quiver; but now she knew that it had another, barbed far worse, and tipped with poison. Dennis Blake, whom she had flattered herself his own excesses must long ago have destroyed, was alive, and had found out her present retreat-" tracked her out," as the wretch had said, which implied that he had discovered her by design. From his manner and appearance it was easy to understand that his fortunes were desperate, and that no exercise of Mr Inspector Brain's authority would now be of avail—even if, indeed, the lapse of time should have left him any power over him. It was true that Blake was at least equally powerless for any active harm; but there was now another channel through which his malice might work evil, which even her apprehensions, when of old she had forecast her future, had omitted to calculate upon. Willie was now no child, as he had been then; at present he believed implicitly that Maggie was his mother, and John Milbank his father; but he was only too apt to listen to the arguments of others, and to be swayed by them. And what if Blake should tell the boy who his father was, and who had killed him!

At the idea of this, and of the consequences that must needs flow from it, poor Maggie's feelings experienced a complete inversion; so far from bewailing Willie's going to sea, she rejoiced in it, since it would remove him from this man, and put him out of reach of his adder's tongue. That he was about to depart upon the morrow was now absolutely a source of congratulation. Would to Heaven that he had departed yesterday! If she could only get him safe on board, without letting this man have further speech or sight of him, Maggie felt that she could still, once more, be almost happy.

CHAPTER XLIV.

EMANCIPATION.

WILLIE'S ship, in which he is about to sail this evening from Southampton, is not "a king's ship:" the ambition of his adopted mother had not aspired for him so high as the royal navy, or perhaps she had flattered herself that his servitude under a private firm would be easier, and more open to opportunities in the shape of leave. But the boy was "a middy" for all that, and had a right to wear that child-uniform of the sea which moves a woman's heart towards its wearer more than plumes and scarlet. How handsome he looked! How proud she felt of him that evening as she sat close to his side after dinner at the inn. His captain, with whom, notwithstanding her retiring habits, she had contrived to make acquaintance, in hopes to interest him in the boy—for what will not a woman do in the way of "bother" or trouble in such a cause?—had given him leave up to the last moment, and there was still another hour before their parting. She sat with her hand in his, but spoke but little, for her heart was too full for speech. He was going from her for months, it might be for years, among strangers, and in a strange land, when he should be on land at all; and hitherto they had not been separated even for a day. He had been brought up at home, not indeed like a milksop, for he was athletic and manly beyond his age, but he had never left the atmosphere of love that surrounded him at the cottage, to breathe the outer air:

and now he was about to experience the rough side of life; hardships, and rude companions, and temptations; and she would not be by to cheer, console, or strengthen him. Such were the thoughts that gave to her full right to call herself his mother there was nought of self pertaining to them. She did not picture to herself-at all events not now-the house all emptied of its mirth, to which she was about to go back; or the long nights when the wind should be up and wild in the forest, and wilder on the sea, when she should lie awake, and listen and pray-perhaps in vain-for her darling's safety; or the long days, which she should begin to count to-morrow, and which would grow longer as the time drew on for his return, if indeed he did return; the eager lookings for a letter from the sea by every post; the disappointments and delays; the solitude and the evil that were to be. That these were all to come, she was indeed vaguely aware; but for the present Willie, and Willie's future, were all in all to her. The incident of the previous night had given her strength up to this moment-it had made it seem so all-important to get the boy on board ship, and out of the risk of Blake's gaining speech with him-that all else had been forgotten, but now that he was safe, or all but safe, her grief became a burden such as she could hardly bear.

They had dined royally, or rather Willie and Mr Gresham had dined, while she had made pretence to do so, and the boy, looking forward into life with such expectation as is only possible to youth or madness, and flushed with the unaccustomed good cheer, was in high spirits. His being so at such a time would not have given her pain-for, with all her woman's love, she was in all things sensible-but that it reminded her of his father, from whom he had inherited his thoughtless buoyancy, his audacious independence, and then of the man himself-his father. Then once again the fear smote her— supposing between cup and lip there should be a slip still;

supposing Blake had tracked them to Southampton, and should intercept them on their way to the ship. She was lying in the docks, more than half a mile away, and such a thing might happen yet. She knew it was a foolish thought, and strove to drive it from her, but it would intrude itself. When the chimes of the neighbouring church warned them that it was time to depart, it was with trembling steps that, still hand in hand with Willie, she descended the hotel-stairs, and entered the vehicle that was in waiting to take them to the docks. The light from the shop-windows-for it was now evening-flashed upon the gold about his cap, and made him very conspicuous; suddenly he felt his mother's fingers tighten about his own. "Quick, quick!" exclaimed she; we are late let us go quicker."

She had caught a glimpse of a slouching figure in the street, which had looked up at them as they passed with unmistakable and malicious recognition. She did not know that this figure was already running, though with vagrant and uncertain step, behind the carriage, but she knew enough to wish from the bottom of her heart that the boy was well aboard. Past the jetties with their waning lights, and by the water-side, where the rays from the ship-lanterns gleamed from their sterns, and quivered in the wave, to the dock-gates, where a great crowd was gathered. It was long after the hour for closing, but some of these were passengers by the vessel about to sail, and some their friends, who wished to see the piteous last of them ere bidding them farewell; and some had no call at all to press within, but were merely curious to see the ship depart. The officials had work enough to keep back the crush, and decide as to who should be allowed to pass and who excluded even at the narrow footway which had hitherto alone offered admittance; but at this new arrival, when the larger entrance-gate had to be thrown open to admit the vehicle, their task became difficult indeed.

"Stop, stop that carriage !" cried a hoarse, half-stifled voice behind them, which went like ice to Maggie's heart; "I want to speak to "

"Quick, quick!" cried she again. "That is the ship, driver;" and she stood up, and pointed out the spot, where, amid the comparative darkness of the docks, shone the light of the departing vessel. She knew its place and it, though she had visited it but once, as well as its own captain, and would behold it for many a day and night, when it should be thousands of miles away, with every spar and sail distinct as she had seen them that morning. Willie, boylike, wondered to see his mother "in such a fidget," when there was still time to spare; but he set it down, as he well might, to her disturbance and distress of mind upon his own account. Once again he folded her in his arms, before they reached the ship, where scoffing eyes might chill their last farewell; but though she passionately returned his embrace, her face was fixed upon the road behind them, striving to penetrate the gloom, and mark if they were followed by that slouching figure whose hateful tones were still ringing in her ears.

The quay, however, was reached by this time, where the departing vessel lay, and in it her precious charge was placed in safety.

"God bless you, my boy!" and "God bless you, mother!" those simple words that are associated with so many a bitter hour of human life-were duly whispered; and then she tore herself away, and, with the rector beside her, silent and sympathising, watched from the shore the ropes cast off, the white sails belly in the night-breeze, and the huge ship slowly forge ahead with all her treasure.

"We had better wait a bit, sir," said the driver of the carriage; "there's a great crowd at the gates, they tell me, because of an accident that has happened."

"What accident?" asked Mr Gresham, not so much from