A Changed Heart. May Agnes Fleming

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      "They go to Prince Street, Jake! I met them coming out of a certain house there past twelve o'clock last night!"

      "By ginger!" exclaimed Mr. Clowrie, aghast. "You never mean to say young McGregor stole the money to gam—"

      "Hu-sh-sh! I wouldn't have it found out through me for the world. It's all the work of that dandified officer; he was with them in a long overcoat, but I knew him the minute I clapped eyes on him. They were talking about the bank-note, and the captain was laughing and smoking away as jolly as you please; but I saw Charley's face as they passed a gas-lamp, and I swear he was as white as a ghost!"

      "I suppose he'd been losing."

      "I reckon so, and Alick didn't look much better. That captain's a regular scape—he's after Cherrie Nettleby as regular as clock-work now."

      Mr. Clowrie scowled suddenly, but Bill clattered on:

      "I saw him twice last night; once before I met them in Prince Street. It was about nine, and Cherrie was with him. There the two of them were standing, like Paul and Virginny, at the gate, making love like sixty! That Cherrie's the preciousest fool that ever drew breath, I do think. Why don't you——"

      He stopped short in consternation, for the door swung open and Val strode in, and, as he had done once before, collared him. With the other hand he turned the key in the lock to keep out intruders, and Bill fairly quaked, for Val's face looked ominous.

      "Now, look you, Master Bill Blair," he began, in a tone exceedingly in earnest, "I have been listening out there for some time, and I have just got this to say to you: if ever I find you repeat it to mortal man or woman, as long as you live, I'll break every bone in your body! Do you hear that?"

      Yes, Master Bill heard, and jerked himself free with a very red and sulky face.

      "Don't forget now!" reiterated Val; "I'll thrash you within an inch of your life, as sure as your name's Bill! And you, Clowrie, if you want to keep yourself out of trouble, take my advice and say nothing about it. Now get to work, you, sir, and no more gossiping."

      Val strode off to his own room, and sat down to look over a file of exchanges, and read his letters. But he could neither read nor do anything else with comfort this morning. The boy's gossip had disturbed him more than he would have owned; and at last, in desperation, he pitched all from him, seized his hat, and went out.

      "I played Mentor the other night on the stage. I think I'll try it in real life. Confound that Cavendish; why can't he let the boy alone? I don't mind McGregor; he's only a noodle at best, and the old man can afford to lose the money; but Charley's another story! That Cherrie, too! The fellow's a scoundrel, and she's a—! Oh, here she comes!"

      Sure enough, tripping along, her blue parasol up, her turban on, a little white lace vail down, a black silk mantle flapping in the breeze, a buff calico morning-wrapper, with a perfect hailstorm of white buttons all over it, sweeping the dust, came Miss Nettleby herself, arrayed as usual for conquest. The incessant smile, ever parting her rosy lips, greeted Val. Cherrie always kept a large assortment of different quality on hand for different gentlemen. Val greeted her and turned.

      "Where are you going, Cherrie?"

      "Down to Mrs. Marsh's. I've got a book of hers to return. How's Miss Jo?"

      "She's well. I'll walk with you, Cherrie; I have something to say to you."

      His tone was so serious that Cherrie stared.

      "Lord, Mr. Blake! what is it?"

      "Let us go down this street—it is quiet. Cherrie, does Captain Cavendish go to see you every evening in the week?"

      "Gracious me, Mr. Blake!" giggled Cherrie, "what a question!"

      "Answer it, Cherrie."

      "Now, Mr. Blake, I never! if you ain't the oddest man! I shan't tell you a thing about it!"

      "He was with you last night, was he not?"

      "It's none of your business!" said polite Cherrie; "he has as much right to be with me as any one else, I hope. You come yourself sometimes, for that matter."

      "Yes; but I don't make love to you, you know."

      "It wouldn't be any use for you if you did," said Miss Cherrie, bridling.

      "It's a different case altogether," said Val; "you and I are old friends—he is a stranger."

      "He's not! I've known him more than five weeks! If you only came to preach, Mr. Blake, I guess you had better go back, and I'll find Mrs. Marsh's alone."

      "Cherrie, I want to warn you—the less you have to do with Captain Cavendish the better. People are talking about you now."

      "Let 'em talk," retorted Miss Nettleby, loftily; "when Speckport stops talking the world will come to an end. I'll just do as I please, and talk to whom I like; and if everybody minded their own business, it would be better for some folks."

      With which the young lady swept away majestically, leaving Mr. Blake to turn back or follow if he pleased. He chose the former, and walked along to Dr. Leach's office. Charley was standing, looking out of the window, and whistling a tune.

      "Hallo, Val!" was his greeting, "what brings you here? Want a tooth pulled, or a little bleeding, or a trifle of physic of any kind? Happy to serve you in the absence of the doctor."

      "No, I don't want any physic, but I have come to give you a dose. Are you alone?"

      "Quite. Leach went to visit a patient ten minutes ago. What's the matter?"

      "Everything's the matter! What's this I hear you have been about lately?"

      "Turning actor—do you mean that? Much obliged to you, Val, for the puff you gave me in yesterday's Spouter."

      "No, sir, I don't mean that! Isn't Alick McGregor a nice fellow to rob his own father and you his aider and abettor? Fine doings that!"

      Charley fairly bounded.

      "Oh, the d——! Where did you find that out?"

      "Never mind, I have found it out; that is enough!"

      "Is it known? Who else knows it?"

      "Two that are not quite so safe to keep it as I am! No, I won't tell you who they are. Charley, what are you coming to?"

      "The gallows, I suppose; but I had no hand in that. If McGregor took the money, it was his own doings, and his father could spare it."

      "What did he want of it?"

      "Am I his keeper? How should I know?"

      "You do know! When did you turn gambler, Charley?"

      Charley turned round, his face white.

      "You know that, too?"

      "I do! McGregor stole the hundred pounds to pay a gambling-debt to Captain Cavendish. And you—where does your money come from, Marsh?"

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