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course they knew. The guard thought he heard a confused noise like howling of dogs and shouting-very distant, he said. Every one thought it must be very distant indeed, as no one else heard any sound except that made by the wind. All seemed wrapped in the stillness and darkness of the winter night. After another careful examination of the horses by coachman and guard, they were, by dint of much coaxing, induced to start again, but at no better pace than a walk. Shortly afterwards, one of the passengers remarked that the wind, which had hitherto been blowing from the south-east, had suddenly veered to the south-west, and that, if this continued, we might expect a thaw. Our horses, as if in some way affected by this change, broke into a trot, and we began to congratulate ourselves that we were now getting clear from our state of bewilderment, when, on coming to the brow of a steep hill, the drag was put on, and the horses brought to a walk, and we commenced to descend. At the bottom of this declivity, which was about a furlong in length, ran a small stream, now hard frozen, and on the opposite side the road again rose sharply. Our weather-wise friend said that our hopes of a thaw might be given up, for the wind had now shifted back again to the old quarter. This was when we were rather more than half-way down the hill, and went near to be the cause of a disaster to us, for our leaders again endeavoured to turn back, as they did a short time before; but the guard was quickly at their heads, and by leading and pulling, and with judicious touches of the whip, we got safely to the bottom, where we pulled up to remove the drag before ascending the opposite hill. On both sides of the road hereabout were thick fir plantations, and the darkness was intense, relieved only by the coach-lamps, which in those days were not very brilliant.

The coachman and guard, assisted by two of the passengers, now took out the horses for a more thorough inspection of the harness, pole, splinter-bar, &c., before starting up the hill, when we were startled by the sound of horses being ridden furiously down the hill through the darkness in front of us-we were drawn up close to the near' side of the road-and in a moment a riderless horse galloped past us; and close behind, a second horse with the shafts of a vehicle still attached; and we all then heard the howling of dogs only a short distance in our front. Our horses now seemed as if mad, and having been detached from the coach and from each other, they quickly became unmanageable, and broke away from those who held them, and were immediately lost in the darkness.

We now heard numerous long-drawn howls, proceeding apparently from a number of animals rushing down the hill towards us. Those who were in the road quickly clambered up into their places on the coach, and the guard handled the blunderbuss with which the coach was always 'armed.' However, the darkness was too black for us to see much; but the howling of the rapidly approaching brutes, which every one now felt could not be dogs, sent a cold shudder through us. Just as they were upon us, the moon shone through a rift in the clouds, and we quite plainly saw six large gray wolves rushing past in full cry after the horses.

We

were stupefied with astonishment; how this could
be, what to think, what to do, we knew not.
After some time and talk, it was agreed that
we should leave the coach and walk, carrying
the mail-bags, to the next stage, at a small
village inn about two miles ahead.
This we
did, keeping together, and it was fortunate that
there were no women-passengers, the coachman
going first with the lantern, and the guard
bringing up the rear with the blunderbuss. On
reaching the top of the hill, we came upon a
broken-down wagon in the middle of the road;
and on making an inspection with our lantern,
we found it to be the remains of a large van
belonging to a travelling menagerie (wild beast
show, in those days). The large hindermost
doors were open, and on the sides of this van
was painted the word 'Wolves.' This accounted
partially, but not fully, for our night's adven-
ture. On making further search, we found a
man lying in a ditch by the side of the
road some fifty yards from the van, griev-
ously torn and insensible, but alive. One
of our passengers happened to be a doctor;
and under his directions, with such attention
as could be given on the spot, and with the
help of stimulants, he came to himself in about
a quarter of an hour. He told us that he
was in sole charge of the van and six wolves,
his company being short-handed through illness;
that in consequence of an accident, he had
started from their last halting-place about ten
hours after the rest of the company; that the
wolves, perhaps from cold and hunger, were very
restless for à considerable time before they
escaped (hence the reason of our highly-bred
horses, with their instinctive dread of wolves,
and their acute scent favoured by the direction
of the wind, refusing to approach nearer to the
van, far away on the road before them); that he
entered the 'keeper's compartment' of the van
to see that all was safe, when one of the largest
of the animals made a great spring, breaking the
old and rusty bars of the cage; this liberated the
whole of the wolves; and to save himself, he
was obliged to unbolt the outer doors and run
for his life. Two of the wolves fastened on
him, and would, no doubt, have soon made short
work of him, had it not been that his horses
in their terror broke away down the hill with
loud snorting and neighing, whereupon the two
wolves left him, and joined the others in pursuit
of the horses. He remembered nothing more,
and must have been insensible until we discovered
him.

