which belongs only to the spring. He went to the
bank, and paid in the money, getting a small sum at the same time for
his own immediate use; but somehow his restlessness was scarcely
satisfied by that very legitimate piece of business, and he extended his
walk into the town, and strayed, half by chance, half by intention, to
the old furniture shop at the other end of the High Street, which was a
favourite resort of the higher classes in Carlingford, and where
periodically there was an auction, at which sometimes great bargains
were to be had. Mr. May went into this dangerous place boldly. The sale
was going on; he walked into the midst of temptation, forgetting the
prayer against it, which no doubt he had said that morning. And as evil
fate would have it, a carved book-case, the very thing he had been
sighing for, for years, was at that moment the object of the
auctioneer's praises. It was standing against the wall, a noble piece of
furniture, in which books would show to an advantage impossible
otherwise, preserved from dust and damp by the fine old oak and glass
door. Mr. May's heart gave a little jump. Almost everybody has wished
for something unattainable, and this had been the object of his desires
for years. He gave a little start when he saw it, and hurried forward.
The bidding had actually begun; there was no time to think and consider,
if he wished to have a chance, and it was going cheap, dead cheap.
After a minute or two of competition the blood rose to his cheeks, he
got thoroughly excited. The effect of this excitement was two-fold--not
only did it drive all thought of prudence out of his head, but it raised
by several pounds the price of the book-case, which, had he gone about
it coolly, he might have had at a much cheaper rate. When he suddenly
woke up to find himself the owner of it, a thrill of consternation ran
over him--it was all so sudden; and it was perfectly innocent, if only
he had any money; and to be sure he had James's money, which was not
enough to do anything else--certainly not to do the thing he wanted it
for. He tried to laugh at himself for the little thrill of alarm that
ran through him; but it was too late to recede; and he gave his cheque
for the money and his directions as to having it sent to the Parsonage,
with a quake at his heart, yet a little flourish of satisfaction.

"Just what I have been wanting for years," he said, as he examined his
new acquisition, and the people about l