has been done could be justified to you by rule and precedent, if justification were needed; but it is not. We have here, my dear madame, within the walls of the Palais de Justice, and the adjacent Conciergerie, what is called le pouvoir matériel, the material power; and, within the limits of reason, we act as we please, and how we please. However, I am not about to bandy words with you. I have one or two little questions to ask you, and we will at once proceed to business."

He unclasped the white hands, and taking a little silver bell which stood on the table beside him, softly tinkled it. In a minute or two a huissier-not Florence's huissier, he had been motionless all this while behind her chair-made his appearance at the side door.

"Beg M. le Greffier to step hither."

The huissier retired, and almost immediately afterwards the snakelike personage in the rusty black and the dingy white, who had accompanied the first inquisitor to Florence's dungeon, made his appearance.

"Will you be good enough, monsieur, to take a seat and transcribe while I proceed with the examination of this lady?"

"I cannot bear it! I cannot bear it!" cried Florence, covering her face with her hands. "Do any thing to me; but spare me the infliction of that frightful ordeal. Send these men away, and I will answer any questions you like to put to me."

"M. le Greffier," said M. Plon, his white teeth blandly beaming, "will you have the goodness to retire? Huissiers," he added, "you may withdraw. If there be any further necessity for your services, I will ring."

When they were left alone, the Juge d'Instruction once more threw himself back in his great arm-chair, and took a survey of his prisoner in the critical manner, shading his blue eyes with his hand meanwhile. Then he bent forward, clasped his hands before him, and said, as blandly

as ever:

"Now, madame, do you know any thing of the original of the portrait contained in this locket?"

And, so saying, he held aloft a little golden locket attached to a slender chain. It was open, and framed within it was the portrait of a fair young man, clad in English military uniform, and with very full auburn moustaches.

Shot in the Back.

To Mr. Godfrey, Rector of Harston, Devonshire.

WHEN you came to me yesterday, sir, to tell me that the doctor says I have got my route, you were sure that I had something on my mind, and urged me to confess to you what it was. I would not do so at the time, but have thought the matter over, as I promised, and have come to the conclusion that you are one of the right sort, without any nasal twang or humbug about you, and that you would not have said what you did out of curiosity, far less for the purpose of betraying a poor fellow, but because you know that I shall die easier if I make a clean breast of it. You need not have been so cautious about giving me your message, though. Every bullet has its billet; and a man does not lie down to sleep, sit down to eat, day after day, week after week, with death hurtling and whistling about him without a moment's pause, as I have done, without getting familiarised with it; besides, when I got my pension, I heard one surgeon say to the other, "He will not draw it long, poor fellow!" And, indeed, any one might guess that a bullet through the lungs would not improve the constitution. Still, I had sooner die in my bed than on the gallows; and so I have kept my secret to myself hitherto. However, as the end is so near, and since you, sir, urge it so much, I will trust to your honour not to mention a word of the matter until I am beyond the reach of human justice, and will write down an account of what I have done. I prefer this to telling it you, because, if you are to have any part of the story, I wish you to know the whole, else you would not be able to judge me fairly; and this murdering cough stops me if I try to talk for five minutes together.

Well, then, I have killed a man,-murdered him, I suppose you will say; and since you have sat and talked with me so often during the last year and a half that I have been in this pretty village, I begin to think that is the right name to give the business, though before that I always flattered myself that I was not without justification. But the story is the story of my life.

My real name I will not mention, as I have relations in a better class of life than myself, who would be ashamed of me; however, the name of Thomas Brown, which I enlisted under twenty years ago, and have borne ever since, is not mine. My father was a Suffolk farmer, as his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had been before him for I don't know how long, generation after generation, renting the same acres, and living in the same old house, with its flat roof, walls a yard and a half thick, and moat surrounding it, and its little flower-garden. Branches of the family had at different times gone out into the world, some of whom rose high in the various professions,-Parliament, and so forth; but there was always one member a tenant of that same farm, till at last, as I said, it came to

VOL. III.

