seeking work, with but, however, qualified success. At the shops they could not give her work, but several promised to recommend her to their customers, and one even gave her introductions to several ladies whom they thought might employ her. It was by this time too late to call at people's houses, so Lisette was forced unwillingly to leave it till the morrow.

When Lisette arrived at home, Paul was again locked up in his own room, to which he this time refused her admittance, and Lisette set about her duties with an anxious heart.

After an hour or two it was with a feeling of delight that she heard Paul say to her, "Will you come with me, Lisette, I have something to show you ?"

She was only too glad to obey, and be allowed to follow Paul into the sacred precincts of his chamber. It was another moonlight night, and the room was illumined as beautifully as when Lisette had last been there. On the wall, directly opposite the window, a large newspaper was hung up. Paul instructed Lisette to stand at some distance from the mysteriously covered wall; he then lifted up the paper.

Lisette stood and gazed as one entranced. From the white background there stood out, in life-like semblance, the features of their dead mother. Lisette was, as it were, thunderstruck; she could only weep and beg Paul's forgiveness for her unjust and cruel suspicions; and when Paul placed his arm affectionately round her neck, and asked her opinion of his drawing, she could only exclaim in wondering admiration, "6 You will be a great artist some day,

Paul."

“These were my materials," said Paul, laughingly,

holding up a lump of chalk and a piece of charcoal; "but I mean in the future to get better ones, and work hard till I become, as you say, a great painter." "But what made you try this ?" asked Lisette, wonderingly. "I never saw you attempt anything one-half so ambitious before."

"No," answered Paul, "I did not know what I could do till I tried. It was the price that Mr. Rogers told me my dear mother's paintings were worth, that made me think how grand it would be to be an artist; and I resolved that I would try her portrait, and if I succeeded in it, take it as an omen of future success, and if I failed, as a sign that I should never earn my salt at it."

Paul's When

It would take too much time to dwell on repeated failures during the next few years. he was himself satisfied sufficiently to offer a picture for sale, the various persons to whom he took it were not sufficiently pleased with it to purchase it, and Paul was obliged to swallow down his mortification

and go back with his dismal story to poor hardworked Lisette.

But at last he came home one night with his hands empty, but something unusually heavy in his pocket. Lisette could see at once from his face the good fortune that had befallen Paul, and if she had any doubts, they were set at rest when Paul said, "If it had not been for my good Lisette, I should never have achieved this success.”

But in return, Lisette put her arm round him affectionately, and said, "If it had not been for this poverty, which you have so often called a curse, you would, probably, never have discovered your genius, dear Paul."

And Paul, kissing Lisette, answered, "You are right, dear Lisette, and what I thought was a curse, I now see was my greatest blessing."

L. M. CARLESS.

"THE QUIVER" BIBLE CLASS. 273. How many passages are there in the New sis are quoted or made a ground of argument? Testament in which the first eleven chapters of Gene

274. How did our Lord show that ritual obser

vances ought to give place to moral duties ? 275. How was Gen. xxv. 23 subsequently fulfilled in the history of Edom and Israel?

276. Of what was the laver in the tabernacle made?

277. Who was the youngest of the patriarchs? 278. What wisdom may we trace in the longevity of the first ten patriarchs?

279. Prove this from Scripture.

him was it thus possible for Noah to converse, as well as with how many generations after him?

280. With how many members of the race before

281. Which was the first sermon delivered by man, and how does it resemble the modern style of

discourse?

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 591. 264. Achan "took of the accursed thing" (Josh. vii. 1).

265. At the time of judgment. Adam and Eve (Gen. iii.); Achan (Josh. vii. 20, 21); Saul (1 Sam. xiii. 11; xv. 24; Rom. xiv. 11).

for 266. Horses were only used in the early ages war, and were forbidden to the Israelites on this account (Deut. xvii. 16; Josh. xi. 9); Solomon (2 Chron. i. 16, 17; ix. 28).

