having nothing to conceal, it did not occur to him. ‘Have the girls gone to bed?’ he said, in a disappointed tone. He had brought in with him no heavy odour of tobacco or other scent inharmonious with the place, but a whole atmosphere of fresh air, cool and pure, to which the haste of his arrival gave an impetus, and which seemed to fill and refresh the whole room, which was half dark, with only Mrs. Plowden’s solitary lamp shining on the round table. ‘They’ve gone upstairs,’ she said, rising to meet him with that sudden sweetness of relief which fills an anxious heart when its anxiety is found unnecessary. ‘Do you want them? Shall I call them? Oh, Jim, they will be too happy to come.’ ‘I’ll call them myself,’ he said, then paused--‘unless it will disturb my father! He looked a little worried at dinner.’ ‘It is like you to think of your father.’ Mrs. Plowden could not but caress her son’s shoulder as she passed him. ‘You can always see farther than any one--with your heart, my dear. Yes, he was worried. But never mind that; I’ll call the girls.’ They came at the call like two birds flitting noiselessly down the staircase, and came into the room with a faint rustle as of wings. ‘Jim has something he wants to tell you,’ the mother said, and there went a quick glance round the three like an electrical flash; oh! of such ease, joy, consolation to themselves; of such admiration, enthusiasm for him! That there should be nothing to lament over, nothing to find fault with, meant whole litanies of honour and praise to Jim. He told them his story with a pleasure which found an immediate echo and reflection from his mother and Emmy. Florence, of whose sympathy he had felt most sure, had turned a little away. ‘He seemed struck all of a heap,’ said Jim, not pausing to choose his language, ‘when he heard we’d had those sort of things before. He thinks he’s the first to do everything; and when I told him it was the respectable folks that came and the FitzStephens and so forth, and the old women--Mrs. Lloyd and the rest----’ ‘Jim,’ cried Florence, seizing his arm, ‘it was ungenerous to mention Mrs. Lloyd.’ ‘Why?’ cried Jim, opening his eyes; and Florry made no reply. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘Osborne was taken all aback, as I tell you. He says it is the men he wants to catch--the fellows down by the river, that sort. When I told him he might as soon look for the Prince of Wales, I never saw a man so broken down. He said, “How are we to catch hold of ’em, Plowden? What are we to do to fetch ’em? Come down with me,” he said. “You must have known some of them from boys. Come down, you and me together, and let’s see what we can do.” I said to myself, “Oho, my fine fellow! for all so grand as you think yourself, you can’t get on without the oldest inhabitant after all.”’ ‘But, Jim, you’ll help him,’ cried Emmy; ‘so will I, I am sure, with all my heart. We have always wanted to get hold of them; and you could do something, Jim, if you were working with him.’