H H

my father. He had two children,-myself, and my sister Annie, who was a year younger than I was; and as we lost our mother while very young, we were thrown on each other almost entirely for company; and I loved her more than brothers often do their sisters, I think, for I was so fond of her it seemed just like selfishness. You see, we were never separated. I have not got a single childish reminiscence unconnected with my sister. The bond between us got no weaker as we imperceptibly grew up, and we took-I to the farming, she to the dairy and general housekeeping. Of course, when I was about twenty, I had a sweetheart; but that made no difference, for Annie was fond of her too, and liked to hear me talk about her. She had no lover of her own; for though many young farmers in the neighbourhood tried to make up to her, she did not think them good enough; and the only young fellow who seemed to hit her fancy was a Mr. Ashley, a friend of our landlord's, who used to come down into those parts for the shooting. He was a boy of about fifteen when I first remember seeing him, and then he came to our house to lunch, and my father went with him over the farm to show him where the game lay. He returned every year after this, and always called on us when he shot over that part of the estate, and seemed very fond of chatting with Annie. I did not quite like it: he was so polite and attentive, and she seemed so taken with him; but I could not say any thing, as he was quite respectful, and my father did not see any harm. And yet I began to hate the sight of the gentleman.

When I was twenty-two, my father died, and I took on the farm, Annie keeping house for me till I should be married, which was not to be for a couple of years, my sweetheart being a good deal younger than I was, and her parents not wishing her to marry until I had proved that I could manage the farm. I was content to wait, with a sister I was so fond of to make a home for me; and after we had recovered from the shock of our father's death, all went on happily enough till the shooting season came round, and with it Mr. Ashley, who was now always beating over our farm, and whom I suspected of prowling about the house while I was away; for Annie became nervous and absent, and often had a forced manner about her when I came in of an evening. At the end of October, however, he left the county, and during the following winter I forgot all about him, and was happy. Ah! that was the last happy-I have had plenty of merry ones-the last happy Christmas I have ever spent.

One afternoon in the following May, I had started off on horseback for the town, intending to spend the evening with the family of the girl I was courting; but happening to meet a neighbouring farmer, who wanted to see some very fine barley I had for seed, I rode back for a sample of it. The house was, as I said, an old-fashioned building, surrounded by a moat, and was situated at some little distance from the farm-yard, from which it was hidden by a copse, so that my return to the stables was unnoticed. Being in a hurry, I did not call for any one to hold my horse, but dismounted, threw my reins on to a hook in the stable-wall, and

walked up to the house. As I passed the bridge crossing the moat, I saw a woman's dress through the shrubbery of the little garden, and, looking after it, perceived that it was my sister, walking with a man. Thinking that perhaps some one had called whom I might wish to see, I struck into the same path, and soon came up with them. Annie's companion was sauntering along with his arm round her waist, his head bent over her, talking low; in another moment they stopped, and their lips met. At the sound of my footsteps they sprang asunder, and I was face to face with Mr. Ashley. He was rather disconcerted at first, but soon recovered himself, and said, "Ah! how are you? You did not expect to see me, eh? I am staying in this neighbourhood, and thought I would just look you up. How are the young birds getting on?"

"Annie!" said I, "you had better go in ;" and she went towards the house, her face hidden in her hands, taking no notice of Ashley, who called after her, "Don't go, Annie; what right has your brother over you? Do you know," he added to me, as she disappeared, "your manvery offensive?"

ner is

"One word," I answered. "Are you here as my sister's accepted lover?"

"That is rather a delicate question;" and he shrugged his shoulders. "Come, no evasion," said I. "Are you going to take my sister for

your lawful wife ?-yes, or no."

He looked me full in the face, and burst into a sneering laugh, which made my temples throb again with passion, as he replied, "Well, upon my word; I have heard that you and your family thought no small beer of yourselves; but I did not think you would carry conceit so far as that, either!"

"Rascal !"

"Come, hands off!"-I had seized him by the collar. question of damages; how much-"

"It is a mere

He did not complete the sentence; for, unable to contain myself any longer, I struck him with the hunting-whip I held in my hand, doublethonged. Do you think, sir, that a man in a very violent rage is possessed with a devil? I have often fancied that I was at that time; my eyes swam, my brain reeled, my right arm seemed somehow to swing independently of my will as I went on flogging him. He swore, threatened, entreated, grovelled before me,-oh, how delicious that was!-and still I lashed on, till his clothes were cut to ribbons. Once, in the strength of his pain, he tore himself from my grasp, and sprang at me; but I knocked him down with my fist, and he lay faint and motionless. Then a feeling of shame came over me at beating one who was helpless in my hands so mercilessly; and I threw cold water over his face, helped him to his dogcart, which was waiting for him in a lane skirting the farm, and slunk home like a criminal. There was one comfort,-such a thrashing would probably keep the young puppy off for the future; but still, I need not have gone so far.