my heart, and crushed your fabric in mine iron arms, till shape was massed to nothingness and bone did crack-till your annihilation became my own act, and I at last had my one great revenge!

Atcherley's voice died off in inarticulate sounds. At last he ceased, and, rolling on his back, stretched out his limbs. A spark of fire seemed to live in his eyes, while his face grew pale as death. At last his lower jaw dropped, the expression of his face became fearful, and every feature fixed as if cut in marble. The fire in his eyes went suddenly out, and they continued staring dull, ghostlike and stony upon the roof of the gallery. Roland, who had turned away his head in horror, once more looked round:-but all that remained of Atcherley, was the lifeless shell of life before him.

The evil spirit was now removed from Roland's side. He looked up already with a new,

a fresh, and a holy contentment and independence. A gush of pure and soothing feelings stole gently over him. The blight was removed from his life; the dark and fearful cloud had passed over;—and the bright and glorious sunshine streamed forth upon him, while the fast retreating shadow in his mind, as the light of a new existence seemed to chase it back, glided quicker and quicker into distance, till all it shaded were the memories of other days, and all which was now existent of his false friend Atcherley.

THE END.

T. C. NEWBY, Printer, 72, Mortimer-St., Cavendish-Square,