then you can come and carry her off unbeknownst, like, to me; and ye mun show no surprise when I seem fashed and sorry that ye suld hae acted on my orders. You'll know it's only make-believe. It wad seem worse to folk for me to clap her up than for you to d'ot; and then you could say you had dune it fro' pure compassion for me, because aw the worry was bringin' me to my grave; and mind, if ye oblige me in this matter, Willis, you shall fix your ain reward."

In spite of all Mrs. Gurnett's logic, and the strong hopes engendered by her last remarks, Willis felt considerable inward dis gust and indignation. He had the unpleasant conviction that Mrs. Gurnett was making of him what is vulgarly called "a cat's-paw.' Still, to be the husband of that buxom dame and the master of her

fortune for master he promised himself he would be, when once they were wed-were advantages not to be lightly renounced; so he smothered his anger as best he could, and said—

'Well, I think we will fix for to-morrow night. I shall have time to arrange all 'twixt this and then; but I do not see any reason why you suld leave home."

"I dunnot care what ye see," answered the virago. "I'se hev it aw done as I hev said, or not at all; and if ye canna oblige me, I'll find plenty that well."

"You expect me to do a great deal for you, Mistress Gurnett," said Willis, trying to pluck up courage, in the hope of drawing a tangible promise from her, "and you will do little or nowt for me : at least, do me one favour and tell me--”

The widow suddenly interrupted Willis, by saying in a tart voice,

"There's two bad paymasters-them as pays beforehand, and them as never pay at aw. I dinna mean to be among the latter, nor the former aither, so ye mun just take my word, and I'll reward you in a way you'll like. Dinna ask any mair questions, and get ye gone, for it grows late."

CHAPTER XXIII.

"I COME, MOTHER; I COME."

OLD Judith was a heavy sleeper, but she chanced to wake that night, and putting out her arm to feel for Mary, she missed her from her side, and at once sprang from her bed, and lighting a candle, hastily made her way downstairs.

A cold gust of icy wind blew upon her, as she reached a passage, from which a door led into the back garden; the door was open, and Mary was just flying out when Judith caught her.

'Eyh, Judith, dunno stop me; mother's been calling me aw the neet."

The face which the poor girl turned upon the old woman was so wan and ghastly, so pitiful in its expression of deep and mortal anguish, that tears fell from the eyes of the usually stolid and peevish old servant.

"Nay, deary," she said, with something of fondness in her tone, "" we mun go back to our room; 'tis but a dream thou hast

had."

Weel, Judith, I'll come to bed; but," she added, nodding her head, "I'll shew them aw, some day, what I'll do."

When they had reached their little sleeping apartment, Judith found it, for the present at any rate, an useless task to try and

induce Mary to come to bed: so she wrapt herself up in her old cloak of grey cloth, and sat down to watch her.

Ignorant as she was, Judith had not failed to notice the change in Mary since her father's death. From being naturally cheerful, she had become, during the last few weeks, gloomy and desponding. Her temper and disposition appeared altered in a remarkable degree. She was extremely irritable, and was frequently heard talking to herself, and, when questioned, she would give no cause for her unusual melancholy. Sometimes, in her soliloquies, when she thought herself quite alone, she would mutter words that shewed the dreadful purpose her poor distraught mind was bent on; and hence Judith's warning to Mrs. Gurnett.

Constant brooding over depressing ideas had given them such a hold upon her mind as to completely disturb its balance. Then, as Mr. Cheney had truly said, she was so friendless, Ann Settle and Judith the only beings in the house who felt pity or love for her, and the old servant was, of course, singularly unfit to be trusted with such a charge.

"Let us put out th' candle, Judith," said Mary as she drew back the window curtains; "the snow has stopped falling, and the moon is shining so bright-eyh, but its a braw neet, and every time the wind blows I hear my mother's voice."

"Never mind, Mary; dunnot stop to luik at th' moon-'tis bitter cauld-come to bed."

"Nay! I've got lots o' wark to do. I mun luik at my clothes, and see what I'll wear at Helen Cheney's wedding."

Poor Mary seemed to have resumed some of her former cheerfulness; and as Judith sat nodding in her chair, watching her through her half-closed eyes, so heavy with sleep, she saw her trying on first one article of dress and then another; now she would be flitting about in the white moonbeams, in the faded finery she had purloined from her stepmother's wardrobe, and then, again, in the coarse russet gown of the old woman herself.

Once during those long hours, Judith was roused up by seeing poor Mary pacing wildly up and down the room, wringing her hands, weeping and sobbing, and exclaiming at intervals, "Oh dunnot tak me theer-let me die first." Then she clutched the old servant by the arm : "Save me, Judith! save me!"

"What frightens ye, deary?"

"Luik in yon corner, Judith."

"Weel, I see nowt, Mary."

"He is geane now then; but I saw Bump Willis theer a minu t sin', Judith; and he had gotten chains i' his hands to put on me; and I thought he had come to tak me to the madhouse."

"I wad nae let him," said Ju lith, soothingly; "but come to bed, poor lass! thou't as caull as a corpse."