ss his ruin, but who was eventually made the
willing instrument in bringing about his salvation. He thought of the
scowling look and clenched fist of poor Bones as he had stood there,
long ago, under the grand portico. He thought of the same man on his
sick-bed, with clasped hands and glittering eyes, thanking God that he
had been brought to the gates of death by an accident, that his eyes and
heart had been opened to see and accept Jesus, and that he had still
power left to urge his friend (George Aspel) to come to Jesus, the
sinner's Refuge. He thought also of the burglar's death, and of the
fading away of his poor wife, who followed him to the grave within the
year. He thought of the orphan Tottie, who had been adopted and
educated by Miss Stivergill, and was by that time as pretty a specimen
of budding womanhood as any one could desire to see, with the strong
will and courage of her father, and the self-sacrificing, trusting,
gentleness of her mother. But above and beyond and underlying all these
thoughts, his mind kept playing incessantly round a fair form which he
knew was somewhere engaged at that moment in the building at his side,
manipulating a three-keyed instrument with delicate fingers which he
longed to grasp.

Ah! it is all very well for a man to resolve to tear an idol from his
heart; it is quite another thing to do it. George Aspel had long ago
given up all hope of winning May Maylands. He not only felt that one
who had fallen so low as he, and shown such a character for instability,
had no right to expect any girl to trust her happiness to him; but he
also felt convinced that May had no real love for him, and that it would
be unmanly to push his suit, even although he was now delivered from the
power of his great enemy. He determined, therefore, to banish her as
much as possible from his mind, and, in furtherance of his purpose, had
conscientiously kept out of her way and out of the way of all his former
friends.

Heaving a little sigh as he dismissed her, for the ten-thousandth time,
from his mind, he was turning his back on the Post-Office--that precious
casket which contained so rich but unattainable a jewel--when he
remembered that he had a letter in his pocket to post.

Turning back, he sprang up the steps. The great mouth was not yet wide
open. The evening feeding-hour had not arrived, and the lips were only
in their normal condition--slightly parted. Having contributed his
morsel t