We carried the poor fellow to the village to which we were going; and he was afterwards taken on to Salisbury for better surgical attention. The fire and light of the inn were very welcome after the cold and darkness of the journey. Our horses did not fall a prey to the wolves; but the shaft-horse of the van was killed by them, and partly devoured. The whole countryside turned out with all kinds of weapons, from guns down to heavy sticks, for the destruction of the wolves, which, however, we afterwards heard had committed some havoc in the sheepfolds before the last of them succumbed to a farmlabourer's well-handled pitchfork, a week after his escape.

We were not long permitted to enjoy the comfort

of our inn, for the coach was quickly brought up to the door with a fresh team, with which our Jehu certainly did his best to redeem his promise of making up for lost time.

AT TREVENNA COTTAGE.

BY T. W. SPEIGHT.

A STORY IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.-CHAP. V.

BETWEEN Thursday and Monday, no telegram or further communication of any kind reached Trevenna Cottage from Mr Saverne. Accordingly, on the afternoon of the latter day, Captain Avory hired a horse and wagonette from the Crown Hotel and drove over to Mumpton Junction to meet his cousin. That the captain was nervous and ill at ease, need scarcely be said, and he wished fervently that the next few hours were safely tided over. He had nerved himself with brandy before setting out on his journey; and his first proceeding, after reaching the station, to make his way to the refreshment

was counter.

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The train by which Mr Saverne travelled was only a few minutes late in its arrival at Mumpton. Captain Avory stood on the platform, a nervous tremor affecting him from head to foot, as he watched the passengers alight. Presently there emerged from the crowd a face and figure which he recognised at the first glance, changed though they were in some measure by the passage of a dozen years. His heart gave a great throb as he went forward quickly with a white face and lips which twitched involuntarily behind the smile of welcome they now wore. A moment later and the two cousins had gripped each other's

hand.

Edward Saverne, who was several years younger than the captain, was a thin, slightly built but wiry-looking man, with a sun-embrowned complexion, and a plentiful tangle of brown beard and moustache. He had a pleasant smile and kindly eyes. He was one of those men whom other men and women too, for that matter-seem to take to and like instinctively, without waiting to ask themselves whether or not it is wise on their part to do so.

You are scarcely a bit altered,' said the captain to his cousin as they stood for a moment full in the light of the station lamps. 'You are browner, and perhaps a trifle broader across the shoulders; but I should have known you again anywhere.'

Time's finger doesn't seem to have scored you

very heavily in passing,' remarked the other smilingly. Yet, now I scan you more closely, you look pale and careworn-nervous even, and that is worse than all. What's amiss? Nothing wrong at home, I hope? Or perhaps it's only your liver that's out of order? That poor liver has much to answer for.'

The captain laughed a little dismally. 'There's nothing the matter with me that I am aware of,' he said; 'except that of late I've been suffering somewhat from insomnia. As you say, there's no doubt it's that plaguy liver.'

Five minutes later, they had lighted their cigars and were bowling in the wagonette rapidly along the road to Boscombe, Mr Saverne sitting on the box by his cousin, with his one portmanteau

behind.

It was a dark moonless night, with scarcely a breath of air stirring. The few stars that were visible twinkled faintly, as if they were farther off than usual. The two men as they drove along had much to talk about; but, truth to tell, the conversation was mainly kept up by Mr Saverne, for, despite all his efforts, the captain's thoughts would wander from the subject in hand, and busy themselves anent a certain task which It was therefore with a divided mind that he must imperatively be got through before dawn. listened to his cousin's explanations of the reasons which had induced him to return so unexpectedly to England. By-and-by, a turn of the road showed them the few scattered lights of Boscombe twinkling like glow-worms on the slope of the hill; and a few minutes later, they drew up at the gate of Trevenna Cottage.

