they put her in one of
the workas 'firmaries, and wouldn't let me stop along with her. They
shoved me in a school as was all whitewash, with a lot more boys; and I
got in a row with some on 'em, and we had a fight, and the master caned
me, and I hooked it; and please, Miss, mayn't I stay?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

A JAR WRONGLY LABELLED.

James Poynter blustered and threatened; but the only proceedings he took
were the sending of threatening letters to Hendon--letters which Mark
advised him to throw into the fire.

"Wait," said the latter one evening, "and let him develop his attack; we
should only weaken ourselves by going out to meet him."

"But if he really has claims on my father, and seizes this place?"

"Then, my lad, you and I must set to, and see if it is not possible for
us to join hands and get together another home for your father and
sister--one, perhaps, that, if small, might be made happy till I came
back."

"Came back?" said Janet, who had accompanied her brother to the doctor's
that evening.

"Yes, dear," said Mark. "I have not said a word to a soul; but I'm
going back to the Cape by the next boat."

"To try your luck again?" said Hendon quickly.

"To try my luck again," replied Mark; and he glanced at Rich, who was
seated at work with Janet, while the doctor looked on, and smiled
placidly at both in turn.

Rich turned very pale; but she did not speak.

"I have no prospects here," continued Mark; "and out yonder I have faith
in making some progress. I shall tempt my fate again."

"And if I could only feel sure that those we left behind would be safe,"
cried Hendon, "I'd go with you."

Janet's eyes lit up, and it was a look more of encouragement than blame
which she directed at her lover.

"You, Hendon?" said Mark, smiling.

"Yes; I want to get away, and begin differently. I'm--there, look here,
Mark Heath; with a strong-minded chap like you, I know I could get on,
doctoring or diamond-digging, or something of that kind. Hallo, what is
it?"

"Letter, sir."

"Letter? Why didn't the boy bring it up?"

"He's a-dusting the surgery, sir," replied the maid, who seemed to have
been engaged upon some cleansing business in which she had been worsted.

"For you, Hendon," said Rich, who had taken the letter. "Is it from the
hospital?"

"No, it isn't from the hospital," said Hendon quietly, as he knit his
brow over the correctly-written formal letter, in which a firm of
solicitors