spoken sharply the night before. She decided to go and pay all her bills and make some distant calls on the next morning; and her husband promised to go into the city and provide her with the money.

The charwoman now appeared at the door with her pail of hot water. Margaret looked into her face, as if to read guilt or innocence. She was a protégée of Christie's, who was not apt to accord her favour easily, or without good grounds; an honest, decent widow, with a large family to maintain by her labour,—that was the character in which Margaret had engaged her; and she looked it. Grimy in her dress-because she could not spare the money or time to be clean-her skin looked healthy and cared for; she had a straightforward, business-like appearance about her, and seemed in no ways daunted nor surprised to see Doctor and Mrs. Brown standing in the middle of the room, in displeased perplexity and distress. She went about her business without taking any particular notice of them. Margaret's suspicions settled down yet more distinctly upon the chimney-sweeper; but he could not have gone far, the notes could hardly have got into circulation. Such a sum could not have been spent by such a man in so short a time, He looked up at her almost as if he did not and the restoration of the money was her first, know her.

This he did. He showed her the notes that evening, locked them up for the night in his bureau; and, lo, in the morning they were gone! They had breakfasted in the back parlour, or half-furnished dining-room. A charwoman was in the front room, cleaning after the sweeps. Doctor Brown went to his bureau, singing an old Scotch tune as he left the dining-room. It was so long before he came back, that Margaret went to look for him. He was sitting in the chair nearest to the bureau, leaning his head upon it, in an attitude of the deepest despondency. He did not seem to hear Margaret's step, as she made her way among rolled-up carpets and chairs piled on each other. She had to touch him on the shoulder before she could rouse him.

"James, James!" she said in alarm.

her only object. She had scarcely a thought "O, Margaret!" he said, and took hold of for subsequent duties, such as prosecution of her hands, and hid his face in her neck.

"Dearest love, what is it?" she asked, thinking he was suddenly taken ill.

"Some one has been to my bureau since last night," he groaned, without either looking up or moving.

It

"And taken the money," said Margaret, in an instant understanding how it stood. was a great blow; a great loss, far greater than the few extra pounds by which the bills had exceeded her calculations; yet it seemed as if she could bear it better. "O, dear!" she said, "that is bad; but after all-Do you know," she said, trying to raise his face, so that she might look into it, and give him the encouragement of her honest loving eyes, "at first I thought you were deadly ill, and all sorts of dreadful possibilities rushed through my mind, —it is such a relief to find that it is only money-"

"Only money!" he echoed, sadly, avoiding her look, as if he could not bear to show her how much he felt it.

"And after all," she said with spirit, "it can't be gone far. Only last night here. The chimney sweeps-we must send Crawford for the police directly. You did not take the numbers of the notes!" ringing the bell as she spoke.

the offender, and the like consequences of crime. While her whole energies were bent on the speedy recovery of the money, and she was rapidly going over the necessary steps to be taken, her husband "sat all poured out into his chair," as the Germans say; no force in him to keep his limbs in any attitude requiring the slightest exertion; his face sunk, miserable, and with that foreshadowing of the lines of age which sudden distress is apt to call out on the youngest and smoothest faces,

"What can Crawford be about?" said Margaret, pulling the bell again with vehemence. "O, Crawford!" as the man at that instant appeared at the door.

"Is anything the matter?" he said, interrupting her, as if alarmed into an unusual discomposure by her violent ringing. "I had just gone round the corner with the letter master gave me last night for the post, and when I came back Christie told me you had rung for me, ma'am. I beg your pardon, but I have hurried so," and, indeed, his breath did come quickly, and his face was full of penitent anxiety.

"O, Crawford! I am afraid the sweep has got into your master's bureau, and taken all the money he put there last night. It is gone at any rate. Did you ever leave him in the

"No; they were only to be in our possession room alone?" one night," he said.

"No, to be sure not."

"I can't say, ma'am; perhaps I did. Yes! I believe I did. I remember now,-I had my

work to do; and I thought the charwoman | her alone. She followed him into the room, was come, and I went to my pantry; and some past the affronted Crawford and her despondent time after Christie came to me complaining husband. The inspector gave one sharp look that Mrs. Roberts was so late; and then I at the charwoman, who was going on with her knew that he must have been alone in the scouring with stolid indifference, turned her room. But, dear me, ma'am, who would have out, and then asked Margaret where Crawford thought there had been so much wickedness came from,-how long he had lived with them, in him?" and various other questions, all showing the direction his suspicions had taken. This shocked Margaret extremely; but she quickly answered every inquiry; and, at the end,

"How was it that he got into the bureau?" said Margaret, turning to her husband. "Was

the lock broken?"

He roused himself up, like one who wakens watched the inspector's face closely, and waited from sleep. for the avowal of the suspicion.

