opened diverted his thoughts; it contained the intelligence of the death of the gentleman whose practice he had taken. After he had perused this he saw another directed in the well-known handwriting of Dr. Evans. This he leisurely took from the envelope, and on reading it found that an appointment had been offered him as surgeon to a regiment of soldiers about to embark for the seat of war. Here then was the way made plain for him. An answer must be returned within forty-eight hours, said Dr. Evans; if he decided to accept the appointment he must leave his present post at once, and spend the few days which remained to him in England with those to whom he was dear. Need we say the offer was accepted?

Walter communicated by telegraph with the friends of the deceased doctor, who were still at H-by-the-Sea where he had died, and leaving a gentleman to conduct the practice he started, after twelve hours' delay, by the mail train for L- where he arrived the next morning. Then, accompanied by Dr. Evans, he took the train to S where all preliminaries were settled, and four days were left for Walter to pass in the home that had sheltered him all his life, and very busy were Mrs. Evans and Maud in working and purchasing for him every kind of contrivance for protection against the cold and damp of that insidious climate to which so many had fallen victims. Maud's eyes were often heavy in the morning with working late in her own room, and with tears shed in that same solitude, while Mrs. Evans felt that her child was keeping to herself a sorrow that would secretly undermine her health when all cause for activity should be over. Remembering what Walter had said on one or two occasions, she purposely left the young people alone as the shadows gathered in the drawing-room on that September evening. Maud could not see to work any longer, and Walter had finished his writing on the business which had taken him north, and now he pushed away the inkstand and sat looking at Maud as she stood at the window, gazing into the square where the lamps were being lighted. Very pretty and graceful she looked in her white dress-for the weather was still warm-relieved by its cerise trimmings, and with the same colour in her hair, so like what her mother's had been. He was having a great struggle with himself, but fear of losing her in the future overcame all reserve, and he rose and came softly behind her, saying, with a great effort to be calm,

"Tell me, dear Maud, before I leave all that I love behind, that you will bear me in your remembrance, and that should I return once

more to my native land I may be dearer to you than a brother—while I am away, it will be my brightest vision in my toil and loneliness to think that you are keeping a welcome for me when I return.”

His voice trembled very much as he concluded. Maud placed her hand in his as she said,

"Dear Walter, here is my pledge that I will ever hold your remembrance most dear."

He felt something in his hand as she turned and glided from the room. It was a gold locket with her portrait inside. Walter placed it on his chain, and sought the Doctor and Mrs. Evans. Then he went in search of Maud, whom he found crying in the breakfast-room. He comforted her, and took her with him when he went to say "good-bye" to Jacob and Sally Willis, and afterwards they sang all their favourite songs, and prolonged the evening until a late hour. Then they spoke of Israel, and of the journey on the morrow to see Walter embark. Soon came the time, and Maud wept quietly as she left the vessel with her father, while her mother promised for her that she should write to Walter, as the latter stood on deck watching the shores of "Merrie England" fade away. He felt that he was in the path of duty, and that she whose love he had won, and to whom he had given his, would welcome for his sake the brother whom he trusted to find, and to bring back with him at some future day.

He knew that with Maud and her parents there were no scruples as to his parentage, but the matter was a delicate one with him, and troubled him much. 'If," he reasoned, "I should be the son of a convict, or worse, how can I dare to link the name and fair fame of my priceless treasure with the degrading appellation bestowed by the world upon such a one as I may be ? I will seek my brother, and with him leave nothing undone, as far as our means permit, to solve this terrible mystery. I cannot bear the doubt to intrude itself into my present happiness."

Thus he talked with himself, leaning over the side of the vessel, and when at last he sought repose, his history mingled with his dreams, and wrought itself into so many fantastic and unlikely scenes, that he was glad to awake once more to the stern reality.

After a prosperous voyage, the troops landed at the Piræus, and Walter was sent to assist in the hospital, as cholera had broken out; and he sought eagerly to discover in the faces of the soldiers around him the features of his brother; but without success. At last he began to feel his task hopeless, when, on looking over an Army List, he dis

covered that Israel was on duty in the trenches before Sebastopol, and so the time passed on, and Walter wrote to England, receiving welcome letters from Maud and her mother, containing many interesting particulars of home. He had had a hard day's work in the hospital, and was resting in his small tent pitched close by, when once again the English letters arrived. Walter found quite a thick packet addressed to him, and obtaining a light, he opened it eagerly, every trace of weariness leaving his countenance. As he sits reading, with the light of the lamp falling upon his face, he looks very handsome: his hair is dark, and curls thickly above a high white forehead, his eyes are also dark, his features a fine aquiline, his mouth is shaded by a silky dark moustache, and a long beard descends far below the scarf which is folded round his throat; his toilet bears signs of neglect, not from habit but compulsion; over his face steals a glad thankful look, almost amounting to awe. Our readers will be pleased to look with us over his shoulder, supposing, for the sake of convenience, they do not object to so mean a proceeding.

t

"15, S. Michael's Square, "Dec. 16, 18-.

