Gilbert Irvine had rather remonstrated on Stevens' telling the same tale to Mrs. Smith as to the Squire at Ashcliffe, reminding him that it was well to have two strings to one's bow. Stevens answered, with that calm confidence in his own wisdom which never forsook him, "It is sometimes desirable, my good Gilbert, not to have too many strings to one's bow. This is my official residence. Mr. Passmore, or some other country gentleman, may find that I am lodging here. What do I gain, in that case, by representing myself to this excellent woman as a retired sea-captain or an officer on leave of absence? No; I am an artist at Ashcliffe, and I am an artist at Moreton. My private residence is----elsewhere. I am a citizen of the world. I am not troubled by any inconvenient attachment to country or home. I can sleep on a feather-bed, a green bank, or a deal board; I can eat black bread as well as _pâté aux truffes_." "Ah! but can you do without either?" growled Gilbert, in reply. To return from this episode. Mr. Stevens was now alone, having, as we saw, parted with Gilbert that afternoon, the latter returning to the hiding-place at Ashcliffe, very much against his inclination. The former worthy gentleman had supped on a hashed partridge, obtained in an unsportsmanlike manner which would have disgusted Squire Passmore; for while Stevens could talk glibly against poaching or anything else, when he required a savory dish, he was not above setting a snare on his own account. He had just placed safely in the pocket of the portfolio such sketches as he deemed it politic to retain, when a slight noise at the door attracted his attention, and looking up, he saw Gilbert Irvine, with white face and dilated eyes, standing in the doorway. "We are betrayed!" hissed the latter. Mr. Stevens, rising, quietly closed the door behind Gilbert, and set a chair for his excited visitor. "Don't be rash, Gilbert," observed he, calmly tying the strings of the portfolio. "Bash!" muttered Gilbert, between his closed teeth. "I tell you, they have discovered the hiding-place!" "Have they? Then it was fortunate that I thought of dining to-day with Mr. Passmore." "Father Cuthbert, do you care for nothing on earth?" said Gilbert, raising his voice. "Gilbert," remarked Mr. Stevens, in his most placid manner, "I have already desired you not to be too rash. Allow me to remind you, that calling me 'Father Cuthbert' in a Protestant house, and especially in that tone of voice, is scarce likely to advance our interests. As to my caring for nothing on earth, I shall care to hear your information, when you can deliver yourself of it in a reasonable manner." Gilbert, with some difficulty repressing his indignation, came to the conclusion that the being before him was inaccessible to feeling. "When I arrived at the well," said he, "I was very near falling into it. I"-- "Ah! rash, as usual," commented Stevens, affectionately patting the portfolio.