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the first time. Beatrice, impatient of this oblivion to her presence, brought them from Heaven to earth.

      "I have to congratulate you, Mr. Snow," she remarked.

      "Mr. Snow!" echoed Dinah, jumping up as though a wasp had stung her; "you ought to be ashamed of yourself, Beatrice! Haven't you known Jerry for--oh! for ever so long?

      "For quite three years, dear; but, you see, I don't visit at the Vicarage," and Beatrice spoke with some bitterness, as Jerry's mother had always been unkind to the lonely girl, for reasons connected with what Mrs. Snow regarded as her anomalous position.

      Jerry coloured and blinked behind his glasses. "I know what you mean, Miss Hedge," he said regretfully, "but don't worry. Call me Jerry as usual; what does it matter what mother thinks?"

      "Ah," said Dinah, quivering with alarm, "what does she think of us?"

      "Well, she"--Jerry hesitated, and finally answered the question with a solemn warning--"I don't think I'd call at the Vicarage for a few days, Dinah sweetest. She--she--well, you know mother."

      "Why does Mrs. Snow object?" asked Beatrice very directly.

      "I know oh, none better!" almost shouted Dinah; "no money!"

      Jerry nodded, with an admiring glance at her cleverness. "No money."

      "I thought so; and Mrs. Snow wants you to marry a millionairess?"

      Jerry nodded again. "As though a millionairess would look at the likes of me!" said he, with the chuckle of a nestling.

      "I wouldn't give even the plainest of them a chance!" cried Dinah jealously; "you could marry anyone with the way you have, Jerry dear."

      Miss Hedge laughed gaily. "Show me the way you have, Jerry dear!" she mimicked, whereat the young lover blushed redder than the poppies.

      "Oh, what rot! See here, girls both, we're all pals."

      "Dinah is something more than a pal since yesterday," observed Beatrice pointedly.

      "Oh, you know what I mean. Well, then father is pleased and would marry us himself, to save fees; but mother--oh, Lord!"

      "Will she part us, Jerry?" demanded Dinah in a small voice.

      Bashful as he was, Mr. Snow rose to the occasion, and taking her in his strong arms kissed her twice.

      "That's what I think!" said he, with the air of Ajax defying the lightning. "We'll be cut off with a shilling by mother; but we shall marry all the same, and live on the bread and cheese and kisses provided by the Morning Planet."

      "Thank you," said Miss Paslow tartly, "I provide my own kisses."

      "No, darling heart!" gurgled the ardent Jerry, "I do that!" and was about to repeat his conduct when the ceremony was interrupted.

      From the dungeon came the sound of a shrill voice indulging in abusive language. A few moments later and the narrow door was flung violently open. Vivian Paslow came out quietly enough, and was followed by a bent, dried-up ape of a man who was purple with fury. The contrast between the money-lender and his client was most marked. Alpenny was the missing link itself, and Vivian appeared beside him like one of a higher and more human race. Without taking any notice of the furious old creature, he walked towards the startled Beatrice and shook her by the hand.

      "Good-bye, Miss Hedge," he said loudly; then suddenly sank his voice to a hurried whisper. "Meet me to-night at seven, under the Witches' Oak."

      "Leave my place!" cried Alpenny, hobbling up, to interrupt this leave-taking; "you shall not speak to her."

      Paslow took his amazed sister on his arm and crossed to the gate, while Jerry, blinking and puzzled, followed after. Beatrice, as startled by Paslow's request as she was by the scene, remained where she was, and her stepfather chased his three visitors into the lane with opprobrious names. But before he could close the gate, Vivian turned suddenly on the abusive old wretch.

      "I came to do you a service," said he, "but you would not listen."

      "You came to levy blackmail. You asked----"

      "Silence!" cried Paslow, with a gesture which reduced Alpenny to a stuttering, incoherent condition. "I never threatened you."

      "You did--you do! You want your property back, and----"

      Vivian, with a swift glance at Beatrice, silenced the man again. "If I lose my property, I lose it," said he sternly; "but the other thing I refuse to lose. And, remember, your life is in danger."

      Alpenny spluttered. "My life, you--you scoundrel!"

      "Father! Father!" pleaded Beatrice, approaching anxiously.

      Paslow took no notice, but still looked at the angry old man with a firm and significant expression. "Remember the Black Patch," said he in a clear, loud voice. The effect was instantaneous. Alpenny, from purple, turned perfectly white; from swearing volubility, he was reduced to a frightened silence.

      Beatrice looked at him in amazement, and so--strange to say--did Vivian, who had spoken the mysterious words. For a moment he stared at the shaking, pale-faced miser, who was casting terrified looks over his shoulder, and then went out of the gate. Alpenny stood as though turned into stone until he heard the clatter of the retreating horses. Then he raised his head and looked wildly round.

      "The third time!" he muttered; and Beatrice was sufficiently near to notice his abject fear. "The third time!"

       CHAPTER II

      THE HINTS OF DURBAN

      Beatrice meditated in the parlour-carriage on the scene which had taken place at noon between her stepfather and Paslow. Without vouchsafing the least explanation, Alpenny had crept back to his den and was there still, with the door locked as usual. Twice and thrice did Durban call him to the midday meal, but he declined to come out. Beatrice had therefore eaten alone, and was now enjoying a cup of fragrant coffee which Durban had lately brought in. At the moment, he was washing up dishes in the kitchen, to the agreeable accompaniment of a negro song, which he was whistling vigorously. The girl, as she wished to be, was entirely alone. Durban could not explain the reason for the quarrel, and Alpenny would not; so Beatrice was forced to search her own thoughts for a possible explanation. So far she had been unsuccessful.

      The tiny parlour was entirely white in its decorations, and looked extremely cool on this hot, close day. The walls were hung with snowy linen, the furniture was upholstered with the same, and the carpet, the curtains, the ornaments, even the cushions were all pearly white. Everything, when examined, was cheap in quality and price, but the spotlessly clean look of the room--if it could be called so--made up for the marked want of luxury. Beatrice herself wore a white muslin, with cream-hued ribbons, therefore no discordant colour broke the Arctic tone of the parlour. Only through the open door could be seen the brilliant tints of the flowers, blazing against a background of emerald foliage. The Snow Parlour was the name of this fantastic retreat, and the vicar's wife took the appellation as a personal insult. Rather should she have regarded it a compliment of the highest, as this maiden's bower was infinitely prettier than she was or ever could be.

      Since it was impossible to learn anything definite from Durban or his master, Beatrice was striving to possess her soul in peace until seven o'clock: at that hour she intended to meet Vivian by the Witches' Oak, and there ask him bluntly what he had said or done to make stepfather so furious. Having settled this in her own mind, she lay back in the deep chair, sipping her coffee, and allowing her thoughts to wander; they took her back over some five-and-twenty years, and into a life barren and uneventful enough. Beatrice should have been happy, for, like the oft-quoted nation, she had no history.

      All her life Beatrice had never known a mother's love. According to Alpenny, who supplied the information grudgingly enough, Mrs. Hedge with her one-year-old baby had married him, only to die within three months after the ceremony. Then Durban had taken charge of the child; since the miser, for monetary and other

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