The door was wide open, a lamp shone in the hall, and Mrs Avory was waiting at the threshold to receive them. There had been no love lost between her and Edward Saverne in years gone by. He had not liked her, and she had not liked him, and each of them knew it. But all this had happened years ago; and when a long-lost kinsman returns from over the seas, old animosities ought to be quenched, at least for the time being, and a home-welcome extended to the wanderer. Accordingly, Mrs Avory, in her usual quiet, undemonstrative way, was full of cordiality, and in the course of three or four minutes, almost succeeded in making her guest believe that she was really glad to see him again. She ushered him into the dining-room, where a cheerful fire was burning, with a small round table in front of it laid for two persons.

she said. "Never mind your dress. It is only 'There must be no formality, Edward, I beg,' a bit of supper I've got ready for you and Lucius. We are primitive folk here, and we never dine later than five. You must not mind if I wait on you myself this evening. The fact is,' she added confidentially, 'I had to send away both my servants this morning at a moment's notice. The usual thing, of course-dishonesty. It was impossible to keep them. So we are all alone to-night; but you won't mind that for once, I daresay. I have a cook coming on trial in the morning.'

The captain, meanwhile, had taken the horse and trap round to the stable at the back of the Cottage, having previously arranged at the hotel that he should keep them till next day. There he found Bosy Groote, who proceeded to

groom and feed the horse. A brief colloquy ensued between the two men, after which the captain went indoors and joined his cousin in the dining-room.

Mrs Avory had provided an appetising little supper, to which her kinsman did not fail to do justice; but it was only by an effort that the captain contrived to swallow a few morsels. Of this, however, Mr Saverne saw nothing. Mrs Avory plied him with so many questions, and had so many things to tell him on her own account, that he had no attention left for anything else. Really,' he thought to himself, Louisa has improved vastly since we last met. I had no idea she could make herself so agreeable.'

When supper was over and Mrs Avory had cleared the table, the two men drew their chairs closer to the fire, for the night seemed suddenly to have grown chilly.

'What would you like to drink? A little hot punch, or what?' asked Avory at the moment his wife re-entered the room.

Edward Saverne hesitated. He was an abstemious man both by temperament and inclination; but to-night he certainly did feel as if a little warm punch would be grateful to him.

'I think I know of something that Edward would like still better,' remarked Mrs Avory sweetly. 'Although so long ago, I have not forgotten that he used to have, what he will excuse me for calling, a little weakness for mulled port-especially, I think, when it had been made by me.-What say you, Edward, to a little mulled port to-night, concocted after the old recipe?'

Edward laughed. "I think it a very happy suggestion,' he said; and I hope to find that your old skill has not deserted you. I tried my hand at it once or twice in Australia, but the memory is a painful one.'

'Punch for me,' said the captain with a laugh. 'I call mulled port a mollycoddle drink, though Lou certainly does know how to brew it.' Speaking thus, he handed his cigar case to his cousin and then took a weed himself.

A tiny copper kettle was singing merrily over a spirit-lamp on the sideboard; and all ingredients being at hand, Mrs Avory at once set about mixing a large tumbler of port-negus for her cousin and one of grog for her husband.

"Try that,' she said as she handed Mr Saverne's glass to him with a smile.

He took a long appreciative sip at it; then he nodded and smiled and said: "Your fingers have not forgotten their cunning, Louisa. It's a tipple fit for the gods.'

'One request,' she said-'don't neglect to drink it while it's hot.'

The captain was in the act of striking a match at the moment his cousin lifted the glass to his lips, but apparently he forgot to apply it to his cigar, and allowed it to burn itself out in his fingers. Before striking another, he took a long pull at his tumbler, and Mr Saverne could not help noticing how his hand shook as it held the glass.

Mrs Avory opened the folding-doors which gave access to the drawing-room, and seating herself at the piano, she began playing some slow, dreamy melody in a minor key, while the two

men went on with their talk in the adjoining room.

