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then! She was wild!—quite wild! She put the eggs upon the gridiron instead of the ham, and the ham in the saucepan instead of the eggs, and felt strongly that the landlady of the "Cock and Constitution"—the house which Judkins had been after—she never should be. This thought alone was maddening; but when in addition to this she reflected upon the assumed dreadful fact, of a man like Judkins being thus cut off in his very prime, without having left anything like a will: it was too much: she couldn't endure it; and as she found she couldn't, she let the ham and eggs go on just as they pleased, sank into a chair, and wept.

And thus she remained until Mary came down, when she most unreservedly opened her heart. And Mary sympathised with her, and boiled her eggs for her, and cooked two slices of ham, and begged of her earnestly not to "take on" so, and then took the breakfast in.

"Has Judkins returned yet?" inquired Aunt Eleanor.

"No, ma'am: he's not come back yet."

"Dear me, it's very strange; I cannot at all account for it. Have you no idea where he is?"

"Not the leasest in life, ma'am, I'm sure."

"Well! we must of course have patience; but at present his conduct appears to be extraordinary. That will do, Mary; I'll ring when I want you."

Mary withdrew, and returned to cook, whose affliction was most intense: she sighed and sobbed vehemently, and would not be consoled. Her Judkins—oh! her Judkins—lived, she feared, in her memory only. His absence—his deeply mysterious absence—tugged at her heart-strings, and withered her hopes. Oh! that she knew where he was to be found!—she would have him—dead or alive she would have him! In vain did Mary appeal to her philosophy: in vain she preached patience, and talked about hope: cook suspected strongly that Judkins had been murdered, and felt at length that she knew it.

"Oh! what is this life?" she in agony exclaimed—"what is this life but a tub full of eels! The moment you think you have got the one you want, it slips through your fingers, and there you are!"

She got the cards, and Mary shuffled them, and gave them to cook to cut. The first she cut was the nine of spades: "Trouble, trouble, trouble!" she cried, and proceeded to cut again. The next she cut was the ace of spades. "Death!" she exclaimed, and sank back in her chair.

The bell rang. Mary was summoned to the gate. The reverend gentleman was there. He seemed excited—dreadfully excited—and Mary had no sooner let him in, than she ran to tell cook that he was so.

Sylvester met him at the door, and the moment the reverend gentleman saw him, he grasped his hand, and with fervour, exclaimed—

"I am happy to see you—most happy. I feared," he added, as he entered the room, "that some new calamity had befallen us, for Judkins—"

"Have you seen him?"