better afterwards. So I've been and told him, that I don't think it's safe for Master Frederick to be here. And I don't. It was only on Tuesday, when I was out, that I met a Southampton man-the first I've seen since I came to Milton; they don't make their way much up here, I think. Well, it was young Leonards, old Leonards the draper's son, as great a scamp as ever lived-who plagued his father almost to death, and then ran off to sea. I never could abide him. He was in the Orion at the same time as Master Frederick, I know; though I don't recollect if he was there at the mutiny."

"Did he know you?" said Margaret, eagerly.

"Why, that's the worst of it. I don't believe he would have known me but for my being such a fool as to call out his name. He were a Southampton man, in a strange place, or else I should never have been so ready to call cousins with him, a nasty, good-for-nothing fellow. Says he, 'Miss Dixon! who would ha' thought of seeing you here? But perhaps I mistake, and you're Miss Dixon no longer?' So I told him he might still address me as an unmarried lady, though if I hadn't been so particular, I'd had good chances of matrimony. He was polite enough: 'He couldn't look at me and doubt me.' But I were not to be caught with such chaff from such a fellow as him, and so I told him; and, by way of being even, I asked him after his father (who I knew had turned him out of doors), as if they was the best friends as ever was. So then, to spite me-for you see we were getting savage, for all we were so civil to each other-he began to inquire after Master Frederick, and said, what a scrape he'd

got into (as if Master Frederick's scrapes would ever wash George Leonards white, or make 'em look otherwise than nasty, dirty black), and how he'd be hung for mutiny if ever he were caught, and how a hundred pound reward had been offered for catching him, and what a disgrace he had been to his family -all to spite me, you see, my dear, because before now I've helped old Mr. Leonards to give George a good rating, down in Southampton. So I said, there were other families as I knew, who had far more cause to blush for their sons, and to be thankful if they could think they were earning an honest living far away from home. To which he made answer, like the impudent chap he is, that he were in a confidential situation, and if I knew of any young man who had been so unfortunate as to lead vicious courses, and wanted to turn steady, he'd have no objection to lend him his patronage. He, indeed! Why, he'd corrupt a saint. I've not felt so bad myself for years as when I were standing talking to him the other day. I could have cried to think I couldn't spite him better, for he kept smiling in my face, as if he took all my compliments for earnest; and I couldn't see that he minded what I said in the least, while I was mad with all his speeches."

"But you did not tell him anything about usabout Frederick?"

"Not I," said Dixon.

told him if he had asked.

grace

to ask where I was staying; and I shouldn't have

"He had never the

Nor did I ask him what

He was waiting for a

his precious situation was.

bus, and just then it drove up, and he hailed it.

But, to plague me to the last, he turned back before he got in, and said, 'If you can help me to trap Lieutenant Hale, Miss Dixon, we'll go partners in the reward. I know you'd like to be my partner, now wouldn't you? Don't be shy, but say yes.' And he jumped on the bus, and I saw his ugly face leering at me with a wicked smile to think how he'd had the last word of plaguing."

Margaret was made very uncomfortable by this account of Dixon's.

"Have you told Frederick?" asked she.

"No," said Dixon. "I were uneasy in my mind at knowing that bad Leonards was in town; but there was so much else to think about that I did not dwell on it at all. But when I saw master sitting so stiff, and with his eyes so glazed and sad, I thought it might rouse him to have to think of Master Frederick's safety a bit. So I told him all, though I blushed to say how a young man had been speaking to me. And it has done master good. And if we're to keep Master Frederick in hiding, he would have to go, poor fellow, before Mr. Bell came."

66

"Oh, I'm not afraid of Mr. Bell; but I am afraid of this Leonards. I must tell Frederick. What did Leonards look like?"

"A bad-looking fellow, I can assure you, miss. Whiskers such as I should be ashamed to wearthey are so red. And for all he said he'd got a confidential situation, he was dressed in fustian just like a working-man.'

It was evident that Frederick must go. Go, too, when he had so completely vaulted into his place in the family, and promised to be such a stay and staff

to his father and sister. Go, when his cares for the living mother, and sorrow for the dead, seemed to make him one of those peculiar people who are bound to us by a fellow-love for them that are taken away. Just as Margaret was thinking all this, sitting over the drawing-room fire-her father restless and uneasy under the pressure of this newlyaroused fear, of which he had not as yet spokenFrederick came in, his brightness dimmed, but the extreme violence of his grief passed away. He came up to Margaret, and kissed her forehead.

"How wan you look, Margaret!" said he in a low voice. "You have been thinking of everybody, and no one has thought of you. Lie on this sofa-there is nothing for you to do."

"That is the worst," said Margaret, in a sad whisper. But she went and lay down, and her brother covered her feet with a shawl, and then sate on the ground by her side; and the two began to talk in a subdued tone.

Margaret told him all that Dixon had related of her interview with young Leonards. Frederick's lips closed with a long whew of dismay.

"I should just like to have it out with that young fellow. A worse sailor was never on board ship-nor a much worse man either. I declare, Margaret— you know the circumstances of the whole affair?" "Yes, mamma told me.”

"Well, when all the sailors who were good for anything were indignant with our captain, this fellow, to curry favour-pah! And to think of his being here! Oh, if he'd a notion I was within twenty miles of him, he'd ferret me out to pay off old

grudges. I'd rather anybody had the hundred pounds they think I am worth than that rascal. What a pity poor old Dixon could not be persuaded to give me up, and make a provision for her old age!'

"Oh, Frederick, hush! Don't talk so."

Mr. Hale came towards them, eager and trembling. He had overheard what they were saying. He took Frederick's hand in both of his :

"My boy, you must go. It is very bad-but I see you must. You have done all you could-you have been a comfort to her."

"Oh, papa, must he go?" said Margaret, pleading against her own conviction of necessity.

"I declare, I've a good mind to face it out, and stand my trial. If I could only pick up my evidence! I cannot endure the thought of being in the power of such a blackguard as Leonards. I could almost have enjoyed-in other circumstances-this stolen visit: it has had all the charm which the Frenchwoman attributed to forbidden pleasures."

"One of the earliest things I can remember," said Margaret, "was your being in some great disgrace, Fred, for stealing apples. We had plenty of our own-trees loaded with them; but some one had told you that stolen fruit tasted sweetest, which you took au pied de la lettre, and off you went arobbing. You have not changed your feelings much since then."

"Yes-you must go," repeated Mr. Hale, answering Margaret's question, which she had asked some time ago. His thoughts were fixed on one subject, and it was an effort to him to follow the zigzag