t, my dear. Ah, well, I won't think it, then, any
more, for I don't see what greater judgment could fall upon him than
losing you."

Isabel could not trust herself to speak, but hurried out of the room and
downstairs with Laura.

"Don't speak to me, dear; let me go now," whispered the poor girl,
faintly. "I am weak and ill, and can bear no more now. I ought not to
have come, but the impulse was too strong. Good-bye, dear sister,
good-bye!"

The two girls were locked in a loving embrace, and then, with Isabel
turning sick with dread, they sprang apart, for there was the rattle of
a latch-key at the door, it was thrown open, and Chester strode in.

He stood for a few moments aghast, as he saw Isabel recoil from him.
Then, drawing down her veil, she tottered out, and was half-way to the
brougham, drawn up by the kerb, before he recollected himself and sprang
after her to open the door and try to hand her in. But she shrank from
him as if in dread, and gathering her veil closely over her white, drawn
face, she sank back in the carriage, and her betrothed stood gazing
after her as she was rapidly driven away.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

WORKERS AT A TRAIN.

"Of course, Orthur, the different grades in this service have to be kept
distinct, and the inferiors have to look up to their superiors just as
it is in the army."

"Oh yes, sir, of course," said the gentleman addressed, squeezing his
left eyelids together slightly, unseen by the pompous individual
addressing him; "but you can't say as I haven't always been respectful
and kept my place."

"Always, Orthur, always, and that's why I come down a little to you and
meet you on equal terms when we are alone, for I have always found you a
very respectable, intelligent young man. What's that chap staring at?"

"Us, seemingly, Mr Roach, sir," said the younger man, with a grin.
"Book canvasser, that's what he is; been taking orders of the old chap
next door, but didn't like the look of us, and didn't try it on. I had
a peep through the open door there one day, and it was packed full o'
books like a warehouse, sir."

"Yes, yes, but never mind that," said the butler, impatiently. "But as
I was saying, I've always found you a very respectable young man,
Orthur, and I'm disposed to trust you. Service is all very well,
Orthur, but there's no saving money; and when one sees these
bookmakers--coarse, beefy-faced butcher or publican sort of fellows--
keeping their brough