ngagement had been sanctioned by the bishop, and
delivered a message to the effect that she wished to see and embrace her
future daughter-in-law--all of which information gave Mab wondrous
pleasure and Miss Whichello a considerable amount of satisfaction, since
she saw that there would be no further question of her niece's
unsuitability for George.

'You deserve some reward for your good news,' said Mab, and produced a
silk knitted necktie of martial red, 'so here it is!'

'Dearest,' cried Captain Pendle, kissing the scarf, 'I shall wear it
next to my heart;' then, thinking the kiss wasted on irresponsive silk,
he transferred it to the cheek of his lady-love.

'Nonsense!' said Miss Whichello, smiling broadly; 'wear it round your
neck like a sensible lover.'

'Are lovers ever sensible?' inquired the captain, with a twinkle.

'I know one who isn't,' cried Mab, playfully. 'No, sir,' removing an
eager arm, 'you will shock aunty.'

'Aunty has become hardened to such shocks,' smiled Miss Whichello.

'Aunty has been as melancholy as an owl of late,' retorted Mab,
caressing the old lady; 'ever since the arrest of that man Mosk she has
been quite wretched.'

'Don't speak of him, Mab.'

'Halloo! said George, with sudden recollection, 'I knew there was
something else to tell you. Mosk is dead.'

Miss Whichello gave a faint shriek, and tightly clasped the hand of her
niece. 'Dead!' she gasped, pale-cheeked and low-toned. 'Mosk dead!'

'As a door nail,' rejoined George, admiring his present; 'he hanged
himself last night with his braces, so the gallows have lost a victim
and Beorminster society a sensation trial of--'

'George!' cried Mab, in alarm, 'don't talk so; you will make aunty
faint.'

And indeed the little old lady looked as though she were on the point of
swooning. Her face was white, her skin was cold, and leaning back her
head she had closed her eyes. Captain Pendle's item of news had produced
so unexpected a result that he and Mab stared at one another in
surprise.

'You shouldn't tell these horrors, George.'

'My love, how was I to know your aunt took an interest in the man?'

'I don't take an interest in him,' protested Miss Whichello, faintly;
'but he killed Jentham, and now he kills himself; it's horrible.'

'Horrible, but necessary,' assented George, cheerfully; 'a man who
murders another can't expect to get off scot-free. Mosk has only done
for himself what the law would have done for him. I'm