CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE APPOINTED TIME.

BAD news? Of course there was. Who is it that has reached middle life, and been so fortunate as never to have experienced that moment when he has been called aside, it may be from some scene of pleasure, or from one, at least, wherein his "bosom's lord sat lightly on its throne," by some unwilling messenger of woe! Whether it be friend or servant, there is no mistaking the nature of his errand. Before the "Oh sir, come home at once!" of the one, or the "Friend, I am sorry to bring you evil tidings," of the other, is spoken, we know that Fate has done us some ill turn. And if this be so on ordinary occasions, how much more when we have reason to fear her malice! That bad news had come respecting John, Maggie was as well aware as they who brought it; she only dared to hope that it was not the worst. Nay, beyond that deep, in her case, lay a lower deep, for she knew not what that worst might be.

"A letter came this morning, Maggie," said Mr Linch, since her father, after feeling blindly about him for a chair, had sat him down and remained silent, as though unequal to the task he had proposed to himself-" a letter from shipboard." "From John? Oh, give it me!"

"No; not from John. It is from the captain of the ship

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in which John sailed, it seems from Liverpool, some three weeks ago."

"So late as that!" ejaculated Maggie not without thankfulness. He had not been safe, then, when Blake had threatened him, but was still in England. Thank Heaven, he had not known his risk!

"Yes; he grew worse, it appears, after he had left homemuch worse-and was not able to go on board. he did go, was he fit to bear the voyage.”

Nor, when

"Give me the letter!" cried she, rising suddenly, and tottering towards them.

"One moment, dear Maggie; for your father's sake and little Willie's, be calm. God's way is right, whatever way He wills; and He who permits the blow can give the balm."

"Dead, dead, dead!" cried Maggie wildly; and she would have fallen on the floor, but that the lawyer caught her in his arms. She lay in a dead faint upon the sofa; yet, when her father's trembling fingers untied the collar about her neck, and would have loosened her gown about her bosom, she sat up like a corpse revived by a miracle. "The paper, the paper!" cried she, remembering the sacred trust that lay

there.

"Do you mean the letter, darling?"

"Yes, yes; the letter." Oh, thanks to Heaven, even in that hour, when Heaven itself had made her desolate, that his secret was still safe and in her keeping! They put the letter into her hand, but she could not read it; not, alas! for tears-what would she not have given for tears!--but because the face she should never more behold in life obscured it.

So the lawyer read it to her. It was a formal communication enough, though couched in words of kind consideration. The captain had written, as was his duty, to state that his passenger, John Milbank, an invalid from the first, had died

in mid-passage between Liverpool and New York. It was the sick man's wish that the news of his decease should be sent to Mr Thorne, at Hilton; his widow, he had said, would understand why no direct message had been sent to her; but there was a lock of hair enclosed, sealed up by the dying man himself, which was for her own hand.

Maggie took the little packet eagerly, and clasped it close, for was there not a secret also in that lock of snow? "Is that all?" she whispered.

"Yes; that was all. The captain had written that she would understand," said Mr Linch, not without a touch, not, indeed, of curiosity, but of interrogation in his tone.

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"Yes, yes; I do understand," answered she. "It is better

Both marvelled in their own minds, doubtless, to hear her answer thus, but forbore to question further. "Dead, dead, dead!" murmured she again, "and I had only just learned to love him!"

"He loved you, darling, I am sure," said her father simply; "and, if he sees you now, this anguish must needs pain him for his sake, then, take comfort."

"And remember, Maggie," put in Mr Linch, not very appositely, "he is gone where no sorrow can touch him more, and, therefore, we ought not to grieve for him."

They said, indeed, what they could, those two, to comfort her, but

"Common is the commonplace,

And vacant chaff well meant for grain."

-There was no comfort for her. She sat with one hand pressed on her two treasures, the old and new one, and with her heated eyes fixed on the floor, revolving nothing. A sense-not numbed, alas! but dull-of utter lack and loneliness, possessed her wholly the world seemed emptied of all

life and love, and heaven a void beyond it. Yet it was not so; for presently a little hand was placed in hers, and a little mouth lifted up to kiss her cheek; and at that potent touch, and at those broken tones, unmeaning as any wizard's spell, but with ten times its magic, the succour came, and she bent down on little Willie's neck dissolved in tears.

"That was a good thought of yours, to bring the child," whispered Mrs Morden to the engraver approvingly; “and I fetched him in, you see, at the very nick of time."

The relief, indeed, to Maggie's overburdened heart was instantaneous, and in a little while her strength began to rally, and she was able to listen to what was said to her.

"You will forgive me for mentioning the matter at such a time," said Mr Linch, in his professional tones, "but it is my duty to inform you-in case you may not be aware of the circumstance-of the existence of a certain document in your husband's desk."

In an instant, her grief was put aside, her desolation forgotten, and every nerve and sense became alive to defend, not her husband, indeed, but his memory,

"There is nothing there," said she, in a calm, resolute voice, "except some private letters. Has he ever told you

that there was?"

"Indeed he has," answered the lawyer, with considerable anxiety in his manner. "And if you have not made a thorough search, Mrs Milbank, I must entreat you to permit me to do so. The matter is pressing, not only through the time that has elapsed since your husband's decease, but because, while the fate of Mr Richard Milbank is still uncertain, there will be serious difficulty in case the document should be mislaid or lost "

"Were you yourself made acquainted with its contents?" gasped Maggie, her thoughts fixed solely upon the paper that

she had taken from the desk, and unable to grasp the importance of any other.

"Most certainly I was. I have remonstrated more than once with poor Mr John on his keeping in such a place of custody a document so momentous. I speak, of course, madam, of your late husband's will, which I drew up myself, in accordance with his instructions, and for which I feel in some sort personally responsible. It would set my mind at ease which, I confess, is troubled by what you have just told me if you would permit me to satisfy myself"

Maggie pointed assentingly towards the desk, to which the lawyer flew at once, like a greyhound slipped from the leash. She was relieved to find that John had not made this man his confidant, but only herself. She would have something in common yet with her dead husband, that no other soul should share.

"Thank Heaven, I have found the will!” cried Mr Linch presently, "without which we could scarcely have moved a step." Then, as if conscious how unbefitting was a tone of triumph at such a moment, he added: "Riches, it is true, cannot purchase comfort; but poverty, believe me, has always power, when the first shock is over, to make our woe more bitter."

If Maggie heard, she did not understand his words: her eyes were riveted on the child, who had toddled away to the window, and was playing at "Bopeep" in the curtains that had once concealed the form of Mr Inspector Brain.

"Your daughter is a widow indeed, Thorne," whispered the lawyer; "she cares not whether she has been left all or nothing."

"Yes; I always said John would make the best of husbands, and so it turned out," answered the engraver softly. "She hears nothing that we say, she sees nothing that goes on