It was enough. Moses Lee, at any rate, would hear no more, but, sternly turning his back on the ambassador, he bade him take to those who sent him his absolute refusal to co-operate in their plans.

A diplomatist of higher rank than that to which Mr. Crickett ever attained might, we think, have taken a lesson from that gentleman, who, while professing to combat the objections and final decision of the gipsy, contrived to pour oil upon the flame of his jealousy, and to render his decision irrevocable.

"That's done too," said Mr. Crickett, as he withdrew from the camp. "There's no fear of the Lees having a finger in the pie now, nor the Ripleys either; and that's worth another fifty pounds, good. And now for the supervisor."

CHAPTER LII.

MR. GILBERT IN TROUBLE.

LEAVING Mr. Crickett, for the present, to continue his evening walk, and falling back a few hours in the course of our past narrative, we follow Mr. Gilbert in his solitary ride through Hurlock Chase. And, as we have ventured to reveal some of the busy thoughts which may be supposed naturally to have occupied the mind of the former gentleman, we may with equal certainty trace the current of the squire's reflections as he slowly paces on.

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"The net is drawing in all round me," so he pondered. Everything is going wrong: and only ruin-black ruinlies before me. The vultures have already scented it, and are whetting their beaks, ready to fall upon the carcass. That

Wainfleet-he knows more than I should have suspected; the busy, meddling, prying lawyer! without pity, without remorse.

"There is only one hope. If this venture succeeds, I may tide over the next six months; and then some other chances may turn up. At any rate, it will give breathing-time; and at the worst" He paused, and checked his steed while he wiped his hot, moist brow, while a shudder passed over his whole frame. "Well, and at the worst, others have done it; and

"But it must and shall succeed," he went on, after shaking off the horrible suggestions which had passed through his mind. "The plans are all well laid, and I can depend on the men: their own interests are too deeply at stake. That fellow Crickett is a host in himself, and staunch to the backbone; and Wincheap, and Parsley, and Captain Thomas, old hands all of them— they can't fail this time; and it will be five thousand pounds good, to me.

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But, meanwhile, I must have help. That Jason Brooke, I hate him, hate him, hate him! but he must help me; he shall. I am glad I know that of him. It was almost worth having half a dozen writs served upon me, instead of one, to learn what I have learned to-day of that scoundrel. Oh, a precious son-inlaw! Thanks, Mr. Wainfleet, for letting me into that little bit of his secret history.

"Poor Clara! it kept to her first Mrs. Gilbert may ruined our girl's

"Poor Clara!" Mr. Gilbert whispered to himself, as some faint scintillations of natural feeling mingled with the more selfish and sordid reflections of his troubled soul. would have been happier for her if she had lover. But it was not my doing, it wasn't. taunt me as she pleases about my having happiness by forcing her into a match she detested. It is an abominable thing to charge me with that. Clara wanted it. If she didn't want Jason Brooke, she wanted Hurlock Chase; and she has got it. What business have they to tell me it was my doing?

"And Harry Rivers, how much better would he have been than Jason Brooke? If he had married Clara, he wouldn't have had Vincent Fleming's leavings. And, besides, I hate that fellow too; yes, I do, with his grand manner, and his aristocracy and morality and all the rest of it. What business had he ever to set himself up to be wiser and better than the rest of the world? I remember his presuming to lecture me once-meme-about smuggling, knowing all the while, as I dare say he did, that I was mixed up with the trade. I hated him ever after that; and—yes, I will hate him. Pshaw! I hate everybody, I think,” continued Roger Gilbert, in self-communing once more taking out his bandana and mopping his face.

He had arrived at "The Hurlocks" by this time; and, with more easy assurance in his manner than in his heart, he rode up to the hall door and rang the great loud-clanging visitors' bell. A groom was quickly summoned.

"You need not take him into the stables, Joshua: lead him about. I may not be half an hour in-doors," said Roger Gilbert, in self-condescending tones, as he dismounted. And then he entered the hall with a jaunty step, as much as to say to the attendant footman, "I am not afraid of your master: I am quite at home here, you see.”

"Mr. Brooke, sir, or my lady?" asked the servant, stolidly. He cared very little for " my lady's" father, or any of her kin. He was Mr. Brooke's man; and a separation of interests, both social and domestic, had long ago taken place at "The Hurlocks." The servants understood this very well, and acted upon it.

"Your master," replied Mr. Gilbert, as carelessly as he was able. "I-I'll step into the library."

"Mr. Brooke is riding out on the Chase, sir; but it's like he'll be in in half an hour," said the footman, as he led the way and opened the door of the library; and, before the visitor could reply, he disappeared.