one
sole weapon Grog Davis could not match; and before the "gentleman" he
quailed, but only for a second or two, when he rallied, and said, "I
want the intercourse as little as you do. I am here for the pleasure of
being with my daughter."

"As for that," began Beecher, "there is no need--" He stopped abruptly,
something terribly menacing in Grog's face actually arresting his words
in the utterance.

"Take you care what you say," muttered Grog, as he approached him, and
spoke with a low, guttural growl. "I have n't much patience at the best
of times; don't provoke me _now._"

"Will you take this letter,--yes or no?" said Beecher, resolutely.

"I will: seal and address it," said Grog, searching for a match to light
the taper, while Beecher folded the letter, and wrote the direction.
Davis continued to break match after match in his effort to strike a
light. Already the dusk of declining day filled the room, and objects
were dimly descried. Beecher's heart beat violently. The thought that
even yet, if he could summon courage for it, he might outwit Grog, sent
a wild thrill through him. What ecstasy, could he only succeed!

"Curse these wax contrivances! the common wooden ones never failed,"
muttered Davis. "There goes the fifth."

"If you 'll ring for Fisher--"

An exclamation and an oath proclaimed that he had just burned his
finger; but he still persevered.

"At last!" cried he,--"at last!" And just as the flame rose slowly up,
Beecher had slipped the letter in his pocket, and substituted the other
in its place.

"I'll write 'Private and confidential,'" added Beecher, "to show that
the communication is strictly for himself alone." And now the document
was duly sealed, and the name "Lackington" inscribed in the corner.

"I 'll start to-night," said Davis, as he placed the letter in his
pocket-book; "I may have to delay a day in London, to see Fordyce. Where
shall I write to you?"

"I'll talk that over with my Lady," said the other, still trembling with
the remnant of his fears. "We dine at six," added he, as Davis arose to
leave the room.

"So Lizzy told me," said Davis.

"You don't happen to know if she invited Twining, do you?"

"No! but I hope she didn't," said Grog, sulkily.

"Why so? He's always chatty, pleasant, and agreeable," said Beecher,
whose turn it was now to enjoy the other's irritation.

"He's what I hate most in the world," said Davis, vindictively; "a swell
that can walk into every l