was the most ennobling feeling he had ever experienced. His hatred for Joshua, and the thoughts and desires prompted by that hate were the most villainous. It is strange that the hate which disgraced him, not the love which ennobled him, should have made him conscious of his defects. It was that very hatred that brought to him the knowledge that he was not a good man; and that caused him to reflect that, if his love were returned, it would be the means of making him better. His thoughts were taking this direction now, and he was still sitting with his face resting in his hands, when he was startled by the sound of the gate being violently dashed aside. He remembered that he had forgotten to fasten it. Before he had time to rise, the latch of the door was lifted, and the Lascar glided in like a white spectre. With a strange feverishness of manner, the Lascar turned the key in the door, and at the same moment stooped and listened, holding up a warning finger as a caution for Solomon Fewster to be silent. He remained in that position for two or three minutes; then rose upright, and drew a long breath. "What now?" demanded Mr. Fewster angrily, and yet with a consciousness that the Lascar had sufficient cause for his abrupt entrance. "What thieves' trick have you been up to to-night, you dog! that you run in here as if the police were at your heels?" "They are not," said the Lascar, shaking the snow from his clothes, dog-like; "and that's a good thing, master, for you and for me." "For me, you dog! You dare to say that!" "I forgot to close the gate," said the Lascar, taking no notice of Mr. Fewster's exclamation. He went out, and having locked the gate, re-entered; and, seeing a bottle on the table, said, "What's this? Rum?" He did not wait to be invited, but helped himself freely, and spread his cold hands before the fire. "I am numbed to the bone. It's precious cold being out in the snow all day. I didn't hope to find you at home, master. I thought you would be enjoying yourself like a gentleman. I ran in here, finding the gate open, not knowing where to run. It is snowing fast--that's one comfort--and my footsteps will soon be filled up." All the while he spoke he was busily occupied warming his fingers and blowing on his knuckles. "Now, explain the meaning of all this," said Mr. Fewster. "Give me something to eat first, master. I haven't tasted food since the morning." Mr. Fewster pointed to the cupboard; and the Lascar took bread and meat, and ate swiftly and ravenously. "My service to you, master," he said, glass in hand, "and a merry Christmas."