my whole life was to be a blank; but no, a certain nobleman happening to take a great fancy to one of my paintings, my name rose, I became famous. I found comfort in dinners, and dissipation, and—”

"Hush, hush," cried Paul, "remember the Miss Perfectways. I am sure you only did what was right."

"Exactly so," said Reginald, "I became a model of perfection, which I remain to this day."

CHAPTER XI.

AN UNINTERESTING CHAPTER.

"AND now," said Paul, rising, "I will

go

She must be better and

to my mother.

calmer by this morning.

come with me, Reginald?"

And will you

"Yes, I've never seen your mother, Paul. I suppose she's a better specimen of the genus than my mother."

"Yes, she is affectionate and warmhearted. But, Reginald, what do you purpose doing with your wonderful torn sheet? Shall you call upon Mr. Percy, or get your solicitor to write to him?"

"Oh, I shall call upon him. I hear he'll be in town this week. If he will come to an understanding without litigation I shall be pleased, but I must get a legal copy of this vestry sheet first at a lawyer's office."

So Paul and Reginald went to an office in Chancery Lane, and had the birth of Cecil Percy duly registered; and then they went to the lodgings in the New Kent Road, near to Horsemonger Lane Jail, where poor Mrs. Withers had fixed her residence. They found her in bed, ill from excitement and joy, which the news of Paul's deliverance had occasioned

There was a tall, slim girl of fourteen in the parlour, with dark eyes like poor Emma's; but they were gentler, and the whole expression of the face was sweeter. This girl embraced Paul warmly when she heard his name. This was little Patty, Paul's sister, come from school to nurse her mother.

Reginald looked at her a great deal,

and told Paul when she had gone out of the room that he should like to paint her portrait.

When Mrs. Withers appeared, she first embraced Paul, then flung herself upon Reginald, and wept and blessed him with Scripture texts, as was her wont, and when Patty came in again they heard what the world said about Charles Bingham Roggmoore's detention.

It was currently reported that he had been thrown from his horse, and his skull fractured, and that the people who had nursed him were too ignorant to know of the circumstances of the case.

Reginald well knew that a report of that kind could not long be believed or substantiated; but he saw that it would give his mother time to escape to the Continent, for, of course, she had made herself amenable to the laws by her suppression of the fact of Mr. Roggmoore's existence; not to speak of the attack made on him when riding, and her being the wilful cause of his terrible accident.

As it was, he, of course, naturally favoured the idea which had got wind, that ignorance, not wilfulness, was the cause of the detention of Mr. Roggmoore.

Felix heard the news of his brother's deliverance. Felix had rejoiced as much as it was possible for him to rejoice at the good fortune of another.

Paul and Reginald spent all that day in the New Kent Road, and towards evening Felix actually condescended to creep in. He found Reginald, his mother, Paul, and Patty partaking of an early supper of Welsh rabbit, of which Reginald professed himself fond.

Felix put his scented handkerchief to his nose, to counteract the odour of the toasted cheese; he kissed his mother, and then offered his hand to Paul and Reginald. The latter gave him two cold fingers, and three or four colder words.

Paul did not resent his brother's unkindness; he spoke to him civilly, not even coldly; looked with a half smile at