"But not the last," I said, still blind to the fact pointed at. "Mr. Atherton, his nephew, was with him after I left. I met him going there at the comer of Vere street."
There was a peculiar look on the man's countenance--of compassion for me, I had almost said.
"Mr. Kavanagh, sir, I had rather have cut off my right hand than that you should have told me that, for you've both been kind gentlemen to me and mine. Mr. Atherton is arrested on suspicion of having administered the poison to his uncle. When you remember where you met him, you can guess what your evidence will be against him. Here--Mr. Hardy! Help!"
I remember nothing more, for I had fallen back insensible.
TO BE CONTINUED.
[Original.]
PEACE.
"Not as the world giveth give I unto you."--St. John 14th.
Break not its sleep, the faithful grief, still tender;
God gives at length his own beloved rest;
How worn and the suffering brow! Yet these meek fingers
Still press the cross of patience to her breast.
Stir not the air with one sweet, lingering cadence
From life's fair prime of love and hope and song;
Serener airs, from martyr hosts celestial,
To that high trance of Conquered peace belong.
Hush mortal joy or wail, hush mortal paeans;
Ye cannot reach that Thabor height sublime
Where God's eternal joy, in tranquil vision,
Seems nearer than the sights and sounds of time.