Her straight black eyebrows came together, and a volcanic gleam shot from her eyes as she gazed after him. ‘Why did he not lock me in?’ she said to herself with a sneer. She began to pace the room as a man might have paced it, with her hands behind her back and her fingers tightly interlocked. ‘Will nothing move him? Is it for this I have crossed the ocean? Is it for this I have tracked him? His fortune gone! I never dreamt of that—and they told me he was so rich. What an unlucky wretch I am! I should like to stab him—or myself—or some one. If I could but set fire to the house at midnight, and’—— She was interrupted by the opening of the door and the entrance of Sir Frederick Pinkerton. At the sight of a man who was also a gentleman, her face changed in a moment. (_To be concluded next month._) LONDON BONDED WAREHOUSES. The thought occurred to the writer the other day, when seated at his desk, as an examining officer of Customs, in one of the extensive bonded vaults which are within sight of that famous historic pile the Tower, that a brief description of these warehouses—which possess in some respects features that are unique—might prove interesting to general readers. We do not know if any previous attempt has been made in this direction; if so, it has not come within the scope of the writer’s observation during an experience in London as a Civil servant of twenty years. In this brief sketch there are certain reflections that occur which may perhaps be worthy of some consideration. One of these is, that even in the most busy parts of the City there are extremely few persons—though they may have daily passed along the leading thoroughfares for years—who know anything about the interiors of the vast warehouses and immense repositories for merchandise of all sorts, which abound in the business area of London, east of Temple Bar, extending far down both banks of the Thames. We do not refer especially to the great docks, such as the London, St Katharine, East and West India, Royal Albert, Surrey Commercial, and other similar emporiums of commerce, which form so remarkable a feature of the Thames, and are only rivalled by the huge docks on the Mersey. Those establishments, it must be allowed, attract a large number of visitors, although these are chiefly strangers from the country; the strictly commercial classes of the City, unless intimately connected with the shipping interest, but rarely extending their explorations thitherward. Some favoured citizens and ‘country cousins,’ by the privilege of what is called technically a ‘tasting order,’ may, however, traverse miles of cellars, filled with the choicest vintages, and in the wine-vaults may behold the most curious fungoid forms, white as snow, pendent from the vaulted roofs. They may survey, as at the London Docks, thirty thousand casks of brandy in a single vault; or traverse the famous ‘Spice’ warehouse, redolent with the aromatic odours of the East; or if they