267. Caleb's request for Hebron (Josh. xiv. 6). 268. Samson's strength lay not in his hair, but was connected with his peculiar relation to God as a Nazarite (Judg. xiii. 5; xvi. 17).

leaving her behind. Who would care, although she disappeared for ever? All Patricia's coldness rose up before her—Mr. Palmer's acquiescence in her departure, too. Why should she return to them? why not lose herself in the great city, whose thoroughfares she had threaded that very day?

Better thoughts struggled with these, and rent her heart. He had promised to write; and if she went away, she would never hear of him again— could never claim again the shelter of his home: and there dawned upon her the still tenderer thought, that she might need such shelter for a life dearer than her own.

She had stood thinking thus for some minutes, when a gentleman, who had passed and repassed her several times-as if to make sure of her identitypaused, and accosted her.

"Mrs. Palmer."

once more into the station. In wheeling round, which he did rather suddenly, while putting on his hat, which he had lifted as Mrs. Palmer drove off, he struck his elbow against a man who had been standing close behind him.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Dalrymple, passing on.

A volley of oaths pursued him.

"The man must be mad," said Mr. Dalrymple, turning round to look at him, and encountering the heavy face and glaring eyes of Mr. Jobson.

Mr. Jobson had been drinking brandy in the refreshment-room of the station, as he had been drinking brandy on the journey from which he had arrived, and as he had been drinking it ever since he opened his heavy, bloodshot eyes that morning.

"You won't dodge me, my fine fellow," he shouted after Mr. Dalrymple, whose first impulse was to turn

Mr. Dalrymple thought it strange that Harry Palmer should expose his wife-looking just then, for all her wrappings, so very fragile-to the turmoil of a great station and the bitter air of a February evening, for the sake of seeing him away; but he said nothing.

"Can I do anything for you?" he asked. "Have you a carriage waiting?"

"No," she replied, rousing herself; "it was too long to keep the cab waiting."

66

May I see you into one?" he asked again.

Oh, if you please. I shall be glad to get home," she answered.

He signalled to a porter, and sent him for a cab, while he offered his arm to Nelly. She was glad to lean upon it, for she felt faint and giddy, and hardly able to speak.

"Mr. Palmer has been very ill," he said, while they walked towards the entrance where the cab was drawing up; "I hope he is better."

"He is much better, thank you."

"And Mrs. Eden-is she with you still ?" "She is."

"I have been absent, else I should have called on her before now. Will you tell her so ?"

"You know what has happened ?" said Nelly. "Yes; and it is no more than might have been expected. I am sorry, for her sake, that it is so. Will your husband be long absent?" He asked this last question as he was about to hand her into the cab.

She forced herself to answer-"I do not know how long"-and there was that in her tone which forbade further questioning.

He handed her in, gave her address to the cabman, and saw her driven away. Then he remembered that he had his own luggage to look after, and hastened

Mr. Dalrymple could not get his encounter with Nelly out of his head. The more he thought of it, the stranger it seemed. He felt sure that there was something wrong. Next day he called on Miss Macnaughten as early as he could.

"Have you seen anything of Mrs. Palmer, lately?” he asked.

No; they had not.

"What a terrible smash Mr. Eden seems to have had! I hope Nelly has not built on quite such a sandy foundation," said Miss Macnaughten.

"No. Mr. Palmer's house is an old-established one, and the father is a man of high character. I wish you would go and see them. Mrs. Eden is with them now."

"It is a day's journey," remarked Jane. “Will you accompany us, Mr. Dalrymple? There's a test of your friendship."

"With pleasure," he replied.

Jane coloured slightly. "I would not have asked you, if I had expected you," she said.

"Why not?" he asked soberly, quite nonplussing Jane's coquetry.

Notwithstanding the promise of Mr. Dalrymple's escort, it was some time before the Macnaughtens could fix a day for their visit to Hackney. The weather had proved untoward, and engagements had been in the way. The March violets were blowing, down at the bottom of the garden, where Nelly often walked, when at length they accomplished it. Nelly was pacing up and down there, in the feeble sunshine, when they came. Patricia and Anne received them, and sent a message to Nelly, in the garden, announcing their arrival.

