and come as she pleases there, unquestioned, and,
if she choose, unattended by her mother. And, without knowing why, he
feels inclined to rebel; but he is still under the spell of that morning
interview, and so holds his peace.

Evan, too, under the same uncanny spell, goes about more morose than
usual, more silent than usual, more sarcastic than usual. More and more,
too, he attaches himself to John Burrill; they drink together in the
dining room, and then repair together to "Old Forty Rods," or some other
favorite haunt. Together they seek for pleasure in the haunts of the
vilest, Evan continually playing upon the vanity and credulity in
Burrill's nature, to push him forward as the leader in all their
debauches, the master spirit, the _bon vivant, par excellence_.

And Burrill goes on and on, down and down. He begins to confide all his
maudlin woes to Evan, and that young man is ever ready with sympathy and
advice that is not calculated to make Jasper Lamotte's position, as bear
trainer, a sinecure.

But Evan contrives to leave Sybil tolerably free from this nuisance for
a time; but only for a time. John Burrill has other advisers, other
exhorters, other spurs that urge him on to his own downfall.

Burrill begins to throw himself in the way of Constance Wardour; to meet
her carriage here and there; to stand near by as she goes and comes on
her shopping excursions; to drive past Wardour Place alone and often.

At first, this only amuses Miss Wardour; then it annoys her; then, when
she finds her walks in the grounds so often overlooked by the slowly
passing Burrill, she begins to mark his maneuvers with a growing
vexation.

But Burrill perseveres, and the more nearly he approaches the fourth
stage of his intoxication, the more open becomes his stare, the more
patent his growing admiration.

CHAPTER XVIII.

JOHN BURRILL, PLEBEIAN.

It is night, late and lowering; especially gloomy in that quarter of
W---- where loom the great ugly rows of tenements that are inhabited by
the factory toilers; for the gloom and smoke of the great engines brood
over the roofs night and day, and the dust and cinders could only be
made noticeable by their absence.

In a small cottage, at the end of a row of larger houses, a woman is
busy clearing away the fragments of a none too bountiful supper. A small
woman, with a sour visage, and not one ounce of flesh on her person,
that is not absolutely needed to screen from mortal