"And perhaps a Jesuit," said Miss Scheimes.

Well," said the Admiral, plucking up courage, "the Duchess does that, and for the matter of that, so does fforester."

"Duchess! don't Duchess me, Admiral, I beg," retorted the distiller's widow; as if the possession of that exalted title conferred the privilege of committing any enormity. "This Miss Manwaring isn't a Duchess, is she? And as for that poor Mr. fforester, we all know what he is; didn't precious Mr. Moodle say, the last time he addressed us in this very room, that he is a dry branch that withereth afore it be plucked up, a-a-"

"A dumb dog," suggested Miss Scheimes.

"Thank you, love," continued Lady M'Adam, “I was just coming to that when you interrupted me; it's a habit you've got at times. A dumb dog that barketh not when the wolf cometh ; a blind lead—” But at that moment the string of protestant Billingsgate was cut short by the door being thrown open, and by the servant announcing in harsh Belfast accent, "The Loidy Laveenia Gatherghoul," and then in skipped Lady Lavinia, in as lambkin-like a manner as her lame leg and upwards of sixty years in this troublous world permitted.

"My dear Lady M'Adam," cried she, pointing one

shoulder at the widow; "my dear Helen," pointing the other shoulder at the spinster; "my dear Admiral," pointing both shoulders at that naval commander, "how fortunate I am to find you together, really quite providential! Do you know, my nerves have had such a shock. Papfaddle-you know Papfaddle, Admiral? the faithfullest creaturePapfaddle has found out such a dreadful story from that Miss Manwaring's maid. I do really think the dear Queen ought to be more careful in her choice. Oh! this Palace might be quite a heaven below, if we could be sure of only having converted persons in our midst! But, only think-Miss Manwaring's own brother was accused of committing a burglary at Lord Guttleborough's, and then went and committed suicide, or something dreadful."

"But was he guilty?" asked the Admiral.

"Guilty? No, not exactly guilty," answered Lady Lavinia, "but only think, how shocking to be accused even of such dreadful things. Depend upon it, there is no what-you-may-call 'em without thingummy! And the worst of it is, that sort of thing runs in the Blood. Really, if Miss Manwaring should develop a tendency to Klep-Klep-Klep something-Klepsydra, isn't it?—and I living on the same staircase, whatever should I do?"

"Send for the police," suggested the Admiral.

And if, say at midnight," pursued Lady Lavinia, without paying any attention to the interruption,

you were to wake up and see Miss Manwaring standing over you with a blunderbuss, or a bayonet, or some such dreadful thing, and demanding your India shawls and Sevres teapots, or your life, what would you do then, Admiral?" and the inevitable shoulders worked up and down like a pump handle.

The Admiral looked puzzled. "'Pon my honour,” said he at last, "it would be a doosed-I mean a very awkward situation for a man; but I hope there's no danger of that."

"There's no telling, in these cases," said Lady M'Adam.

"No, indeed," echoed Miss Scheimes.

"It's very dreadful," continued the widow-looking as virtuous as if there were no such thing as fifthrate Irish whiskey in the world-"it's very dreadful, but it is something to know what to expect. wonder the young person declines the ministrations of dear Mr. Moodle. O-h, the hardness of the unconverted heart!"

No

And then, having taken away a sister's character by spying, innuendo, malice, and hatred, the three

"converted" and "saved" ladies became quite cheerful, as they sipped their tea, with just a soupçon of something stronger in it, and turned to small talk and gossip, which in "unconverted" people would have been deemed worldly enough. But then, as Miss Scheimes once remarked, "when one knows one's saved, it's so nice to feel that it makes no difference what one says or does, for it must be all right at the last."

YN the ensuing few months, save of course from the clique of "saved" ladies whom we left in the last chapter upon charitable thoughts intent, Evelyn Manwaring won golden opinions from all the inmates of the stately old Palace. No one could even see her without being struck by her grace and beauty, or fascinated by her lustrous eyes; no one could speak to her without being charmed by her quiet good sense, by the innocence of her nature, and by the sweetness and simplicity of her disposition. Her tender, considerate respect delighted the old; and her girlish buoyancy of spirits and bright cheerfulness-which, as her last great sorrow became more distant, began to assert itself