in full swing--but not,
as usual, New Year's Eve.

Captain Monk headed his table, the parson, Robert Grame, at his right
hand, Harry Carradyne on his left. Whether it might be that the world,
even that out-of-the-way part of it, Church Leet, was improving in
manners and morals; or whether the Captain himself was changing: certain
it was that the board was not the free board it used to be. Mrs.
Carradyne herself might have sat at it now, and never once blushed by as
much as the pink of a sea-shell.

It was known that the chimes were to play this year; and, when midnight
was close at hand, Captain Monk volunteered a statement which astonished
his hearers. Rimmer, the butler, had come into the room to open the
windows.

"I am getting tired of the chimes, and all people have not liked them,"
spoke the Captain in slow, distinct tones. "I have made up my mind to do
away with them, and you will hear them to-night, gentlemen, for the last
time."

"_Really_, Uncle Godfrey!" cried Harry Carradyne, in most intense
surprise.

"I hope they'll bring us no ill-luck to-night!" continued Captain Monk
as a grim joke, disregarding Harry's remark. "Perhaps they will, though,
out of sheer spite, knowing they'll never have another chance of it.
Well, well, they're welcome. Fill your glasses, gentlemen."

Rimmer was throwing up the windows. In another minute the church clock
boomed out the first stroke of twelve, and the room fell into a dead
silence. With the last stroke the Captain rose, glass in hand.

"A happy New Year to you, gentlemen! A happy New Year to us all. May it
bring to us health and prosperity!"

"And God's blessing," reverently added Robert Grame aloud, as if to
remedy an omission.

Ring, ring, ring! Ah, there it came, the soft harmony of the chimes,
stealing up through the midnight air. Not quite as loudly heard,
perhaps, as usual, for there was no wind to waft it, but in tones
wondrously clear and sweet. Never had the strains of the "Bay of Biscay"
brought to the ear more charming melody. How soothing it was to those
enrapt listeners; seeming to tell of peace.

But soon another sound arose to mingle with it. A harsh, grating sound,
like the noise of wheels passing over gravel. Heads were lifted; glances
expressed surprise. With the last strains of the chimes dying away in
the distance, a carriage of some kind galloped up to the hall door.

Eliza Hamlyn alighted from it--with her child and its nurse. As quickly