am sure," said the lawyer. "But, seeing how familiar Mr. Brooke is at the house, I wonder he should have come away from such welcome quarters. It is a long ride from here to The Hurlocks,' through the snow especially."

"Mr. Brooke is a hard rider and a safe rider, sir," said the gardener ; "and he knows the road pretty well by this time. And, between you and me, Mr. Wainfleet," he added, dropping his voice (which was unnecessary, however, as there was no one else near), "between you and me, sir, Mr. Brooke was a little— wasn't far from tipsy, I think, when he rode home."

"I am sorry to hear it. I shouldn't like Miss Gilbert to have a tipsy husband. But it is nothing to me," said the lawyer, hastily; "and, now that I have made free with your provisions, and have a day's work before me, I'll be off, if you'll be kind enough to bring my horse round. I am afraid the good ladies at the Priory will be troubled because I did not get there last night, as I wrote word I should, and will be sending William Crickett to dig me out of the snow, perhaps."

And then the gardener, to whom the snow-storm had given a second day's holiday from work, brought round Mr. Wainfleet's horse; and, after bestowing a suitable recompense on his host and hostess for their hospitality, the lawyer rode away, and, picking his way cautiously over and through the drifted snow, in due time he reached the Priory, to the great relief of Miss Melly and Miss Prissy, who had been in much tribulation respecting the safety of their old friend.

CHAPTER XXVII.

SECRET SERVICE.

FOR Mr. Wainfleet was an old friend of the ladies at the Priory. He had been their father's friend (though considerably his junior) in the days of his poverty; and, when the unexpected legacy made him comparatively rich, he placed the management of his affairs in Mr. Wainfleet's hands. As we have seen, the London lawyer did not long retain his client; but, after Mr. Fleming's death, he continued his professional services to the daughters.

Whatever those services might at first have included, they had now ostensibly dwindled down to the receipt and transmission of the life annuities of Miss Melly and Miss Prissy; and there was no absolute necessity for him to perform this office in person. He chose to do this, however; or, at any rate, he chose to make the transaction of this business a reason for an annual or a semiannual visit to the Priory, as the case might be.

There were some who attributed Mr. Wainfleet's attentions to his fair clients to-to-what shall we say? to personal liking. They knew that the lawyer was a bachelor, and a very gallant bachelor too, in private life, in spite of his fifty and more years. They said that there had been whispers, some long time agomore than twenty years, and before those sudden and mysterious changes at the Priory-of a tender and reciprocal attachment between Mr. Wainfleet and Miss Prissy. It is true these whispers gradually died away, and nobody knew, for certain, how much truth and how much untruth there might have been in them; but one thing was certain-that the lawyer, whatever he might be at the Grange, was a welcome guest at the Priory.

We have said that Mr. Wainfleet's ostensible services there had settled down into the almost mechanical management of

his clients' income. But this, surely, did not account for the personal visits, when the money might have been transmitted with greater security by favour of the Postmaster-General, or through Mr. Roger Gilbert's bank. Neither could it well account for the anxious solicitude with which the lawyer was expected when the times of his visits came round, nor for the fussy preparations made for his comfort when he came. Let us listen.

"We really were afraid you were lost in the terrible snowstorm of last night," said the elder lady. At this time Mr. Wainfleet was comfortably ensconced in the easiest of easy chairs, by the brightest and warmest of bright and warm fires, in the dark, sombre parlour of which we have before spoken. It was towards mid-day, and nothing appeared to show that business had been transacted. The little matters of moneys and receipts had been duly attended to and dismissed; and now the two ladies sat quietly opposite their old friend.

“We were, indeed,” added Miss Prissy, with a slight shudder. "It was such a terrible night to be out in."

"Pho! pho! my dears: I tell you it was nothing—nothing at all. You don't think that I care for a few flakes of snow; at my time of life too, Miss Melly?"

"At your time of life it behoves you to be very careful, Mr. Wainfleet. Think of that dreadful attack of spasms" (he had called it spasms) "you suffered from at the gate-keeper's lodge," said Prissy, tenderly.

"It was the heat of the room, Miss Prissy. You see I am as well now as ever I was in my life."

"It is a mercy, I am sure," said the elder lady; "for, to say nothing of being buried alive in the snow

"But you see I was not buried alive, my dear lady."

"You might have been, Mr. Wainfleet. And now you really persist in leaving us to-day, after such a narrow escape?" said the younger lady.

"There was no escape worth speaking of, my dear; and I must positively leave you. You know what a busy man I am.”

"I don't think your horse will thank you for taking him out of his comfortable stable to-day after his fatigues of yesterday," said Miss Melly.

"My horse has long since learned that he must put up with his master's whims, Miss Fleming. At any rate, I may set his distaste against Mr. Crickett's satisfaction at seeing the last of me for this time."

"You never will like poor William," said Prissy. "But I am sure you do him injustice. If you had only seen how anxious he was about you last night, Mr. Wainfleet, when you did not come, you would have a better opinion of him."

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My dear Miss Prissy, I am much obliged to William Crickett for his anxiety; and you mistake me. I have not said that I don't like him: it is he who does not like me. But we won't discuss this matter. Is there nothing more you wish to say to me, my good, dear ladies, before Mr. Crickett comes to interrupt us ?-no news to tell? nothing to ask?"

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Nothing but the old question," said Melly, with a sigh. "Our brother Vincent."

The lawyer shook his head. "You needlessly distress yourselves, Miss Fleming: you do, indeed, Miss Prissy," he said. "You have nothing to tell us, then?"

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Nothing. He will make his appearance in God's good time, if he is to appear at all."

"You have obtained no tidings of him?"

It is time,

"None. I have not slackened in my inquiries, because you will have it so. If I were you, I would give it up. and labour, and money thrown away. I protest I grudge every pound and shilling spent in this secret service."

"Pray do not say so, Mr. Wainfleet."

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"I do. Think how long this has been going on-how many

years since since your brother disappeared-how many hundreds of pounds have been cast into the sea, so to speak-how many gratifications you have denied yourselves; and all to no purpose. I think it is time to put an end to it. I do, really."

“You think, then, that Vincent is dead?" said Miss Fleming, mournfully.

"How can I tell, madam? The world is a wide world," said the lawyer; and then they sat in silence, till Melly said

"You know that our nephew is gone abroad, Mr. Wainfleet?" "Harry Rivers? yes, I heard so yesterday. Well?”

"And before he went-when he was here last-we thought right to tell him everything."

"Everything is a comprehensive word, Miss Fleming.”

"Everything, I mean, relating to our brother, and to our circumstances, and his own uncertain position with regard to the Priory estate."

"And a rare muddle you made of it, I'll be bound," said the lawyer, good-humouredly. "Don't tell me that you didn't; ladies always do when they talk about law. What can you know about Harry's position, my dear?

"We could only tell him what we know, Mr. Wainfleet— that the estate is not ours to leave to him, and that we only live here on sufferance. There was nothing wrong in that I think."

"Oh dear no. And, if Vincent Fleming should make his appearance some fine day, with a brood of young Flemings"Please don't joke about our poor brother, sir," interposed Prissy.

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Well, I won't, then, my dear lady. But about Harry. So he is gone too? And he has lost his lady-love, I hear."

"Poor Harry has had a sad disappointment," said Prissy, softly. "He'll get over it. A man must be very weak-minded to break his heart for a brown-eyed girl. In two years' time