"Yes! No! I suppose I had turned the key without locking it last night. The bureau was closed, not locked, when I went to it this morning, and the bolt was shot." He relapsed into inactive, thoughtful silence.

"At any rate, it is no use losing time in wondering now. Go, Crawford, as fast as you can, for a policeman. You know the name of the chimney-sweeper, of course," she added, as Crawford was preparing to leave the room.

"Indeed, ma'am, I'm very sorry, but I just agreed with the first who was passing along the street. If I could have known-"

But Margaret had turned away with an impatient gesture of despair. Crawford went without another word to seek a policeman.

In vain did his wife try and persuade Doctor Brown to taste any breakfast; a cup of tea was all he would try to swallow, and that was taken in hasty gulps, to clear his dry throat, as he heard Crawford's voice talking to the policeman whom he was ushering in.

The policeman heard all, and said little. Then the inspector came. Doctor Brown seemed to leave all the talking to Crawford, who apparently liked nothing better. Margaret was infinitely distressed and dismayed by the effect the robbery seemed to have on her husband's energies. The probable loss of such a sum was bad enough, but there was something so weak and poor in character, in letting it affect him so strongly-to deaden all energy and destroy all hopeful spring, that although Margaret did not dare to define her feeling, nor the cause of it, to herself, she had the fact before her perpetually, that if she were to judge of her husband from this morning only, she must learn to rely on herself alone in all cases of emergency. The inspector repeatedly turned from Crawford to Doctor and Mrs. Brown for answers to his inquiries. It was Margaret who replied with terse, short sentences, very different from Crawford's long involved explanations.

He led the way back to the other room without a word, however. Crawford had left, and Doctor Brown was trying to read the morning's letters (which had just been delivered), but his hands shook so much that he could not see a line.

"Doctor Brown," said the inspector, "I have little doubt that your man-servant has committed this robbery. I judge so from his whole manner; and from his anxiety to tell the story, and his way of trying to throw suspicion on the chimney-sweeper, neither whose name nor dwelling can he give; at least he says not. Your wife tells us he has already been out of the house this morning, even before he went to summon a policeman; so there is little doubt that he has found means for concealing or disposing of the notes; and you say you do not know the numbers. However, that can probably be ascertained."

At this moment Christie knocked at the door, and, in a state of great agitation, demanded to speak to Margaret. She brought up an additional store of suspicious circumstances, none of them much in themselves, but all tending to criminate her fellow-servant. She had expected to find herself blamed for starting the idea of Crawford's guilt, and was rather surprised to find herself listened to with attention by the inspector. This led her to tell many other little things, all bearing against Crawford, which, a dread of being thought jealous and quarrelsome, had led her to conceal before from her master and mistress. At the end of her story the inspector said:

"There can be no doubt of the course to be taken. You, sir, must give your man-servant in charge. He will be taken before the sitting magistrate directly; and there is already evidence enough to make him be remanded for a week, during which time we may trace the notes, and complete the chain."

"Must I prosecute?" said Doctor Brown, almost lividly pale. "It is, I own, a serious At length the inspector asked to speak to loss of money to me; but there will be the

further expenses of the prosecution-the loss | for her husband; how wakeful had he been at of time-the-"

He stopped. He saw his wife's indignant eyes fixed upon him; and shrank from their look of unconscious reproach.

"Yes, inspector," he said, "I give him in charge. Do what you will. Do what is right. Of course I take the consequences. We take the consequences. Don't we, Margaret?" He spoke in a kind of wild low voice, of which Margaret thought it best to take no notice. "Tell us exactly what to do," she said, very coldly and quietly, addressing herself to the policeman.

He gave her the necessary directions as to their attending at the police-office, and bringing Christie as a witness, and then went away to take measures for securing Crawford.

nights; how diligent in the mornings! It was no wonder that her husband felt this discovery of domestic treason acutely. It was she who was hard and selfish, and thinking more of the recovery of the money than of the terrible disappointment in character, if the charge against Crawford were true.

At eleven o'clock her husband returned with a cab. Christie had thought the occasion of appearing at a police-office worthy of her Sunday clothes, and was as smart as her possessions could make her. But Margaret and her husband looked as pale and sorrow-stricken as if they had been the accused, and not the accusers.

Doctor Brown shrank from meeting Crawford's eye, as the one took his place in the Margaret was surprised to find how little witness-box, the other in the dock. Yet Crawhurry or violence needed to be used in Crawford was trying-Margaret was sure of this— ford's arrest. She had expected to hear sounds of commotion in the house, if indeed Crawford himself had not taken the alarm and escaped. But when she had suggested the latter apprehension to the inspector, he smiled, and told her that when he had first heard of the charge from the policeman on the beat, he had stationed a detective officer within sight of the house, to watch all ingress or egress; so that Crawford's whereabouts would soon have been discovered if he had attempted to escape.

