to the town-the soul of social life here! And now! . . . One should not sp

s former exploits in the capacity of a minister of the Gospel. A low-lying district of the town, which at that date was crowded with impoverished cottagers, was crying fo

Even the dispassionate judges who sat by the hour in the bar-parlour of the White Hart-an inn standing at the dividing line between the poor quarter aforesaid and the fashionable quarter of Maumbry's former triumphs, and hence affording a position

d, but he pursued his daily' labours in a

she became one of the invalid's visitors. After a general conversation while sitting in his room with a friend of both, an incident led up to the matter that still rankled deeply in her soul. Her face was now paler and thinner than it had been; even more attractive,

ng Mrs. Maumbry, saluted her, whose eyes filled with tears as the notes of the band waned away. Before the little group had recovered from that sense of the romantic which such spectacles impart, Mr. Maumbry came along the pavement. He probably had bidden his former brethren-in-arms a farewell at th

that now quivered, she asked the invalid what

th a wilfulness that was too stron

husband has a right to do such a thing, e

longingly out of the window towards the thin dusty line of Hussars, now smalling towards the Mellstock Ridge. 'I,'

een current concerning her before the invalid