al
proceedings, to request you to furnish me with your authority for using
his lordship's name in the manner stated. Awaiting your reply by
return, I am, sir, yours, etcetera,--

"A. Turner, Secretary."

This was a finishing stroke to the disillusion. In all his troubles and
perplexities the good Bishop of S-- had been a rock to lean on for the
poor secretary.

But now even that prop was snatched away, and he was left alone in the
ruins of his own hopes.

He could see it all at last. As he went back over the whole history of
his connection with the Corporation he was able to recognise how at
every step he had been duped and fooled; how his very honesty had been
turned to account; how his intelligence had been the one thing disliked
and discouraged.

And what was to become of him now?

Anything but desert the sinking ship--that question never cost Reginald
two thoughts. He would right himself if he could. He would protest his
innocence of all fraud or connivance at fraud. He would even do what he
could to bring the real offenders to justice; but as long as the
Corporation had a creditor left he would be there to face him and suffer
the consequence of his own folly and stupidity.

Young Love got little sympathy that day in his reading. Indeed, he
could not but notice that something unusual had happened to the
"gov'nor," and that being so, not even the adventures of Christian or
the unexplored marvels of Robinson Crusoe could satisfy him. He
polished up the furniture half a dozen times, and watched Reginald's eye
like a dog, ready to catch the first sign of a want or a question.
Presently he could stand it no longer, and said,--"Say, gov'nor, what's
up? 'taint nothing along of me, are it?"

"No, my boy," said Reginald. "Is it along of that there Medlock?"
Reginald nodded.

It was well for Mr Medlock that he was not in the room at that moment.

"I'll top 'im, see if I don't," muttered the boy; "I owes 'im one for
carting me down 'ere, and I owes 'im four or five now; and you'll see if
I don't go for 'im, gov'nor."

"You'd better go back to your home," said Reginald, with a kindly tremor
in his voice; "I'm afraid you'll get into trouble by staying with me."

It was fine to see the flash of scorn in the boy's face as he said,--

"Oh yus, me go 'ome and leave yer! Walker--I stays 'ere."

"Very well, then," said Reginald, with a sigh. "We may as well go on
with the book. Suppose you read me about