Margaret's attention was now directed to her husband. He was making hurried preparations for setting off on his round of visits, and evidently did not wish to have any conversation with her on the subject of the morning's event. He promised to be back by eleven o'clock; before which time, the inspector had assured them, their presence would not be needed. Once or twice Doctor Brown said, as if to himself, "It is a miserable business." Indeed, Margaret felt it to be so; and now that the necessity for immediate speech and action was over, she began to fancy that she must be very hard-hearted-very deficient in common feeling; inasmuch as she had not suffered like her husband at the discovery that the servantwhom they had been learning to consider as a friend, and to look upon as having their interests so warmly at heart-was, in all probability, a treacherous thief. She remembered all his pretty marks of attention to her, from the day when he had welcomed her arrival at her new home by his humble present of flowers, until only the day before, when, seeing her fatigued, he had, unasked, made her a cup of coffee,-coffee such as none but he could make. How often had he thought of warm dry clothes

to catch his master's attention. Failing that, he looked at Margaret with an expression she could not fathom. Indeed, the whole character of his face was changed. Instead of the calm smooth look of attentive obedience, he had assumed an insolent, threatening expression of defiance; smiling occasionally in a most unpleasant manner, as Doctor Brown spoke of the bureau and its contents. He was remanded for a week; but, the evidence as yet being far from conclusive, bail for his appearance was taken. This bail was offered by his brother, a respectable tradesman, well known in his neighbourhood, and to whom Crawford had sent on his arrest.

So Crawford was at large again, much to Christie's dismay; who took off her Sunday clothes, on her return home, with a heavy heart, hoping, rather than trusting, that they should not all be murdered in their beds before the week was out. It must be confessed Margaret herself was not entirely free from fears of Crawford's vengeance; his eyes had looked so maliciously and vindictively at her and at her husband, as they gave their evidence.

But his absence in the household gave Margaret enough to do to prevent her dwelling on foolish fears. His being away made a terrible blank in their daily comfort, which neither Margaret nor Christie-exert themselves as they would-could fill up; and it was the more necessary that all should go on smoothly, as Doctor Brown's nerves had received such a shock, at the discovery of the guilt of his favourite trusted servant, that Margaret was led at times to apprehend a serious illness. He would pace about the room at night, when he thought she was asleep,

ROBIN HOOD AND HIS MERRY MEN AT SHERWOOD FOREST.

The merry pranks he play'd would ask an age to tell,
And the adventures strange that Robin Hood befell,
When Mansfield many a time for Robin hath been laid,
How he hath cozen'd them that him would have betrayed;
How often he hath come to Nottingham disguised,
And cunningly escaped, being set to be surprised.

In this our spacious isle I think there is not one

But he hath heard some talk of him and Little John;
And to the end of time the tales shall ne'er be done,
Of Scarlock, George-a-green, and Much the miller's son,
Of Tuck the merry friar, which many a sermon made
In praise of Robin Hood, his outlaws, and their trade.
An hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood
Still ready at his call, that bowmen were right good,
All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue,
His fellow's winded horn, not one of them but knew,
When setting to their lips their little bugles shrill,
The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill;
The bauldricks set with studs athwart their shoulders cast,
To which, under their arms, their sheafs were buckled fast;
A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span;
Who struck below the knee not counted then a man ;
All made of Spanish yew, the bows were wondrous strong;
They not an arrow drew but was a cloth-yard long.
Of archery they had the very perfect craft,
With broad arrow or but, or prick or roving shaft,

At marks full forty score they used to prick and rove,
Yet higher than the breast for comfort never strove;

Yet at the farthest mark a foot could hardly win:

At long-buts, short, and hoyles, each one could cleave the pin.
Their arrows finely paired, for timber and for feather,

With birch and brazil pieced, to fly in any weather;

And shot they with the round, the square, or forked pile,
The loose gave such a twang as might be heard a mile.
And of these archers brave there was not any one
But he could kill a deer his swiftest speed upon,
Which they did boil and roast in many a mighty wood,
Sharp hunger the fine sauce to their more kingly food,
Then taking them to rest, his merry men and he
Slept many a summer's night under the greenwood tree.
From wealthy abbots' chests, and churls' abundant store,
What oftentimes he took he shared among the poor;

No lordly bishop came in lusty Robin's way,

To him before he went, but for his pass must pay.

The widow in distress he generously relieved,
And remedied the wrongs of many a virgin grieved:
He from the husband's bed no married woman wan,
But to the mistress dear, his loved Marian,
Was ever constant known, which, wheresoe'er she came,
Was sovereign of the woods, chief lady of the game;
Her clothes tuck'd to the knee, and dainty braided hair,
With bow and quiver arm'd, she wandered here and there
Amongst the forest wild; Diana never knew
Such pleasures, nor such harts as Mariana slew.

DRAYTON