My dear, dear Son,-For such you have been, and will, I trust, always remain. I hope you will not feel disappointed in receiving only this thick budget in my handwriting. I could not enclose a note from Maud this time, having so much to send you; but she is well, desires her love, and will write next time. Now, my dear boy, prepare yourself for a great surprise.

the

"Sally Willis's sister Rosa, who has not been heard of for twenty-seven years, has returned to die at their brother's house, viz. Isaac Pye's, near where my mother lives. I have been there with Maud, and send you following story of her life as it was heard from her dying lips, and read to me by Jacob, who termed it, the deposition of the dying woman.' "More than twenty-seven years ago I was a merry girl of eighteen, blessed with fond parents, sister and brother, and a happy home; people told me I was pretty, and I knew they spoke the truth, I grew vain of my beauty and listened to every idle flatterer. At last my mother died, I went to live as parlourmaid at a solicitor's in the neighbouring town, and there came a young gentleman to visit my master; he soon began to pay me compliments, and by degrees he told me that he loved me. I said my parents (my father had married again) would never consent to my being engaged to

a gentleman so far above me in position; and then he said they need not know, for he had quarrelled with his father, and would marry me and leave his home if I would go with him. It took a long time to persuade me, but at last I gave warning, left service and went home: when I got there I felt very unhappy, but I managed to conceal my sorrow, and one night I left my father's house and met my lover; we went many, many miles by train until we came to a seaport town and there he married me, and the certificate will be found inside the lining of my stays, with the portrait of my husband; he was good and kind to me when he was sober, but he often took too much to drink, so he lost his situation as clerk through it, then we came to poverty; this was two years after we were married, I had lost my first baby, and now I knew I was likely once more to be a mother. We grew poorer and poorer, I went into a lying-in hospital to be confined, and there I gave birth to twin boys; after I had been in three weeks I was dismissed, but when I sought my husband in our former lodgings where I had left him, he was gone. Oh! how very wretched I was! I made all inquiries, and at last traced him to L, where my sister Sally lived. I was nearly mad when I at last arrived there, and was so weak with want of food that I could no longer carry my babies. I took the two pretty boys and wrapped them in my shawl, then I watched my opportunity, and getting into a half finished house I hid them in a tub, which stood in the cellar and was empty; then I prayed to GOD to care for them and went on my search again. I found Alfred in a public-house, and he told me he had enlisted for a soldier. I could not leave him, I went back to get my babies, making him promise to stay for me. When 1 reached the house and went to the tub it was empty! how I got out of the house I never knew, but just then I passed a policeman, and the lamplight showed me Sally's husband, Jacob Willis; the light of the lamp flashed upon my shawl, and I saw that my babies were with him. 'Thank God,' I said, my babies are safe; I will leave them a few days and then return and claim them.' It was not to be, I joined my husband, whose regiment was ordered to India. We went on board at once, before I could even think what I should do; grief and want did their work and I was attacked by fever. I did not recover until we landed at Madras, and then I followed the regiment. My husband cared more for me as he became more steady, but I never had any other children, and my heart was full of anguish and regret to think I had left my babies to the care of strangers, and most likely should never see them again.

sailed for England. There my husband months ago, and I

But my husband would not write or let me write, he had made a vow not to let his friends ever hear of him again, and so we remained in India; but he did not go into active service, and his health was bad, although he tried to conceal it. After twenty-one years he obtained his discharge and a pension, sufficient to keep us from starving, then his thoughts turned to his native land. We had saved money enough to bring us home, and after a year had gone by we We landed at Portsmouth, but never got further. was taken with the illness of which he died six began to feel my own time on earth would be short. We lived in one room and were very happy, Alfred was patient and thankful, and on his dying bed told me who he really was. His name was Evans, his father was a physician in L, the very city where I had left my boys. He had been dead many years, and my husband had only one brother, who was also a physician there. He said he had left home several years before he met me, that he had broken his mother's heart, and that God had punished him by taking away his children; but he charged me to find my sister Sally, to tell her the story and to give her the certificate and portrait, to help her to find our boys if they were still living. And perhaps,' he added, they in their turn may find their father's friends, but it is not very likely, my sin has borne its fruits, nevertheless I believe and repent.' He died, and after I had buried him, I sold our few trifles that remained, and started for my dear old home which I longed to see once more. I scarcely thought to bear the journey, and to live to tell my tale, but I have done as Alfred wished me and as I longed to do; for now you know I have always been an honest woman, though guilty in leaving all my dear friends. Oh! Sally, find my boys if you can, perhaps Jacob may remember the time I speak of and be able to help you; and find their father's friends, dear Sally, and give them news of him. Do you know the name of Evans ?'

"She paused to gather strength and then said faintly, 'Oh! my boys, never more on earth shall I see you. If you find them give my dying love and ask them to forgive me, and will you forgive me too?' Sally fell down on her knees,' said Jacob, and burst into tears, Rosa! Rosa! tell me you forgive me for calling you a wretch all these years.' And then first one on us and then another telled her the story just as it happened, and she could scarce believe for wonder. Oh! how she thanked GOD who had so provided for her dear babies, and then she turned to Sally—'One thing more, if I could see Mrs. Evans and