self down the rope with my knees and hands. It was not that I had room left in my heart to care, save in the most general way, for the woman on the Carricks. I was in anything but a philanthropic mood, or in one that would excite me to risk a sprained wrist for any soul on earth but Reginald Gervase. It was all sheer impulse: neither foolhardiness on the one hand, nor courage on the other. I claim no credit for the climb; rather blame. It could in nowise be of the smallest help to Gervase; on the contrary, I was risking the only life. that could in any way hope to aid him. Only I had no hope for him left in me, in the face of the proofs and of the woman in whose hands they were. It all came from just what I have said, the overwhelming hunger for action of any sort or form.

Of course our idea was to fasten whomever I might find below to the loose end of the rope, in the hope that the sailor, with whatever help the letter-carrier could give him, would be able to draw her up, and then let down the rope again so that I might follow. With a view to the first part of the work, I carried down with me a second rope to fasten to the noose and to act as a guide from below, so that she might not swing against the face of the cliff on her upward journey. As to my own return, I might manage a good deal by climbing, or I might at any rate be pulled up far enough to swing above the tide until farther help should come.

At last I stood upon the last slab of slippery rock which the sea had not wholly covered. There was just room enough upon it for two. And I stood face to face with Adrienne Lavalle-nay, I must call her so-Lady Gervase.

Why had she been brought

here, out of the reach of all aid but mine? Why had the tidings of her peril been brought to me? What was the true nature of that impulse which had brought me— me of all men-face to face with her thus, and here?

Think of the first sentence of this history! We were absolutely, utterly alone, together, unseen even from the cliffs that rose up between us two and the whole world. Her secret was known to me alone; its proof was in my own hands. If she had died there unaided, what would have signified the loss of a woman such as she? Why had she not been left there to die? And, if she was left to live-in one instant I saw the whole of that vision upon which my mind had been dwelling ever since she had left me-the ruined lives, the broken hearts, all the world's loss, all the shame, all the cruel punishment of an innocent mother and her children for the weakness of a good man. I had despaired of helping them all. But what was that now? Nothing, less than nothing, when I realised that all this storm would burst upon them, no longer from the hands of this woman because she lived, but from my hands because I did not let her die!

Would there not be something unspeakably mean and cowardly in preferring the perfect serenity of my own selfish conscience to the lives of those to whom I owed more than even a worse sin for their sake could repay? Surely the ways of justice are not the same as human law. For the sake of others we must punish what, for the sake of others, we must call crimes; but we do not call crimes necessarily sins, and what we condemn with our cold reason we may in our hearts and souls approve. At last I could do all things for Reginald Gervase.

Was I to flinch, so that my weakness should let loose upon him all from which I could save him, and that in such a way that he would never even guess the peril in which he had been? I swear that I felt as if for this very purpose she had, as if by Providence, been delivered into my hands. If only that wretched lad had never caught sight of her! But was I to let such a miserable chance as that destroy Reginald Gervase? What was I there for but to counteract chance, and to do all things for him? Suppose I did murder her, what but good would have been done? I did not shrink from thinking of the thing by its name. I had completely cooled my blood by now.

What she read in my face, I know not. But something she must have read, for it was very far from the birth of a hope of rescue that I saw in hers. She seemed looking through my eyes into my heart, as if she feared it more than the sea. Neither of us spoke a word; but meanwhile the sea itself rose and rose, and the wind began to rise too.

I was absolutely making plans. I could leave her there-it would not be my fault if she had been found drowned. The body could be recovered at low water, and buried, and nobody would be the wiser. I must give up Lottie of course it was one thing to commit a murder, but quite another to make her the wife of a murderer, even though of one who had right on his side. I could take it into my head to leave England, and should soon be forgotten.

'Can you save me?' she said at last. 'What are you going to do with me?'

'I with you? I asked. 'God knows. What are you doing with Reginald Gervase? Look, the tide will be waist-high soon. I am his friend. Are your rights, or is

your life, the dearer to you? But I can't trust you.'

I turned faint and sick at heart. How could I nerve myself, even for his sake, to be strong enough to let this weak woman die? Suddenly a heavy wave swept over the rock, brought her to her knees, and would have carried her into deep water at once had I not instinctively thrown the noose round her and held her so. It must be done, though; it was some weaker self that had saved her for a minute more.

'You can save me, and you bid me sell my rights for my life?' she said, with real scorn, and with a courage that startled me. Yes, you say truly; you are his friend. Like master, like man.'

Should I have held her there till she was drowned? Should I have been able to face the unspeakable shame of returning to the cliff alone, or should I have waited there until the tide had covered me also? I say to myself, and I say to you, what I said to myself. God knows. I trust not; but I have never very confidently believed in the goodness of the good or in the badness of the bad, or the weakness of the weak or the strength of the strong, since that day.

'Ahoy, there! Hold on!' I heard a shout, and the grind of wood on the rocks, and the unshipping of oars. I think we were both in the boat before we knew where we were. She was saved without my help, and I-I scarce know from what, if from anything, I had been saved.

Sir Reginald himself was at the helm. What could I do now? Absolutely nothing, at last, except give up everything to despair. I waited for the storm to burst even there and then.

It was simply to my amaze that

no look or sign of recognition passed between the husband and the wife whom he—he, not I—had saved to destroy him. I waited in vain.

'Thank God I saw you from the yacht in time!' said he. 'It was like you, old fellow, to try to break your neck for nothing, but I don't think both of you could have got up without damage. May I ask the name of the lady whom I have been lucky enough to- Allow me to introduce myself.'

'I am Lady Gervase!' she said, with a scornful look at me. 'I thank you, sir, for saving my life-'

What could it all mean?

