ve long been hunting after him. Indeed, I wonder that you did not
tell me about him before."

"How could I," said Pax, "when Tot--I mean Merry--no, I'll stick to
Tottie it comes more natural than the old name--told me not for worlds
to mention it. Only now, after pressin' her and aunt Georgie wery hard,
have I bin allowed to let it out, for poor Aspel himself don't want his
whereabouts to be known."

"Surely!" exclaimed Phil, with a troubled, anxious air, "he has not
become a criminal."

"No. Auntie assures me he has not, but he is sunk very low, drinks hard
to drown his sorrow, and is ashamed to be seen. No wonder. You'd
scarce know 'im, Phil, workin' like a coal-heaver, in a suit of dirty
fustian, about the wharves--tryin' to keep out of sight. I've come
across 'im once or twice, but pretended not to recognise 'im. Now,
Phil," added little Pax, with deep earnestness in his face, as he laid
his hand impressively on his friend's arm, "we must save these two men
somehow--you and I."

"Yes, God helping us, we must," said Phil.

From that moment Philip Maylands and Peter Pax passed, as it were, into
a more earnest sphere of life, a higher stage of manhood. The influence
of a powerful motive, a settled purpose, and a great end, told on their
characters to such an extent that they both seemed to have passed over
the period of hobbledehoyhood at a bound, and become young men.

With the ardour of youth, they set out on their mission at once. That
very night they went together to the wretched abode of Abel Bones,
having previously, however, opened their hearts and minds to May
Maylands, from whom, as they had expected, they received warm
encouragement.

Little did these unsophisticated youths know what a torrent of anxiety,
grief, fear, and hope their communication sent through the heart of poor
May. The eager interest she manifested in their plans they regarded as
the natural outcome of a kind heart towards an old friend and
playfellow. So it was, but it was more than that!

The same evening George Aspel and Abel Bones were seated alone in their
dismal abode in Archangel Court. There were tumblers and a pot of beer
before them, but no food. Aspel sat with his elbows on the table,
grasping the hair on his temples with both hands. The other sat with
arms crossed, and his chin sunk on his chest, gazing gloomily but
intently at his companion.

Remorse--that most awful of the ministers of vengeance--had beg