and
appearance were anything but enviable. He recovered himself, however,
in a few minutes, and turned fiercely on the intruders.

"By what right, and by whose authority," he cried, "do you dare to break
into my coachman's house, and to lay violent hands on these gentlemen?"

"By this warrant, young sir," said the chief of the invading party,
producing a parchment. "I'm a detective; I've been looking after these
_gentlemen_ a long time; they are part of a regular gang of pickpockets
and swindlers, and we've a case or two against 'em as 'll keep 'em at
home, under lock and key, for a bit. I'm sorry we've been so rough, but
I was afraid of losing 'em. I didn't think to find 'em in such company,
and I hope, young gent, if you'll let me give you a word of advice, that
you'll keep clear of such as these for the future for your own sake."

Alas! Poor Mark! Crestfallen and wretched, he slunk away home.

And what had become of Jim Forbes? Nobody knew at "The Firs." He was
missing that night and the next day. Mr Rothwell asked for him at
breakfast, and was told that he had not slept in the house the night
before, and was nowhere to be found. The day passed away, but Jim did
not make his appearance.

It was a dark November evening: a dim light twinkled through the
casement of Mrs Forbes' cottage: the wind was whistling and sighing
mournfully, sometimes lulling for a while, and then rising and rushing
through crack and crevice with a wild complaining moan. Inside that
little dwelling were weeping eyes and aching hearts. Upstairs all was
peace; four little children lay fast asleep in the inner chamber, twined
in each other's ruddy arms, their regular breathing contrasting, in its
deep peace, with the fitful sighings of the wind; yet on the long
eyelashes of one of the little sleepers there stood a glistening tear,
and from the parted lips there came, now and again, the words, "Brother
Jim."

But ah! No blessed sleep stilled the throbbing hearts of those who
cowered over the scanty fire in the kitchen below; Jim's mother and
crippled sister. Was it poverty that made them sad? No. Poverty was
there, but it was very neat and cleanly poverty. No, it was not poverty
that wrung the bitter tears from the eyes of those heart-sick watchers;
they were rich in faith; they could trust God; they could afford to
wait. It wasn't _that_. Jim! Poor Jim! Poor erring Jim! How changed
he had been of late; none of his old b