THE great bubble had burst at last. Those who blew it had worked so hard, and had blown up such a bulky affair that they had really forgotten that it was all wind and suds, a mere baseless fabric which would burst and leave nothing behind it at the first resistance of a solid substance. But so it was. The great Chartist conspiracy had swelled and swelled, unmolested by Government, until, relying upon its bulk, it sought to assert itself. Government stood firm, and the bubble collapsed. The affair, however, had been of too serious dimensions to be altogether passed over, and a few of the most conspicuous among the Chartist leaders were taken, tried, and condemned to transportation. At their trial they found, as conspirators have almost always done, that there had been a traitor in their midst, that the whole details of their intended movements were as well known to the Government as to themselves. Who the traitor was they did not discover. The evidence was ample without calling him personally, but many and deep were the vows of vengeance sworn against him should he ever be discovered. Among the condemned was William Holl, who was sentenced to seven years' transportation. Evan Holl learnt the news one afternoon when he had asked leave to go down to Knightsbridge. He came back before the hour at which he usually returned from his father's. Frank himself let him in. “You are early, Evan.” “Yes, sir.” Frank noticed that the boy did not speak in his usual cheery tone. “Anything the matter, lad?” “Yes, sir; there is a terrible upset at home. Mother's crying, and Aunt Bessy's crying fit to break her heart, and everything is upside down.” “That sounds bad, Evan; come into my room and tell me what is the matter.” Prescott was there, as was his custom in the evening, when Frank was at home. “Now, Evan, tell us all about it.” “If you please, sir, Uncle Will has got transported.” “Got transported, Evan! Why, what has your Uncle Will been doing?” “Please, sir, he's been going and being a Chartist.” “Oh, is the Holl who was tried to-day your uncle, Evan?” “Yes, sir.” “Whew,” whistled Frank, “that is a bad business; how the deuce could the man have made such a fool of himself?” “Please, sir, I don't know,” Evan answered, taking Frank's ejaculation as a direct question addressed to himself. “No, I don't suppose you do, Evan, and I don't suppose he does himself, which is more to the point. The question is, what is to be done?” There was silence for a moment, and then Evan said, hesitatingly,— “You don't think you could get him off, sir, do you? It will break Aunt Bessy's heart.”