Up to this point, Captain Avory's share in the conversation had been little more than a nominal one; but now he seemed at once to brighten up, and plunged into some reminiscences of his boyish days in which he and his cousin had been mixed up together. The more voluble the captain grew, the more taciturn his cousin became. The room was cosy, the fire was cheerful, his easy-chair was soft and comfortable, and his cigar was of a choice brand. Somehow, as he sipped and sipped again at his negus, the less inclined he became for talking, and the more inclined he became to listen to Lucius, to whose voice the notes of the piano formed a sort of subdued rhythmic accompaniment. Gradu ally and imperceptibly, he began to lose all sense of time and place. Twice he caught himself nodding, and drew himself up with a start; but the influence that was upon him was too powerful to be long resisted. For a minute or two longer, Avory's voice droned in his ears, but without conveying any more sense to him than the droning of a wasp would have done; for a minute or two longer, he heard the liquid tinkle of the piano like faint, vague music coming from afar; then his head sunk gently back on the cushions of his chair, and he remembered nothing more. The narcotic administered by Mrs Avory in the mulled wine had worked its intended effect.

'He's off!' whispered the captain to his wife a minute later.

Mrs Avory came forward and looked closely at the sleeping man. After carefully testing the action of his pulse, she lifted his lids one after the other and examined the pupils of his eyes.

'Yes, I think he will do,' she said to her husband, with that strange sinister smile which sometimes lighted up her face. "You see, my dear, that I was a doctor's daughter to some purpose. You had better go and rouse up Bosy Groote and get everything in readiness as quickly as possible.'

The captain went without a word, his face as white as a sheet. He was dreadfully agitated, for he could not help reflecting that it was just possible his cousin might never wake again in this world. He found Bosy asleep on the rug in front of the kitchen fire; but he sprang to his feet at a touch, and at once proceeded to the stable to harness the horse; while Avory inducted himself into a rough overcoat, tied a muffler round his neck, and put on his head a travelling cap which he rarely used. Bosy returned in the course of a few minutes; and then he and the captain proceeded to carry out to the wagonette a number of articles which had previously been placed in readiness by Mrs Avory; This done, Avory, followed by Bosy, went back to the dining-room.

Two minutes later, Mr Saverne, wrapped in a blanket, had been safely deposited on a long horse-hair cushion at the bottom of the wagonette, with an old blue cloak of the captain's thrown lightly over him. Bosy then got into the vehicle and shut the door, and Avory mounted to the box.

Scarcely a word had hitherto been spoken by any of the three. Mrs Avory now said to her

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husband: 'I shall sit up till you return. You will get back as quickly as possible?'

'You may rely upon that,' was the answer. 'You don't think there's any likelihood that the jolting will waken him?'

'None whatever; you may make your mind easy on that score. An earthquake would scarcely waken him for the next four hours.'

Two minutes later, they had started on their way to Hoogies. Midnight struck as they wound slowly up the hill. Not a light was anywhere to be seen. Darkness and silence lay all about them. As soon as they had got fairly into the road which skirts the crown of the hill, their progress became a little accelerated, although it was still necessary to drive carefully, in order that the unconscious man might be shaken as little as possible. At length they reached that part of the road where it becomes narrower, and dips abruptly towards the shore, and is shut in on either hand by gloomy masses of foliage. At this point the captain was obliged to come to a stand; he could not see his hand before him. Bosy, who knew the road almost as well by night as by day, suggested the advisability of leading the horse down the hill. To this Avory agreed; so Bosy alighted, and down they went slowly till at length they reached the end of the plantation and emerged on to the level road by the shore. It was necessary to skirt the extreme end of the plantation, so as to reach the sands, and then to go back along them for a short distance, and in that way arrive at the

house.

At length they reached the fire-blackened ruin which was their destination. During the whole journey from Trevenna Cottage to Hoogies, they had neither met nor overtaken any one. As soon as they drew up, the captain threw the reins over the horse's back and alighted. Bosy went forward into the house, and presently returned with a horn lantern, in which a candle burned dimly.

'Get up into the trap and see that he is all right,' said Avory in a hoarse whisper.

Bosy, lantern in hand, obeyed. The captain scarcely breathed while the brief examination was being made. 'He's all right-as fast as a rock,' said Bosy as he stepped down.

