'Netta, will you forgive and try to forget how jealous and unkind I have been? In spite of all, I have loved you, Netta. Oh! if I had not taken you away from your happy home!' 'I can bear anything if you love me, Howel. We will try to get through this difficulty, and then you will begin afresh as a clerk or anything; and we will be happy--oh, so happy again! Happier than ever!' Netta smiled through her tears, whilst Howel groaned aloud. 'Think kindly of me, Netta; don't let them make you hate me. I care for no one else in the world. If I send for you, will you come to me, supposing I cannot come myself?' 'Anywhere! anywhere!' Netta put her arms around her husband and sobbed aloud. By-and-by some refreshments that Howel had ordered came up. The landlady appeared, who seemed a quiet, meek-looking woman. 'I shall be obliged to leave Mrs Mills and the little girl for a day or two,' said Howel. 'You will see they are attended to, I hope.' 'Yes, sir,' said the landlady looking, and, doubtless, feeling astonished at the sort of person Netta was, so pretty and well-dressed. That evening another letter arrived from Mr Deep, which told Howel very plainly that writs were issued against him, and that his bills, cheques, betting debts, and affairs generally, were being questioned by his friends. There was also rather more than a hint of his being suspected of forgery. He went out as soon as he had received that letter, and did not return until past midnight. Netta awaited him in an agony of terror lest he should return no more. He gave Netta ten pounds and told her on no account to disclose her real name, or give a clue to his having been with her in those lodgings, if she should see Rowland. 'But you will be back soon?' said poor Netta. 'In a few days I hope, or else I will send for you. I must leave to-morrow morning at daybreak.' A few weeks ago and neither husband nor wife would have cared how long the separation might be, now it seemed death for each to part. Howel kissed his child again and again as she lay sleeping in her dingy bed, and held Netta long in his arms. The only human being who really loved him! Him, weak, wild, sinful, godless! yet with one divine spark rekindling in his breast--the spark of human love. He laid his wife, fainting, by the side of her child on the bed, bathed her temples with water until he saw that she would revive, and then rushed out into the dirty streets, under the misty, murky morning sky, a reckless and miserable man. CHAPTER XXXIX. THE ACCOUNTANT. 'I never shall get through these accounts!' is the soliloquy of Miss Gwynne, to whom we return with much pleasure, on my part, at least, after a separation of six years.