He could find no words. Some fifteen minutes before, having enclosed the notes, he had descended to the bar to get mine host to find him a messenger, and direct the envelope--for Hogarth knew his handwriting. Mine host was not there--his wife could not write: but she had pointed out the Jewish park-keeper sipping beer; so Loveday had had the man upstairs, had made him write the address, and had bribed him to deliver the envelope with a mum tongue. “I'm afraid I've taken a great liberty--” she said, shrinking at his silence. Then he spoke: “Oh, liberty!--but--really--I'm quite broke myself--!” “Then, good-afternoon to you”, said she: “I am very sorry--but you will excuse the liberty, won't you--?” In the forest she began to cry, covering her eyes, moaning: “Why, how could he be so _mean_? And I who loved that young man with all my heart, God knows--!” Her eyes searched the ground for two sovereigns. Then she happened to look at the envelope: and instantly was interested. “Why, it is the Jew's hand!” she thought, for the letters were angular in the German manner, making a general similarity with Frankl's writing. Curiosity overcame her: she opened, and saw... “Oh, well, this is _generous_ though, after all!” she exclaimed. And now she ran, coming out from mossy path upon wide forest-road: and there, taking promenade, was Frankl, quite near, with phylacteried left arm. “Why, sweetheart...” said he. She stopped before him. “Well, you can call me what you like for the time being”, said she, laughing rather hysterically; “for I am most grateful to you for your generous present to my brother, Mr. Frankl!” She had still no suspicion of Richard's visit of chastisement to the Hall! “Now, what do you mean?” said Frankl. “Why, you might guess that I know your handwriting by this time!” she said coquettishly, and held out the notes and the envelope. His eyes twinkled; he meditated; he had, more than ever, need of her; and he said: “Well, you are as 'cute as they make them!” “But instead of sending us this, which I am not at all sure that Richard will touch, why couldn't you pay it to yourself, and not turn us out--” “I let business take its course: and afterwards I do my charity. But it wasn't for your brother, you know, that I sent it--but for _you_”. “I must be running--” When she reached the farm, she gave the carman a secret glimpse of the notes, while Hogarth, who was now there, went to seek the old Hogarth, for whom a nest had been made among the furniture in the cart. He was found above-stairs in an empty room, searching the floor for something. “Come, sir”, said Hogarth, and led him step by step. But as the old man passed the threshold, he fell flat on the slabs of the porch, striking his forehead, printing a stain there. And the next day, the day of the sale, he still lay in the old chamber, on the ancient bed, dead. VI “PEARSON'S WEEKLY”