frank met her as she went in. it was dark; but she kept her veil down.

"oh, mamma, that's the most horrible man!" he began, in a whisper. "you know the cheese you brought in on saturday, that we might not eat our bread quite dry; well, he has eaten it up, every morsel, and half a loaf of bread! and he has burnt the whole scuttleful of coal! and he swore because there was no meat; and he swore at us because we would not go to the public-house and buy him some beer. he said we were to buy it and pay for it."

"i said you would not allow us to go, mamma," interrupted william, who now came up. "i told him that if he wanted beer he must go and get it for himself. i spoke civilly, you know, not rudely. he went into such a passion, and said such things! it is a good thing jane was out."

"where is gar?" she asked.

"gar was frightened at the man, and the tobacco-smoke made him sick, and he cried; and then he lay down on the floor, and went to sleep."

she felt sick. she drew her two boys into the parlour—dark there, except for the lamp in the road, which shone in. pressing them in her arms, completely subdued by the miseries of her situation, she leaned her forehead upon william's shoulder, and burst once more into a most distressing flood of tears.

they were alarmed. they cried with her. "oh, mamma! what is it? why don't you order the man to go away?"

"my boys, i must tell you; i cannot keep it from you," she sobbed. "that man is put here to remain, until i can pay the rent. if i cannot pay it, our things will be taken and sold."

william's pulses and heart alike beat, but he was silent, frank spoke. "whatever shall we do, mamma?"

"i do not know," she wailed. "perhaps god will help us. there is no one else to do it."

patience came in, for about the sixth time, to see whether jane had returned, and how the mission had sped. they called her into the cold, dark room. jane gave her the history of the whole day, and patience listened in astonishment.

"i cannot but believe that thomas ashley must have been mis-informed," said she, presently. "but that you are strangers in the place, i should say you had an enemy who may have gone to him with a tale that thee can pay, but will not. still, even in that case, it would be unlike thomas ashley. he is a kind and a good man; not a harsh one."

"mr. dare told me he was expressly 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 be better in a minute, thank you," she panted. "perhaps you do not know me, sir. i live in your house, a little lower down. i am mrs. halliburton."

"oh, i beg your pardon, madam; i did not remember you at first. i have seen you in passing."

his manner was perfectly kind and open. not in the least like that of a landlord who had just put a distress into his tenant's house.

"i have come here to beseech your mercy," she began in agitation. "i have not the rent now, but if you will consent to wait until the middle of february, it will be ready. oh, mr. ashley, do not oppress me for it! think of my situation."

"i never oppressed any one in my life," was the quiet rejoinder of mr. ashley, spoken, however, in a somewhat surprised tone.

"sir, it is oppression. i beg your pardon for saying so. i promise that the rent shall be paid to you in a few weeks: to force my furniture from me now, is oppression."

"i do not understand you," returned mr. ashley.

"to sell my furniture under the distress will be utter ruin to me and my children," she continued. "we have no resource, no home; we shall have to lie in the streets, or die. oh, sir, do not take it!"

"but you are agitating yourself unnecessarily, mrs. halliburton. i have no intention of taking your furniture."

"no intention, sir!" she echoed. "you have put in a distress."

"put in a what?" cried he, in unbounded surprise.

"a distress. the man has been in since yesterday morning."

mr. ashley looked at her a few moments in silence. "did the man tell you where he came from?"

"it was mr. dare who put him in—acting for you. i went to mr. dare, and he kept me waiting nearly five hours in his outer office before he would see me. when he did see me, he declined to hear me. all he would say was, that i must pay the rent or he should take the furniture: acting for mr. ashley."

a strangely severe expression darkened mr. ashley's face. "first of all, my dear lady, let me assure you that i knew nothing of this, or it should never have been done. i am surprised at mr. dare."

could she fail to trust that open countenance—that benevolent eye? her hopes rose high within her. "sir, will you withdraw the man, and give me time?"

