m day to day. In spite of his cheerful and ruddy
face he was feeling quite worn and old. If this continues, if these
people will insist on pulling the house down over their heads, I shall
fall ill like John, he reflected. He was very angry with these stupid
and silly people, who were bringing such shame and dishonor on
themselves. He often found himself wishing that his niece Charlotte had
not been the fine and open character she was. Had Charlotte been
different he might have ventured to confide in her. He felt that with
Charlotte on his side all might yet be well. This, however, was
absolutely impossible. To tell Charlotte would be to tell the world. Bad
as her father was in keeping this ugly secret quiet, Charlotte would be
ten times, twenty times, worse. What an unfortunate thing it was that
Charlotte had put that advertisement in the papers, and that Mrs. Home
had answered it! Mrs. Home of all people! Well, well, it came of that
dreadful meddling of women in literature. _He_, Jasper, had known no
peace since the day that Charlotte had wished for an amanuensis to help
her with her silly book.

Jasper on this particular morning, as he hurried off from the Harman
house, felt less and less comfortable. He was sure, by Charlotte's
manner, that her engagement was something very particular. He feared she
was going to meet Mrs. Home. He came, with all his surmises, very far
short of the real truth, but he was in that state of mind when the
guilty fly, with no man pursuing. It had been an awful moment for old
Jasper Harman when, a week ago, he had suddenly knocked up against that
solitary, foreign-looking man. He had heard his voice and seen his face,
and he had felt his own heart standing still. Who _was_ this man? Was he
a ghost? the ghost of the long-dead trustee? Jasper began to hope that
it was but an accidental likeness in voice and manner. For was not this
man, this Alexander Wilson, named in his father's will, dead and buried
for many a day? Had not he, Jasper, not, indeed, seen him die, but had
he not stood on his grave? Had not he travelled up some hundreds of
miles in that wild Australian country for the sole purpose of standing
on that special grave? And had not he read name and age, and date of
death, all fully corroborating the story which had been sent to him?
Yes, Jasper hoped that it was but a very remarkable likeness--a ghost of
the real man. How, indeed, could it be anything but a ghost when he had
stood