If you, reader, cannot guess, you must be as blind as I had been. You must have forgotten my telling you that my Sir Reginald had inherited St. Moor's from a cousin of his own age, and that Reginald was the family name. If that cousin had chosen to die suddenly before he had time to communicate with his wife or his friends, or to make a will, his wife was perfectly entitled to call herself Lady Gervase if she pleased; but it could not possibly affect his heir beyond compelling him to pay a certain part of the personal estate to the widow, which he was able enough to do. What a worse than fool I had been !

When I have heard people talk lightly of their temptations to do this or that, I have said, 'The greatest and strongest temptation I ever felt was to murder, in cold blood, a woman who had never done me a shadow of wrong.' People think me jesting; but it is true.

THE Sea Gull, moored in front of a wharf in Sydney Cove, and bound for San Francisco, is pouring forth volumes of thick black smoke, snow-white steam is rushing out at the waste-pipe, and the whistle warns laggards to hasten on board. The crowded deck is full of bustle and movement. The passengers are divided between looking after their luggage and bidding adieu to relations and friends. The sailors execute their officers' orders. The captain on his footbridge awaits the moment of casting off moorings, and chats with the pilot who is to take us past the Heads.

Twelve o'clock strikes; the ropes are let loose, and the vessel slowly gets under weigh. We glide in front of Fort Macquarie; then we pass Farm Cove, the charming bay which reflects the palatial Government House. The Botanic Garden and the racecourse next disappear. Then come the sunny villas of North Shore, which in turn give way to a severer and less cheerful landscape, announcing our approach to the open sea. In fact, we are now between the Heads, and already feel the heaving of the waves. The pilot bids us good-bye, and the steamer immediately enters that so-called Pacific Ocean whose fits of rage are only too visibly marked on the cliffs near Sydney. But today is calm, and the undulating sea reflects the azure of a cloudless sky.

Seated at the stern, I gazed at this magnificent country, where I had arrived ten years previously with a few pounds in my pocket,

all I possessed in the world, and with a respectable stock of determination and energy. That, and an incomplete education, were all that were left out of the wreck of my father's fortune. He, poor man, did not long survive his losses. But my Australian enterprises had been successful, permitting me to realise the long-cherished project of returning to and permanently settling in England.

San

Consequently, instead of sailing in a clipper which would have landed me in London in eighty or eighty five days, I preferred the Sea Gull, in order to see a little more of the world, and not return home, as I had come out, by the shortest and directest route. Francisco, the transcontinental railway, the City of the Mormons, Niagara, and New York were things to be seen; and, I will add, what mainly determined my choice was this steamer's giving us three days at Tahiti. Without being a learned clerk, I had read Cook's Voyages and his description of that enchanted isle. I had also seen by chance the narrative of a French naval officer, written in terms enthusiastic enough to excite the coldest imagination. I longed to behold the modern Cythera and the far-famed charms of the Polynesian beauties-the more so as, although so long a resident, I had never caught sight of a native New Hollander, nor had met with any other representatives of foreign races except a few Chinese, my neighbours at Paramatta. Verily, it was hardly worth while going to the Antipodes to see so little. Besides all this,

I had a letter of introduction to the British Vice-Consul at Papeïti.

The coast, growing gradually bluer and bluer, finally sank beneath the horizon. It was not without a sigh that I bade adieu to this promising land, where labour is always handsomely remunerated. It had filled ten years of my existence; and human life is not long enough to prevent our regretting the days that have passed pleasantly and advantageously.

While thus absorbed in personal reflections, I had not noticed that my fellow-travellers were assembling in groups close beside me on the poop of the vessel. The great majority were second and third class passengers. Only seven of us were first class.

Very noticeable was a charming woman, some twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age, fair, with dark restless eyes, short and somewhat plump in stature, nevertheless graceful in every movement. At hand stood her husband, Mr. Scott, with whom I had had a few business transactions. Perceiving me, he shook my hand with a grasp like that of an iron vice, and then introduced me to his wife. Mr. Scott was a famous New South Wales agriculturist, and was believed to have acquired a very large fortune. He might be five-and-forty years of age, with the build of a Hercules. His head insufficiently raised above his shoulders, his grizzly whiskers cropped close like a clothes-brush, his eyes starting out of his head, gave him an unpleasing, almost brutal, aspect; and his thick black eyebrows, which met in the middle of his forehead, increased the stern expression of his countenance. Although now married more than six years, Mr. and Mrs. Scott were still without children.

He then presented me to a

French naturalist, M. Vial, who, for the last two years, had been making researches in the Blue Mountains and the neighbouring plains. M. Vial,' he observed, with a half-contemptuous grin, 'has eyes for nothing but the productions of Nature.' The other passengers were two Americans, and a young Englishman, Mr. Samuel Lawson, twenty-three years of age, led by a caprice to visit Australia, and returning to England through another capriceunless some chance detained him

on the way. He was a little taller than the common height, with a good-looking and open but rather delicate countenance, large blue eyes, and fair curling hair. His whole bearing was distinguished, though slightly effeminate. It would have been improved by more spirit in his handsome eyes and a more manly style of carriage. Still one could not help feeling at first sight a sympathy for this singular young man, whom the fortune left him by his father enabled to wander about the world without any definite object in view.

During the course of a long seavoyage the days are monotonous enough. The blue sky and the blue waters doubtless mingle in a harmony which is full of charms, especially in the morning at sunrise and in the evening at sunset. This spectacle may content the sailor, who is occupied by professional duties all day long; but it soon loses its poetry for the closeconfined passenger, who finds his compulsory inaction hard to bear. Consequently, every one kills time as best he can. The two Americans practised pistolshooting on the sea-birds, the fishes, or even on a chance bit of wood floating by, in order to keep their hand in with the revolver against their arrival at San Fran