"i will."

the revulsion of feeling, from despair and grief, was too great. she burst into tears, having struggled against them in vain. mr. ashley rose and looked from the window; and presently she grew calmer. when he sat down again she gave him the outline of her situation; of her present dilemma; of her hopes—poor hopes that they were!—of getting a scanty living through letting her rooms and doing some sewing, or by other employment. "were i to lose my furniture, it would take from me this only chance," she concluded.

"you shall not lose it through me," warmly spoke mr. ashley. "the man shall be dismissed from your house in half an hour's time."

"oh, thank you, thank you!" she breathed, rising to leave. "i have not been able to supply him with great things in the shape of food, and he uses very bad language in the hearing of my children. thank you, mr. ashley."

he shook hands with her cordially, and attended her to the hall door. mrs. ashley, a pretty, lady-like woman, somewhat stately in general, stood there still. well wrapped in velvet and furs, she did not care to return to the warm rooms. jane said a few words of apology for detaining her, and passed on.

mr. ashley turned back to his room, drew his desk towards him, and began to write. his wife followed him. "who was that, thomas?"

"mrs. halliburton: our widowed tenant, next door to samuel lynn's. you remember i told you of meeting the funeral. two little boys were following alone."

"oh, poor little things! yes. what did she want?"

mr. ashley made no reply: he was writing rapidly. the note, when finished, was sealed and directed to mr. dare. he then helped his wife into the carriage, took the reins, and sat down beside her. the groom took his place in the seat behind, and mr. ashley drove round the gravel drive, out at the gate, and turned towards helstonleigh.

"thomas, you are going the wrong way!" said mrs. ashley, in consternation. "what are you thinking of?"

"i shall turn directly," he answered. there was a severe look upon his face, and he drove very fast, by which signs mrs. ashley knew something had put him out. she inquired, and he gave her the outline of what he had just heard.

"how could anthony dare act so?" involuntarily exclaimed mrs. ashley.

"i don't know. i shall give him a piece of my mind to-morrow more plainly than he will like. this is not the first time he has attempted a rascally action under cover of my name."

"shall you lose the rent?"

"i think not, margaret. she said not, and she carries sincerity in her face. i am sure i shall not lose it if she can help it. if i do, i must, that's all. i never yet added to the trouble of those in distress, and i never will."

he pulled up at mrs. halliburton's house, which she had just reached also. the groom came to the horse, and mr. ashley entered. the "man" was comfortably stretched before the study fire, smoking his short pipe. up he jumped when he saw mr. ashley, and smuggled his pipe into his pocket. his offensive manner had changed to humble servility.

"do you know me?" shortly inquired mr. ashley.

the man pulled his hair in token of respect. "certainly, sir. mr. ashley."

"very well. carry this note to mr. dare."

the man received the note in his hand, and held it there, apparently, in some perplexity. "may i leave, sir, without the authority of mr. dare?"

"i thought you said you knew me," was mr. ashley's reply, haughty displeasure in his tone.

"i beg pardon, sir," replied the man, pulling his hair again, and making a movement of departure. "i suppose i bain't a-coming back, sir?"

"you are not."

he took up a small bundle tied in a blue handkerchief, which he had brought with him and appeared excessively careful of, caught at his battered hat, ducked his head to mr. ashley, and left the house, the note held between his fingers. would you like to see what it contained?

"dear sir,—i find that you have levied a distress on mrs. halliburton's goods for rent due to me. that you should have done so without my authority astonishes me much; that you should have done so at all, knowing what you do of my principles, astonishes me more. i send the man back to you. the costs of this procedure you will either set down to me, or pay out of your own pocket, whichever you may deem the more just; but you will not charge them to mrs. halliburton. have the goodness to call upon me to-morrow morning in east street.

"thomas ashley."

"he will not trouble you again, mrs. halliburton," observed mr. ashley, with a pleasant smile, as he went out to his carriage.

jane stood at her window. she watched the man go towards helstonleigh with the note; she watched mr. ashley step into his seat, turn his horse, and drive up the road. but all things were looking misty to her, for her eyes were dim.

"god did hear me," was her earnest thought.