books, and now business, hard, constant,
laborious business. I am longing to get up a greed
of money. If that were to take possession of
me body and soul, I might drive the other
enemy out; but, someway, should it not be kept
there? It is better to go on to the end even as
it was at the beginning. Though since I have
come down here, I seem to have got upon more
quiet waters. What with this cathedral and its
old-world associations, this little enclosure
about it, and its air of peace and happiness, I
seem to be less wretched; or, rather, it seems to
me that there is less misery in the world. And
some words of yours, dear Miss Millwood, have
sunk deeper than perhaps you would fancy."

The great pillars and arches had begun to cast
broader and broader shadows. The light behind
the amber panes had gradually faded, and left
them cold and dull. The glories of the sunset had
gone down. The monument to the Yeomanry
Captain looked like a spectral dining furniture
set out for a ghostly banquet. Suddenly two
figures came round the corner, and stopped
before them.

"Come," said Ross, roughly, "what does all
this mean? This is nice work! Is this a place
for you? Don't you know how long they have
been looking for you?"

"I am coming," she said, softly. "I was
playing——"

Ross laughed. His laugh echoed harshly
through that great cave. "You hear that, Bob.
How ready a woman is with her excuse. Why,
we didn't hear a sound this hour back.
Perhaps you, Mr. Tillotson, were playing also—an
undiscovered accomplishment."

"Let us go away now," she said, hastily.
"Don't let us lose time. Come, Mr. Tillotson."

She went on in front with Mr. Tillotson. The
other two followed hastily.

"We were unfortunate," said Ross's friend,
"that we came too late for the music. I should
like to have heard that old instrument trembling
and roaring under your fingers, Miss Millwood."

"And don't forget our friend, who hates
cricket, and I suppose dropped in here by the
merest accident," said Ross.

"It was accident," said Mr. Tillotson, calmly;
"but what of it, supposing it were not? This
cathedral, a wonderful exception, is, I believe,
always kept open like the foreign ones."

"Ready always at repartee, is he not, Bob?
Mr. Tillotson, the London banker, can give us
lessons down here. Can't he, Bob?"

"Why should you say that?" said his friend.
"Why, you are as bitter as an almond.
Confound you, why, if you spoke that way to a
Mexican gent, he'd have you out on horseback
in ten minutes, with a Colt's repeating musket
opposite. My dear friend, you must keep your
tongue in order. You won't meet every one
with such restraint and moderation as this
gentleman."

The banker coloured. "I don't deserve it so
much as you say. Mr. Ross knows I have not
restrained myself nearly so much as I ought to
have done."

Ross stamped his foot savagely down on the
pavement.

"Ah! that would be different, of course,"
said Grainger.

"Will you stop," said Ross, his face glowing
suddenly, and his eyes glaring. "What is this
you mean? Come on in front—I wish to speak
to you," he said, seizing her arm. "Come
quickly;" and he almost dragged her on.

"Our friend," said Grainger, nodding his
head, "is a little rough at times; but he is
really good at the bottom."

In a few minutes they were at home.

CHAPTER XIII. AN ILL-CONDITIONED MAN.

IT was impossible to withstand the accolade
manner of Mr. Tilney—his absorbing Friend of
Man deportment—and, if this could be
withstood, it was equally hopeless to think of battling
against the Friend of Man, sensitive, and meaning
well, and wounded. But he was really good
natured.

"It is like fresh air to me to get a gentleman
now and then into the house. I have been
accustomed to that sort of thing—to sit with the best,
with his late Majesty, Jack Norman, and a
hundred such. The best dishes, sir, the best clothes,
the best men and women, sir! And then to be
cocked down in a miserable hole like this! A
low nest of psalm-singers and tailors. It's not a
fit place for a gentleman."

This tone was inconsistent with Mr. Tilney's
previous praises of the tranquil pleasures of the
cathedral, whose special charms, he had often
insisted, lay in its retirement and simplicity, as
contrasted with the false pleasures of high
society. But the day had been very warm, the
sun beating down on his forehead, and Mr.
Tilney was seen to go in and out very often of
the cricketing tent, where he found out and
perhaps wooed the maiden Brown Sherry. Presently
he grew ruminative. (This was at the door of
his own house.) "How about your plan," he
asked—"the directors of the new scheme? You
will have gentlemen, of course—fellows that
won't rob the till? But you won't fish many
gentlemen out of this place. If I can help you,
my dear friend, or my name can be of use, or my
cousin, Lord Chinnery, don't be afraid to speak.
In fact, I should like it. I have often wished
for something to do."

Mr. Tillotson was a little embarrassed. He
would have liked to have served this old soldier
of society. "Why, you see," he answered, "Mr.
Tilney, I can decide nothing as yet. I am afraid
it is the class of purely business-men that we
want—men that have been trained to things of
this kind. But later, I dare say——" In short,
a series of the good-natured common-places by
which the fall of a refusal is broken. Mr. Tilney
was not vexed.

"Well, I suppose so," he said, "It's
generally my luck. I recollect H.R.H., who cared
for me about as much as he did for any man,
saying to me, 'Ask me for something, Tilney,