did. She looked hard and cold, not the face of some one who dared not

look, but the face of one who would not; and then now to send you money out of pity, just as she might give to a beggar in the streets; no wonder I am angry, Frank,” and Katie looked very indignant indeed.

“There is a good deal in what you say, Katie, and no doubt I ought to be more angry than I am. I hardly know why I am not, except I am essentially an easy going man. Very likely I should be angry if I were in your place. You do not know Alice Heathcote as I do. I have known her since she was a little girl, and I loved her as a sister, Katie. You must remember that. A man may be blind to the faults of one he loves as a wife, but men are always hard upon their sisters. Now I looked upon Alice as a sister, and I know she is a very true, very affectionate, very thoughtful girl, not given to sudden likes and dislikes, or to be moved by sudden impulses. I am certain then, Kate, as certain as I sit here, that some extraordinary mistake, at the nature of which I cannot even guess, has arisen. Alice might obey Captain Bradshaw, and hold no communication with me, but she would never, I would wager my life, look cold or hard when she met me. If Alice Heathcote no longer loves me as a, brother, it is because she has in some strange way been morally convinced that I am not worthy of her esteem; and if I know Alice—and I think I do know her—it has cost her no slight pain before she came to the conclusion.”

Kate was softened. “Perhaps you are right, Frank, but you must make allowances for me. You know it is galling to a wife that her husband should be assisted by a woman who used to love him. No one would like that, Frank. You know you would not like it, now, if anyone who was once in love with me—and you don’t know how much I used to flirt before I knew you—were to come forward now and offer me money—especially if he had, you considered, behaved very badly in other respects.”

“No, Katie,” Frank said heartily, “I certainly should not. I should consider it to be a confoundedly impertinent interference, and should be monstrously inclined to punch his head for him.”

Kate laughed happily. “Oh, you easy-going man! There, Frank, now you have granted that, and so excused me, let us talk rationally about it. Do you mean to take the money or not?”

“Of course not, Katie; I never dreamt of it.”

“Why didn’t you say so at once then, you tiresome boy, and not tease me into a rage?”

“You never gave me a chance, Katie,” Frank laughed. “No, dear, I would not have taken it from Captain Bradshaw, much less from Alice. Although I should like to stay in England for your sake,—it will be a hard life for you abroad, little woman.”

“That’s an old subject,” Kate said, cheerfully. “Now, Frank, get out your books again, and let us go into the intricate question of where we shall go.”

“We have quite decided against the United States and Canada, haven’t we?”

“Yes, Frank. I should not like to be among people who would talk of us in a contemptuous sort of way as Britishers; and I can’t bear cold. It lies between the Cape, Australia, and New Zealand.” And so they took out their books again, and studied maps, and the price of land, and the question of provisions and labour, until it was time to go to bed. The next day Frank happened to be going near Mr. Bingham’s office. He liked his uncle, but he did not see much of him, for Mr. Bingham was a good deal away, and their lives lay in completely different circles. They had met once before since the failure of the Bank, so that Mr. Bingham was acquainted with the state of Frank’s affairs.

“And so, Frank, you are still talking of going abroad?”

“Yes,” Frank said; “there is nothing else that I can see for it. I confess, that for myself I rather like the thought, it is just the sort of life to suit me; but my wife will, I know, be sorry to leave England. She is very cheerful, you know, and so on, but I can see she dreads it a little. It is so different for a woman, you see, to what it is for a man.”

“I’ve been thinking, Frank, that it is a pity you don’t make up your mind to set to at work in England. Fred and I have plenty of work all over the country; we can’t be everywhere at once, and it would be a very great advantage to us to have some one we can rely upon as ourselves. Of course you don’t understand engineering work, but for earthworks, for example, mere pick and barrow work, the men only want a good ganger, and the master’s eye over them. I have just got a contract for twenty miles of railway in Yorkshire; now if you like to come down, I will make a fair calculation, and give you the earthwork. The great thing with navvies is for them to like the man they work for. You are just the sort of man they would be likely to get on with. You will save me one or two inspectors, and this sort of work is always done cheaper by piece work. It is a good thing to get into, you know, Frank; you would not perhaps make very much the first job, but you would learn the business, and be able to do well afterwards.”

Frank was silent a short time.

“I am very much obliged to you, uncle, and personally I should like nothing better. In fact it is just the sort of thing to suit me. It is your contract, uncle, not Fred’s? because, you see, I don’t mind working under you or any man older than myself, but I should not like working under a fellow of my own age, especially a cousin.”

“It is mine, Frank. Between ourselves, I have determined to keep this matter in my own hands. Fred and I don’t always agree.”

“But to take a contract for work of that sort requires capital, does it not, uncle?”

