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forget that you had a mother as well as a father-a mother whose fortune your father squandered! Your father was a selfish spendthrift. He was ashamed of his wife's relations, and of his own relations, while he lived; but he was not ashamed to leave you as a burden upon them when he died. I shall not ask your permission to give my opinion about such a man as that when I choose to give it."

By this time Miss Ramsden was very angry; and so was Chris, who twice attempted to speak, and then, breaking down suddenly, burst into tears.

This was just what her aunt desired. There are people-women, for the most part-who love bullying, yet are not intentionally cruel, and will show plenty of amiability towards those whom their bullying has vanquished. Such people, if held down by a strong hand, pass through life decently enough, and, by reason of their moral cowardice, seldom commit any great sins; but if circumstances render them independent, they are apt to become a curse to humanity. Miss Ramsden, having gained her victory, would not now have been unwilling to sign a treaty of peace; but, unluckily at that moment a fresh combatant threw himself into the fray.

Peter, as has been already said, was not upon good terms with the mistress of the house. He had thought badly of her from the first, and now he saw his worst suspicions confirmed. For some minutes past he had been listening with cocked ears to her screeching, scolding voice: he had understood very well that his mistress was being assailed, and when he saw Chris sink back in her chair and cover her face with her hands, he judged that the moment had come for him to intervene. Accordingly he went straight for old Miss Ramsden's legs, whereupon a very pretty hubbub ensued. Peter was dragged off, and there was really no damage done, except to a very ancient black alpaca gown; but Aunt Rebecca had a fit of hysterics, and was subse

quently led away to bed by Martha, who was summoned, and who slapped her on the back and applied restoratives without apparent success.

It was an unfortunate episode, and it had the effect of putting Chris in the wrong. Still she could not find it in her heart to punish Peter, who was much elated, and who, for fully ten minutes afterwards, sat nodding his head and giving little grunts, evidently saying to himself: "That's the sort of dog I am!"

It was not without some reluctance that Chris left this faithful partizan of hers in Martha's care on the following day. "I do believe," she said, "that Aunt Rebecca is capable of keeping him all day without food."

To which Martha replied, "That she is, miss, and no wonder. But he shall 'ave his dinner; though I do think you ought to 'ave give him a whipping. You naughty little creatur' you! How could you beyave so!"

But Peter, who liked Martha, knowing her to be a person of sterling qualities, rubbed himself against her and showed no signs of penitence; and so Chris departed, feeling that he was in safe hands.

She spent a long and tedious day at the Wimbledon villa which Mr. Compton had hired for the summer months. That hard-worked gentleman did not himself appear, his avocations compelling him to leave for London early in the morning and remain there until late at night. His wife was a faded, rather peevish sort of person, and his numerous daughters were colourless both in a physical and in a metaphorical sense. In the course of the afternoon Mrs. Compton said hesitatingly : "James told me to ask you whether you were comfortable with Miss Ramsden?" and seemed relieved when Chris replied: "Oh, yes, thank you; tolerably comfortable." It was evident that she had only invited her young kinswoman to pass a few hours with her because she had been ordered to do so, and that she found the hours

as long as her guest did. Chris was glad to get away from them, and registered an inward vow that she would not again trespass upon their hospitality.

It was growing dark when she reached Balaclava Terrace once more, and whistled twice after the peculiar fashion which Peter knew. But Peter did not come charging out of the house with a volley of short, joyous barks, as he was wont to do on those rare occasions when he had been deserted for a time by his mistress. Only Martha stood in the doorway with an odd, scared look upon her face, and caught Chris by the arm, whispering, "Hush, miss! don't whistle for him : he can't 'ear you. The poor little dog"- She stopped short and gave a kind of gasp, which ended almost like a sob.

"What have you done with him?" asked Chris, turning pale. "Where is he?"

"Oh, miss-oh, my dear, he's dead! It was none of my doing. The Lord He knows I'd give the 'arf of what I've saved in all these years to give him back to you as you give him to me! but there! what's the good of talking? You won't forgive me, I know, nor yet I can't forgive myself. Come into the kitching, and I'll tell you all about it."

Martha had perhaps anticipated an outburst of reproaches; if so, she had misjudged the probable effect of her news. Chris followed her into the kitchen, and sat down upon one of the wooden chairs without uttering a single word; and so she had to tell her tale unaided by any of those interrogations and interpolations which are dear to women.

Told in that way, it was the tale of a foul murder, and the case for the murderess was scarcely arguable. Miss Ramsden, it appeared, had got up in a very bad temper, and with the memory of her wrongs of the previous night strong upon her. Coming down stairs somewhat earlier than usual,

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she had encountered Peter and had struck at him with her stick, whereupon he had, as she declared, flown at her and bitten her foot. Martha could not say whether this was or was not a true account of an incident which she had not witnessed, but at any rate Miss Ramsden had no wound to show. And, my dear, I knew no more than the babe unborn what she was thinking of when she told me to get her dressed, because she was going out to the chemist's to buy some medicine; and when I see her come back, and the young man from the chemist's with her, I supposed 'twas no more than some dispute about the bill, like what she's always 'avin' with them, and that she'd brought him 'ere to show him her receipt. I was cookin' the dinner at the time, and I let Peter out o' my sight, which I never ought to 'ave done it, and the same I confess and repent of. Well, ten minutes arter that she rang for me and I went up to the droring-roomand 'twas all over. was mad,' says she,

"The pore dog and he 'ad to be put out o' the way. And you'd best remove the body,' says she. Well, I spoke to Miss Rebecca as I never thought I could have spoke to her; but I was that angry the words come out o' theirselves, and I believe I went so fur as to give her warning, though I ain't goin' to desert her, whatever she done. And if 'tis any comfort to you to know that she's lyin' down in her bed at this moment, shakin' all over with fright

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Where is he?" interrupted Chris quietly.

Martha led the way into the scullery, where poor Peter lay, stiff and stark, his joys and sorrows ended for ever, and those soft, loving eyes of his, in which his mistress had so often read as much as any human tongue can speak, dull and glazed. Chris bent over him and kissed his curly head. Then, "Martha," said she, "have you a spade? I want to bury him, and there is no time to be lost."

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sobbed Martha, casting orthodoxy to the winds. "And oh, if you could forgive the pore old missus! I believe she was frightened of the dog, and I do believe she's sorry now-yes, that I do!"

"It makes no difference," answered Chris coldly, "whether she is sorry or not. I will never forgive her, and I will never, if I can help it, see her or speak to her again."

The girl's face was so pale and stern that Martha could only weep feebly and murmur: “Oh dear, oh dear! what ever shall we do!"

(To be continued.)

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