iend, and went away about his own business. He had to
decide between Tennessee, Thibet, and Buenos Ayres, and wanted his
time for his own purposes.

When he got to dinner at his club, he found a letter from Mr
Whittlestaff, which had come by the day-mail. It was a letter which,
for the time, drove Thibet and Buenos Ayres, and Tennessee also,
clean out of his mind. It was as follows:--

CROKER'S HALL, -- June 188--.

DEAR MR JOHN GORDON,--I shall be in town this afternoon,
probably by the same train which will bring this letter,
and will do myself the honour of calling upon you at your
club the next day at twelve.--I am, dear Mr John Gordon,
faithfully yours,

WILLIAM WHITTLESTAFF.

Then there was to be an answer to the appeal which he had made. Of
what nature would be the answer? As he laid his hand upon his heart,
and felt the violence of the emotion to which he was subjected, he
could not doubt the strength of his own love.

CHAPTER XIX.

MR WHITTLESTAFF'S JOURNEY DISCUSSED.

"I don't think that if I were you I would go up to London, Mr
Whittlestaff," said Mary. This was on the Tuesday morning.

"Why not?"

"I don't think I would."

"Why should you interfere?"

"I know I ought not to interfere."

"I don't think you ought. Especially as I have taken the trouble to
conceal what I am going about."

"I can guess," said Mary.

"You ought not to guess in such a matter. You ought not to have it on
your mind at all. I told you that I would not tell you. I shall go.
That's all that I have got to say."

The words with which he spoke were ill-natured and savage. The reader
will find them to be so, if he thinks of them. They were such that
a father would hardly speak, under any circumstances, to a grown-up
daughter,--much less that a lover would address to his mistress. And
Mary was at present filling both capacities. She had been taken into
his house almost as an adopted daughter, and had, since that time,
had all the privileges accorded to her. She had now been promoted
still higher, and had become his affianced bride. That the man should
have turned upon her thus, in answer to her counsel, was savage, or
at least ungracious. But at every word her heart became fuller and
more full of an affection as for something almost divine. What other
man had ever shown such love for any woman? and this love was shown
to her,--who was nothing to him,--who ate the bread of charity in hi