ilt and diplomacy.

"Gracious, John!" cried out Mrs. Jago, dropping her knitting.
"Is the review over already?"

"No, I don't think it is--at least, I don't know," stammered the
doctor.

"John, you have had another attack of that vertigo."

"Upon my honour I have not, Maria." The doctor was vehement; for the
vertigo necessitated brandy, and a visit to the little cupboard below
the stairs meant hideous detection.

So he sat up and tried to describe the review to his wife, and made
such an abject mess of it, that after twenty minutes she made up her
mind that he _must_ have a headache, and, leaving the room quietly,
went to the little cupboard below the stairs. She found the door
ajar. . . .

When, after a long absence, she reappeared in the drawing-room, she
had forgotten to bring the brandy, and wore a look as guilty as her
husband's. So they sat together and talked in the twilight on
trivial matters; and each had a heart insufferably burdened, and each
was waiting desperately for an opportunity to lighten it.

"John," said Mrs. Jago at last, "we are getting poor company for each
other.

"Maria!"

The doctor leapt to his feet: and these old souls, who knew each
other so passing well, looked into each other's eyes, half in terror.

At that instant a feeble wail smote on their ears. It came from the
cupboard underneath the stairs.

"Maria! I put it there myself, two hours ago. I picked it up on the
downs. I've been--"

"_You!_ I thought it was some beggar-woman's doing. John, John--why
didn't you say so before!"

And she rushed out of the room.

This seedy scamp who reclined beside me was the child that she
brought back with her from the little cupboard. They had adopted
him, fed him, educated him, wrapped him round with love; and he had
lived to break their hearts. Possibly there was some gipsy blood in
him that defied their nurture. But the speculation is not worth
going into. I only know that I felt the better that afternoon as I
watched his figure diminishing on the road back to Drakeport. He had
a crown of mine in his pocket, and was still singing--

"Ho! just loosen the rope,
If it's only just for a while;
I fancy I see my father coming
Across from yonder stile."

I had lied in telling him that the old doctor was dead. As a matter
of fact he lay dying that afternoon. Half-way down the hill I saw
the small figure of Jacobs, the sexton, turn in at the chur