knowing where he went; anywhere, only to escape from them, only to avoid the look of them. Oh, cruel judges! oh, terrible tribunal! could he ever flee far enough to escape from it, to forget the look in their cruel eyes? These harsh judges from whom Abel fled had let him go in the first shock, obeying that impulse of indignation which is so natural at the moment of a discovery, but so often repented of afterwards. Mary had stood aghast in her surprise, incapable of a word, and it was only when he was gone that compunctions woke in her. "Oh, Roger! go after him," she cried, "go after him. Do you remember that he saved your life?" Featherstonhaugh laughed out. He, too, was excited and uncomfortable after the other event of the afternoon, and this was a way of relieving his feelings. "His knowledge of the place stood the fellow in stead. I thought so at the time," he cried. "To think he should have taken us in for all this time!" Mary turned upon him with a keen glance of indignation. His laugh jarred upon her nerves. "Go, Roger, go," she cried; "if you do not go I will. Don't let him fall into despair: he saved your life." "Whoever goes it must certainly not be you," said Featherstonhaugh in a low tone, catching at her sleeve. Mary had no thought of going. She put up her hands to her eyes, crying in spite of herself. "I think I hear him laugh as he did then," she said. "Oh, poor wretch! will no one go after him? will no one have pity on him? Oh, Mr Weston, I hope we may not all repent this day's work." The vicar himself was very much discomposed. "I did it for the best," he said--"I did it for the best." The only person who kept his composure was Featherstonhaugh, whose ill angel evidently had the upper hand for that unhappy day. "Here is a great piece of work," he said, "for the unmasking of a wretched impostor. For my part, I suspected him from the first. As for saving Roger's life, it was not much after all--any child could have done it who knew which were the safe places. But he may have other claims upon your brother," he added--"claims you would scarcely understand." "Do you mean to insult me before my father and sister?" cried Roger, making a stride forward, crimson with rage and indignation. His opponent looked at him with exasperating calm. "Is there any need for heroics?" he said. "I have no intention of insulting you; but it might be well to explain----" "Oh, lads, lads," cried old Mr Weston; "what is this quarrelling about?--you that ought to be brothers. Hold your hands, and hold your tongues, you foolish----"