lost his hold, falling heavily to the ground.

They hastened to the spot, just in time to see a spasmodic quiver of the
limbs as he drew his last breath. He had struck his head violently
against a huge stone and broken his neck.

The body was removed to the mortuary of the asylum, with all speed, and
the relatives of the poor man telegraphed for, and when Dr. Shielding
returned home he found that his wife had insisted upon keeping Mollie
and Millicent as their guests until Jack's return, to which arrangement
he heartily assented.

* * * * *

Jack's face blanched as he read a paragraph describing the adventure in
his morning paper the following day, and when his letters were brought
in, he hastily broke the seal of one in his wife's handwriting, and read
the story in her own words, finishing with, "Oh, Jack, dear, I never,
never can go back there again; do come and fetch us home."

They never did return to the Priory, for on his way to the station, Jack
put it into the hands of an agent for sale, and when he reached
Beechcroft, he begged Mrs. Somers to go and pack up all their personal
belongings and send them back to Town.

It was with feelings of deep thankfulness that he clasped his wife and
little one in his arms once more, inwardly vowing that come what might,
he would never again leave them without protection, even for an hour.

THE THIRD PERSON SINGULAR.

BY LUCY HARDY.

"You remember the old coaching days, granny?"

"Indeed I do," replied the old lady, with a smile, "for one of the
strangest adventures of my life befell me on my first stage-coach
journey. Yes, you girls shall hear the story; I am getting into my
'anecdotage,' as Horace Walpole calls it," and granny laughed with the
secret consciousness that her "anecdotes" were always sure of an
appreciative audience.

"People did not run about hither and thither in my young days as you
girls do now," went on the old lady, "and it was quite an event to take
a coach journey. In fact, when I started on my first one, I was nearly
twenty years old; and my father and mother had then debated a good while
as to whether I could be permitted to travel alone by the stage. My
father was a country parson, as you know, and we lived in a very remote
Yorkshire village. But an aunt, who was rich and childless, had lately
taken up her residence at York, and had written so urgently to beg that
I might be allowed to spend the win