She came into the drawing-room in her hat and shawl, aware that Mr. Dalrymple had already seen

Nelly's silence was far more potent than words. Her patient grief made his heart ache, with a compunction he had never felt before. Suffering was making her look so wan, and tracing those lines about the quivering mouth, and those hollows under the eyes. He who deserved to suffer was most likely not suffering at all. And at this he would harden his heart, and call his wrongs to remembrance.

They were about to be called to remembrance in quite another way. The first thing Mr. Palmer had done after his recovery had been to visit his bank and see the manager in private. This gentleman he had taken rather severely to task for the paying away of £300 on an acceptance, when it was, or ought to be, known to all with whom he (Mr. Palmer) had any dealings, that he had never given a bill in his life. The manager was, of course, very much astonished and disconcerted, and was quite ready to give every assistance to bring the offender to justice. He expressed his regret that it had not been brought under his notice immediately; but even now the felon ought not to escape. He was still more astonished when Mr. Palmer refused to take any proceedings in the matter; and he also jumped to the conclusion that this leniency was due to some personal feeling for the offender. It was not far to the further conclusion who the offender was. At the same time, Mr. Palmer warned him that such a thing must not occur again; and, of course, the manager was very positive that it should not.

But on the last day of March another bill was presented at the bank, bearing date three months back, and precisely the same as the first in amount and everything. This time it was the manager who called upon Mr. Palmer. The money had not been paid, and the young man who had presented the bill had been detained. Mr. Palmer dismissed his visitor very briefly and with few words.

"Let justice take its course," he said.

And justice took its course. The young man who had presented the bill turned out to be the unoffending clerk of the bill-broker who had discounted it, and was speedily released. It was the broker who, seeing that Mr. Palmer was inaccessible to any offer of arrangement, undertook the prosecution-a process which soon lodged Mr. Horace Eden in the hands of the police.

He was caught breakfasting at one of the first hotels in Liverpool, having spent the night there, intending to sail for New York that very day. His berth was taken-first-class in a first-rate ship—and his luggage,

But the voyage had to be postponed a great deal, and the affair turned out unpleasant indeed; for Mr. Horace Eden was sent by the magistrate to take his trial, and lodged in the Old Bailey.

It made quite a sensation-the trial-among the circles which had once welcomed Horace Eden; and many of those who had known him were present on the occasion. Douglas Dalrymple was there, keeping well out of sight of the fallen man, who conducted himself like a gentleman even in the felon's dock and bowed with grave propriety to the judge as he answered, "Not guilty, my lord.” But it was noticed that he staggered under the sentence as under a blow.

The great fact which criminated him was that the bill, though dated three months back, had neither been drawn nor discounted more than one, when the only other persons against whom there was a shadow of suspicion had already quitted the country. If anything more was wanted, it was found in a memoranda-book which he had carried in his pocket at the time he was arrested. It contained one singular entry-the name, Harry Palmer," an exact facsimile of the signatures attached to the bills, and as nearly as possible a fac-simile of Mr. Palmer's own, only with a slight exaggeration of its peculiarities. It also contained an entry of the date when the bill fell due, and he had quitted London two days previous to this date, reaching Liverpool by a circuitous route.

Mr. Palmer did not get much sympathy on the occasion. It seemed to the public a hard thing not to stop the prosecution, as he might easily have done; and the public does not like hard things, however just they may be.

There was, however, much sorrow expressed for his daughter, the wife of Horace Eden-the wife of a convict now. It would hardly have been so if it had been known that before any public steps had been taken, her father had laid the case before her, and she had echoed his very words-"Let justice take its course."

As for Patricia, she bore herself under this new and terrible aggravation of her trial, to all appearance unshrinkingly. She sought for no sympathy even from Anne; and when it was offered she gently but firmly repelled it at the risk of wounding Anne's too tender heart. "Don't, dear; I cannot bear it," she had said more than once; and Anne had sorrowfully desisted. Patricia was conscious that kindness only