Oh, happy fly! Oh, thrice happy thief!!

Wiss-s-s, pough, puff, and a cambric handkerchief made an end to his brief career of bliss.

The door opened, and Colonel Harlingford entered.

"Well, Ada, my darling; and how are you now?

Getting on nicely, papa dear," was the fond reply. "I don't feel so tired to-night." "Not disturbed, then, by this terrible storm? Well, then, I'll have a little chat with my brave invalid; and a cup of tea also."

"But where has my dear daddy been to this last long hour?" coaxingly asked the fair damsel, whilst rising to busy herself with the particular duties of the tea-table. "I have heard the wind and rain, and wondered what could have taken him out just now ?"

"I did not go very far, my darling," said the Colonel; "but you remember me telling you how I met a certain Mr. Whitebelt, and ascertained from him where to find the preserver, under Providence, of my dear daughter's life;

and how it ended in learning his name and address, but that he was too unwell to see me."

"Yes! papa; yes!

papa; yes!" the half-gasped words but faintly concealing the anxiety within, even if the slight colour-changes on the downy cheeks had not already betrayed it; "but you told me yesterday he was so much better."

"And so he is, dear; but, not having had an opportunity to-day of calling to inquire, I went round for a few minutes' chat."

"And how is he progressing? Was he really hurt by the fall?"

"There is no danger now, my darling," continued Colonel Harlingford; "the fever is passing off, and, thanks to a good constitution, he promises to be about again in a day or two. At length I have seen him, and find him a fine, manly fellow; more anxious to hear how the fair partner of his troubles' was getting on, thanks."

than to listen to my

66

"Who is he, papa dear?" asked Ada; any one you have met before ? "

"No! I have never seen him before, that I

can remember.

I told you his name was Marshall, and he comes of a good old county family; he is evidently quite a gentleman, as well as a brave man."

"And who is his friend, Mr. Whitebelt?"

"I think my present answer must be simply Mr. Whitebelt," said Colonel Harlingford; "that is all I know of him at present."

"But is he not staying down here to attend to his sick friend, to whom he appeared so much attached ?" asked Ada.

"He was summoned suddenly to London on most important business, the morning after I met him on the beach," continued the Colonel. "We are living in very eventful times, my dear, and fortunes change as rapidly as a storm like this follows the bright sunshine of the past few days. I believe he is much interested in certain shares, which require his personal attention to arrange. He has written to Mr. Marshall stating that, for the present, he cannot return here."

"Oh, papa dear, how happy we ought to feel that such worries and anxieties are spared

to us! How lucky that your bank takes care of your property instead of your having to trouble yourself with those horrid companies, and wretched mining shares, which were so pressed upon you to increase your income!"

At this moment a gust of wind, more violent than any preceding one, evidently the climax of the hurricane, struck the house-front, dashed open the long French windows, blew the half-rent curtains across the room, extinguishing the candles, and leaving a darkness only relieved by a few embers burning in the scarce lingering fire.

A slight shriek from Ada; an astonished growl and muffled bark from Nero; and a quiet movement of the Colonel towards his daughter to protect her from the rain and wind by throwing a large shawl around herwere the incidents of the moment.

"Don't be alarmed, my child, the worst is over;" and, ringing for the attendants, the Colonel sheltered his beloved daughter until assistance arrived; then, tenderly wishing her good-night, Ada retired to her dormitory.

CHAPTER X.

SYDNEY MARSHALL AS A SCRIBE.

FOURTEEN days passed away, and I was still detained in London. News from Chalkcliffe had arrived with tolerable regularity, and Marshall rapidly progressed towards convalescence. One morning, amidst a pile of letters, circulars, and other papers, I received the following communication from Sydney himself:

"Wood's Hotel, Chalkcliffe.

"DEAR OLD MAN,—

"Behold me here, no welcome guest,' as Avon's Bard Billy once wrote. When I say

'no welcome guest,' I do not mean as far as my good, kind hostess here is concerned, but as regards the enforced confinement this stupid illness has caused me. Whenever am I