s.

'Madeline,' said her father, gently disengaging himself, 'it was
nothing.'

'But you had that spasm yesterday, and it is terrible to see you in such
pain. Can I do nothing for you?'

'Nothing just now. Here are two gentlemen, Madeline, one of whom you
have seen before. She used to say,' added Mr Bray, addressing Arthur
Gride, 'that the sight of you always made me worse. That was natural,
knowing what she did, and only what she did, of our connection and its
results. Well, well. Perhaps she may change her mind on that point;
girls have leave to change their minds, you know. You are very tired, my
dear.'

'I am not, indeed.'

'Indeed you are. You do too much.'

'I wish I could do more.'

'I know you do, but you overtask your strength. This wretched life, my
love, of daily labour and fatigue, is more than you can bear, I am sure
it is. Poor Madeline!'

With these and many more kind words, Mr Bray drew his daughter to him
and kissed her cheek affectionately. Ralph, watching him sharply and
closely in the meantime, made his way towards the door, and signed to
Gride to follow him.

'You will communicate with us again?' said Ralph.

'Yes, yes,' returned Mr Bray, hastily thrusting his daughter aside. 'In
a week. Give me a week.'

'One week,' said Ralph, turning to his companion, 'from today.
Good-morning. Miss Madeline, I kiss your hand.'

'We will shake hands, Gride,' said Mr Bray, extending his, as old Arthur
bowed. 'You mean well, no doubt. I an bound to say so now. If I owed you
money, that was not your fault. Madeline, my love, your hand here.'

'Oh dear! If the young lady would condescent! Only the tips of her
fingers,' said Arthur, hesitating and half retreating.

Madeline shrunk involuntarily from the goblin figure, but she placed the
tips of her fingers in his hand and instantly withdrew them. After an
ineffectual clutch, intended to detain and carry them to his lips,
old Arthur gave his own fingers a mumbling kiss, and with many amorous
distortions of visage went in pursuit of his friend, who was by this
time in the street.

'What does he say, what does he say? What does the giant say to the
pigmy?' inquired Arthur Gride, hobbling up to Ralph.

'What does the pigmy say to the giant?' rejoined Ralph, elevating his
eyebrows and looking down upon his questioner.

'He doesn't know what to say,' replied Arthur Gride. 'He hopes and
fears. But is she not a dainty morsel?'

'I have no great taste