Captain Avory breathed again; and producing his spirit-flask, he partook of a copious dram, and then gave another to his companion. There still remained much to be done.

came forward, and kneeling on one knee, took hold of one of the rings, while the captain took hold of the other. Pulling thus together, they gradually lifted up a large square trap-door in the middle of the floor, and then fixed it in an upright position by means of a couple of stanchions. At their feet now gaped a huge black cavity or cellar, hollowed out of the soft friable rock on which the house was built. In the old smuggling days, this had been the receptacle and hiding-place for many a 'run' of contraband goods. After his mother's death, there was no one living but Bosy who knew the secret of the hiding-place; but to Captain Avory, when the latter happened to call one day, he had revealed it as being a matter of little moment. It was nothing now but a curious memento of a state of things which had died out long years agone.

As the captain gazed into the yawning cavern, it looked so like a huge grave that he could not repress a shudder. And yet it was to this living tomb that he was about to consign his cousin, who had never done him an injury! Avory was not so hardened in ill-doing as not to feel acutely the turpitude of the deed on which he was bent; but he was as a man who is being dragged forward by the hand of an inexorable Fate, which he is powerless to resist, and from which there is no escape. He had gone so far on the road he had chosen, that no turning back was possible for him. Go forward he must at any and every cost. He shrank back with an inward groan.

Bosy, meanwhile, was bringing in a number of packages from the wagonette. When there were no more to bring, he took a candle in his hand, and by means of a loose wooden ladder, he descended through the trap-door into the cellar, which extended under nearly the whole of the kitchen. It was as dry and as free from damp as on the day it had been hollowed out of the sandstone. It was ventilated by means of a small shaft, which opened into the chimney above. Some preparations for the reception of his guest had already been made by Bosy. His rude truckle bedstead was arranged in one corner; and the empty cask had been brought down to serve as a table, together with one of the threelegged stools, in lieu of a chair; while in another corner stood a large earthen pitcher filled with water.

The captain now proceeded to hand down to Bosy the articles removed by the latter from the wagonette. These comprised candles, a candlestick, matches, a small spirit-lamp and kettle, sundry provisions, a bottle of brandy and another of port, together with a few articles of crockery.

'Looks like a pallis fit for a king-blest if it don't!' whispered Bosy, as he glanced round it admiringly when the last article had been handed to him. Wouldn't care tuppence if I was shut up here myself.'

The two men went indoors, and, instructed by Avory, Bosy lighted a couple of candles, which he stuck in empty bottles on the chimney-piece. At that hour of the night they had no fear of any one spying on them from without. Bosy's next act was to clear away everything from the middle of the floor. That done, he crossed to the wide old fireplace, and thrusting one arm inside it nearly to his shoulder, he felt for, and found an iron ring attached to a chain, which he pulled down by some exertion, and then fixed it in that position by means of a hook firmly As soon as Bosy had ascended from the cellar, imbedded in the brickwork of the chimney. The the captain and he held a consultation. They moment he pulled the ring, a certain plank in had forgotten to bring with them the rope needful the floor sank about two inches, and then slid to assist them in lowering the sleeping man into out of sight beneath the plank next to it. In the cellar. Bosy's quick wits assisted him in the fissure thus revealed were two more iron solving the difficulty. There's the reins,' he rings about two feet from each other. Bosy now said; why can't we make use of them?'

'The very thing!' exclaimed Avory. 'Get 'I have not forgotten. Here is the money;' and with that Avory counted ten sovereigns into Bosy's lean claw-like hand.

them at once.'

As soon as Bosy had fetched the reins, he and the captain proceeded to lift Mr Saverne -still lying on the long cushion-out of the wagonette and deposit him on the kitchen floor. The reins were then passed under the cushion, one at the head, the other at the feet, after which the conspirators proceeded slowly and carefully to lower the cushion and its burden into the depths below. This safely accomplished, the two men descended one after the other, the reins were removed, and Mr Saverne was then lifted on to the truckle bedstead. The blanket was still round him in which he had been wrapped at the Cottage; and a second one was now laid over him. A fresh candle was lighted, and after that, there was nothing more to be done. Avory bent over his cousin for a moment; the latter was breathing heavily but regularly-it was the breathing of a man in a deep dreamless sleep. Never in his life had Captain Avory loathed himself as he did at that moment.