“Very little, Frank. You see the men are paid once a week, or once a fortnight, as the case may be, and the work is measured up, and paid for by the contractor once a month. So in fact you would only require a fortnight’s pay for the men. Of course at first the work begins upon a small scale, as it is impossible, until the cuttings are fairly opened, to put very many men on. Two or three hundred pounds would be enough for a beginning.”

“I could manage that,” Frank said. “I have spoken to the official assignee of the Bank, and have told him I am ready to give up every halfpenny I have to meet the call, but that I must have the proceeds of my furniture to pay other little debts, and so on, and I expect after I have cleared them off to have a hundred and fifty or two hundred pounds left. If I had been going to emigrate, I should have asked my wife’s friends to have helped me with as much more. One can ask friends to help when one is going abroad for good. Well, uncle, of course I cannot decide at once, but I will let you know to-morrow or next day.”

“Do, Frank; it is a good thing to get into, I can assure you, and as we are likely to have plenty of work, I think it is a really good opening; far better than going out to the colonies.”

Frank went round to Prescott’s room. “Prescott, old man, I want you to come round and dine this evening; there is something I want to ask the opinion of you and Katie about.”

Prescott came down accordingly. Frank did not broach the subject until after dinner was over.

“Now, Katie, I want your opinion upon an offer I have had to-day, and I have asked Prescott down on purpose to take part in our councils. So I will state the case. Prescott shall give his opinion, and you shall decide. I have had an offer to stay in England.” His wife looked up eagerly. “For myself, I am ready either to refuse or accept the offer with equal willingness. It is the sort of work that would suit me, and which I should like—in fact it is a good deal like the work I should have abroad, an active out-of-door life. My uncle Bingham has asked me if I would like to go down to undertake the earthworks, that is the looking after the navvies on a line he has got the contract for in Yorkshire. I should take the sub-contract of the earthworks, and as he says, learn the business. In time I should be capable of undertaking larger and more important works, and he has plenty of opportunities for pushing me on. Now, what do you think of it?” Neither Kate nor Prescott answered. “Now, Prescott, what is your opinion of it?”

“Well, Frank, it is a difficult matter to give an opinion upon. I was always in favour of your emigrating, for the simple reason that I did not see anything here which was likely to suit you. But I never disguised from myself that you both, your wife particularly, would have to encounter many hardships. It appears to me that this may really lead to something. Railway contracting is a profitable business, and if your uncle really chooses to push you, it is as he says a good opening. Now in Australia or the Cape, taking a farm of five hundred acres, as you think of doing, and getting it into cultivation, is the work of years. There is no future in it. You will no doubt make a living, even a comfortable competency, but there seems little chance of your ever making enough to come back to England to live upon your means. There is another thing to be said. If this should turn out badly, if you should lose what little money you take down with you, your friends will all help, and you can but go to Australia after all.”

“Now, what do you say, Katie?”

“Oh, I quite agree with Arthur, Frank. I don’t want to go away and never see our friends again.”

“Very well,” Frank said, “then that’s settled; hurrah for railroads!”

In another week the sale took place at the Maynards. A sale is not a picturesque sight, with its dirty Jew brokers, its unwashed hangers-on, its close, crowded atmosphere, its voluble auctioneer, and its eager bidders. But it is a sad business for those who look in the slightest degree below the surface. Here are the ruins of a household. Almost every one of the articles so carelessly examined, so slightingly looked at, so jeeringly commented upon, has its own little history, its reminiscences, which make it sacred to those who have to part with it. The little child’s chair, the water-colour drawing which your wife gave you ere yet she was your wife, the chair she always sat in—these and a hundred other things are sacred relics to you, while they are caviare to the world around.

Frank and Kate had gone into lodgings upon the previous day, having paid off the servants and handed over the house to the broker. With one of their followers only had they not parted. Frank had called Evan in and said,—

“Evan, here are your wages up to next week. That will make the month from the time I gave you notice. I am sorry to part with you, lad, but of course it can’t be helped. Whenever you want a character, you have only to refer to me.”

Evan made no sign of taking up the money. “Please, Mr. Maynard,” he said, “I’m not going.”

“But you must go, Evan. I am a poor man, and can’t keep a servant any longer. I am going down to work on a railway.”

“Well, Mr. Maynard, I shall go down too. I can get some work on the line, I dare say, and I can come in to help of an evening. After what you have done for me, sir, after what you did for Aunt Bessy, I’m not going to leave you now. Lor, sir, mother won’t take me in if I was to go home and tell her I’d left you. No, sir, where you go, I go. If I can’t be your servant, I can do a few odd jobs, and make myself useful between times.”

And so, as Evan positively refused to be separated from his old master, it was arranged that he should go down and work on the line. A fortnight afterwards Frank and his wife started for Yorkshire.