Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. Ellen Wood

acting for Mr. Ashley."

      "Well, I say that I cannot understand it," repeated Patience. "It is not like Thomas Ashley. I will give thee an instance of his disposition and general character. There was a baker rented under him, living in a house of Thomas Ashley's. The baker got behind with his rent; other bakers were more favoured than he; but he kept on at his trade, hoping times would mend. Year by year he failed in his rent—Thomas Ashley, mark thee, still paying him regularly for the bread supplied to his family. 'Why do you not stop his bread-money?' asked one, who knew of this, of Thomas Ashley. 'Because he is poor, and looks to my weekly money, with that of others, to buy his flour,' was Thomas Ashley's answer. Well, when he owed several years' rent, the baker died, and the widow was going to move. Anthony Dare hastened to Thomas Ashley. 'Which day shall I levy a distress upon the goods?' asked he. 'Not at all,' replied Thomas Ashley. And he went to the widow, and told her the rent was forgiven, and the goods were her own, to take with her when she left. That is Thomas Ashley."

      Jane bent her head in thought. "Is Mr. Lynn at home?" she asked. "I should like to speak to him."

      "He has had his tea and gone back to the manufactory, but he will be home soon after eight. I will keep Jane till bedtime. She and Anna are happy over their puzzles."

      "Patience, am I obliged to find that man in food?"

      "That thee art. It is the law."

      The noise made by Patience in going away, brought the man forth from the study, a candle in his hand. "When is that mother of yours coming back?" he roared out to the boys. Jane advanced. "Oh, you are here!" he uttered, wrathfully. "What are you going to give me to eat and drink? A pretty thing this is, to have an officer in, and starve him!"

      "You shall have tea directly. You shall have what we have," she answered, in a low tone.

      The kettle was boiling on the study fire. Jane lighted a fire in the parlour, and sent Frank out for butter. The man smoked over the study fire, as he had done all the afternoon, and Gar slept beside him on the floor, but William went now and brought the child away. Jane sent the man his tea in, and the loaf and butter.

      The fare did not please him. He came to the parlour and said he must have meat; he had had none for his dinner.

      "I cannot give it you," replied Jane. "We are eating dry toast and bread, as you may see. I sent butter to you."

      He stood there for some minutes, giving vent to his feelings in rather strong language; and then he went back to revenge himself upon the butter for the want of meat. Jane laid her hand upon her beating throat: beating with its tribulation.

      Between eight and nine Jane went to the next door. Samuel Lynn had come home for the evening, and was sitting at the table in his parlour, helping the two little girls with a geographical puzzle, which had baffled their skill. He was a little man, quiet in movement, pale and sedate in feature, dry and unsympathising in manner.

      "Thee art in trouble, friend, I hear," he said, placing a chair for Jane, whilst Patience came and called the children away. "It is sad for thee."

      "In great trouble," answered Jane. "I came in to ask if you would serve me in my trouble. I fancy perhaps you can do so if you will."

      "In what way, friend?"

      "Would you interest yourself for me with Mr. Ashley? He might listen to you. Were he assured that the money would be forthcoming in February, I think he might agree to give me time."

      "Friend, I cannot do this," was the reply of the Quaker. "My relations with Thomas Ashley are confined to business matters, and I cannot overstep them. To interfere with his private affairs would not be seemly; neither might he deem it so. I am but his servant, remember."

      The words fell upon her heart as ice. She believed it her only chance—some one interceding for her with Mr. Ashley. She said so.

      "Why not go to him thyself, friend?"

      "Would he hear me?" hastily asked Jane. "I am a stranger to him."

      "Thee art his tenant. As to hearing thee, that he certainly would. Thomas Ashley is of a courteous nature. The poorest workman in our manufactory, going to the master with a grievance, is sure of a patient hearing. But if thee ask me would he grant thy petition, there I cannot inform thee. Patience opines that thee, or thy intentions, may have been falsely represented to him. I never knew him resort to harsh measures before."

      "When would be the best time to see him? Is it too late to-night?"

      "To-night would not be a likely time, friend, to trouble him. He has not long returned from a day's journey, and is, no doubt, cold and tired. I met James Meeking driving down as I came home; he had left the master at his house. They have been out on business connected with the manufactory. Thee might see him in the morning, at his breakfast hour."

      Jane rose and thanked the Quaker. "I will certainly go," she said.

      "There is no need to say to him that I suggested it to thee, friend. Go as of thy own accord."

      Jane went home with her little girl. Their undesirable visitor looked out at the study door, and began a battle about supper. It ought to comprise, in his opinion, meat and beer. He insisted that one of the boys should go out for beer. Jane steadily refused. She was tempted to tell him that the children of a gentleman were not despatched to public-houses on such errands. She offered him the money to go and get some for himself.

      It aroused his anger. He accused her of wanting to get him out of the house by stratagem, that she might lock him out; and he flung the pence back amongst them. Janey screamed, and Gar burst out crying. As Patience had said, he was not a pleasant inmate. Jane ran upstairs, and the children followed her.

      "Where is he to sleep?" inquired William.

      It is a positive fact that, until that moment, Jane had forgotten all about the sleeping. Of course he must sleep there, though she had not thought of it. Amidst the poor in her father's parish in London, Jane had seen many phases of distress; but with this particular annoyance she had never been brought into contact. However, it had to be done.

      What a night that was for her! She paced her room nearly throughout it, with quiet movement, Janey sleeping placidly—now giving way to all the dark appearances of her position, to uncontrollable despondency; now kneeling and crying for help in her heartfelt anguish.

      Morning came; the black frost had gone, and the sun shone. After breakfast Jane put on her shawl and bonnet.

      Mr. Ashley's residence was very near to them—only a little higher up the road. It was a large house, almost a mansion, surrounded by a beautiful garden. Jane had passed it two or three times, and thought what a nice place it was. She repeatedly saw Mr. Ashley walk past her house as he went to or came from the manufactory: she was not a bad reader of countenances, and she judged him to be a thorough gentleman. His face was a refined one, his manner pleasant.

      She found that she had gone at an untoward time. Standing before the hall door was Mr. Ashley's open carriage, the groom standing at the horse's head. Even as Jane ascended the steps the door opened, and Mr. and Mrs. Ashley were coming forth. Feeling terribly distressed and disappointed, she scarcely defined why, Jane accosted the former, and requested a few minutes' interview.

      Mr. Ashley looked at her. A fair young widow, evidently a lady. He did not recognise her. He had seen her before, but she was in a different style of dress now.

      Mr. Ashley raised his hat as he replied to her. "Is your business with me pressing? I was just going out."

      "Indeed it is pressing," she said; "or I would not think of asking to detain you."

      "Then walk in," he returned. "A little delay will not make much difference."

      Opening the door of a small sitting-room, apparently his own, he invited her to a seat near the fire. As she took it, Jane untied the crape strings of her bonnet and threw back her heavy veil. She was as white as a sheet, and felt choking.

      "I fear you are ill," Mr. Ashley remarked. "Can I get you anything?"

      "I shall