Two minutes later, the ladder had been drawn up, the trap-door had been lowered, and the mysterious plank had slid back into its groove. There was no trace visible of the deed which had just been enacted.

Captain Avory, who shook in every limb, fortified himself and Bosy with another dram from his flask; then he said: 'In order that there may be no blunder on your part, I will again refresh your memory with regard to what still remains for you to do. Now, listen carefully. As soon as you hear the gentleman below stirring, but not till then, you will leave here without letting him in any way have a knowledge of your presence. Should you not hear him stirring by noon to-morrow, or rather today, for it's now past one o'clock, you will hasten at once to the Cottage and inform me of that fact. But, as a matter of course, he will waken up long before that time. The moment you hear him move, you will steal away, and not come near the place till midnight on Wednesday. The noise you will then make will attract his attention, and he will at once endeavour to attract yours. When he has succeeded in doing this, you will open the trapdoor in the same way that it was opened tonight; you will lower the ladder, and you will help him to ascend. You will profess to be as much surprised as himself at finding him there. You have been away in another part of the country for several days, and know nothing whatever of the affair. Who can possibly have shut him up in the place where you have found him!'

Five minutes later, Captain Avory had set out on his way back to Trevenna Cottage.

THE TREATMENT OF CONVICTS AND DISCHARGED PRISONERS.

AMONG the many efforts of Christian philanthropists to alleviate the misery and distress of the unfortunate, few are more worthy of public support and sympathy than the Societies which seek to assist those unfortunates who have been led astray from the straight way, to return to the path of honesty and integrity-no easy matter, when surrounded by every temptation, and no kind friends to receive them on discharge from prison. But strange to say, some of the discharged prisoners themselves seem to have a prejudice against the very Societies organised for their benefit; and it is for the purpose of dispelling such illusions that a correspondent who has made strict investigation into the matter has sent us some reliable information from personal observation.

About six weeks before a convict is to be discharged, he is asked if he wishes to book for one of the Aid Societies. On his deciding on one, he is notified in due time that they will receive him. His gratuities are paid over to the Society; and he can either have his clothing from the prison or from the Society, which is a matter of importance to the prisoners; so (says our correspondent) I purpose taking them and the reader to the Royal Society in Aid of Discharged Prisoners, 39 Charing Cross, London. The prisoners are taken from the prison in a cab, and on arriving at the chambers of the Society, are shown into a room, where a substantial breakfast is set before them, consisting of a large plate of ham with white bread

which seems to fill the men with ecstasy, after what they call the 'sawdust' bread they have been used to-and unlimited coffee. After doing justice to these things, they are called singly into the secretary's room, where they are interviewed by a gentleman of the Committee as to their plans and the best way in which the Society can assist them.

These are gentlemen who are in high social positions, who attend personally one day each in his turn; and now and then the President, the Duke of Westminster, goes and talks to the men. They are next taken by a clerk to some upper rooms, well stocked with clothing of all kinds. Those who get their things here, on leaving the prison, are supplied with a suit of Bosy, who had been following the captain's clothes, also one cotton shirt, one flannel shirt, instructions with eager nods and smiles, now with flannel drawers, one pair of socks, and a broke out with a shrill 'Ho, ho, ho!' in which necktie. The suit is only fent; but the other there seemed to lurk an echo of madness. I'm things, the person who receives them keeps. fly, cap'en, I'm fly,' he cried. "Ah! I fancy Several men were fitted during the writer's I can see the gent's face when he comes blinking up the ladder, and wants to know where he is! But, as you say, cap'en, who could possi-bly have put him there? Ho, ho, ho!' Then, with a sudden change of tone, he said: 'But you promised me ten more bright yellow boys, cap'en, when the job was done-don't forget

that!'

visit, and the secretary kindly gave me a bill of one of their outfits. I assert positively that no one could ever dream where that man had got his clothes, or where he had just come from, which cannot be said of those who get their clothes from the prison. The following is the bill of the outfit I have mentioned: Tweed suit, 17s. 6d. ; two coloured Oxford shirts, 4s;

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