me to consent; and then what a hold he would have had upon me!"
"By George! I could never believe that proper old boy would be such a villain! I think, my fair friend, you romance a little — all the better for a literary future."
"Do not laugh at me, Tom; and pray do not lose sight of Ford. My whole soul is as fixed as ever on the hope of clearing myself and my husband's memory from the foul slander of that abominable will."
"I will help you with all my wits!" cried Tom, remembering his creditable acquaintance Trapes and his inquiries. "But I dare not encourage you to hope. You say this Galbraith is going to leave: I would advise you when he is just off to make yourself known, and then I'll take long odds that he will make better offers of a settlement, and you might arrange things comfortably. It need not interfere with another will, should it turn up."
"Never offer me such advice again!" cried Mrs. Temple, indignantly. "It is a positive insult."
"I am dumb then," said Tom, submissively. After a few moments' thought, he asked, "Do you think Ford ever dabbled in any betting or turfy transactions?"
"I should say not — certainly not. Why do you ask?"
"Because a very queer character was making inquiries about him the other day." And Tom proceeded to describe his conversation wilh Trapes.
"It is curious," said Kate, reflectively, after listening with deep attention to his account; "but I cannot see that this supposed debt of Ford's can affect me in any way, even if true; and I presume your friend his some powers of invention, as you say he was once on the press."
"No doubt. I believe very little he says; but that he wanted to find Ford — or the man he resembled — is a fact, whatever the reason; and, moreover, he knows something of Mr. Travers's people."
"True," returned Kate; and then fell into a fit of thought, from which she roused herself by a sort of effort to ask, "Where is this man Trapes to be found?"
"Oh! I have not an idea; indeed, I had no inclination to keep up the connection."
"I wish we knew."
"Better have nothing to say to him; he would only persuade you to throw away your money."
Mrs. Temple made no reply; but again opening her desk, took out a memorandum-book, in which she began to write. "What was the date of your interview?" she asked. Tom gave it, for as it was identical with the first appearance of his play, he knew it well. A few more questions proved she was putting down the substance of Reed's communication.
"May I ask what that is for?" said he.
"This is my evidence-book," replied Kate, turning over the pages. "I put down here everything, great and small, that strikes me as bearing in any possible way upon my case."
"I protest you are a first-rate solicitor spoiled by your sex! What suggested such a business-like proceeding, positively unnatural in a woman?"
"I cannot tell; dwelling intensely on a topic is something like boring for a well, I imagine. If you only go on long enough and deep enough, you are sure to strike an idea — or a spring! Then you know poor Mr. Travers was always making notes of ideas and suggestions, and all sorts of things that might by any possibility be useful."
"Believe me, Mrs. Travers — well. Temple! I must try and remember it — you have admirable qualities for a writer. The keeper of a diary, if intelligent, is the possessor of a mine."
"I trust this will prove one to me; but — oh ! here is Fanny," as that young person entered, prayer-book in hand, and announced triumphantly that she had been escorted back from church by Mr. Turner, junior.
"Have you finished your consultation yet?" she continued, "or shall I go out again? I dare say Mr. Turner is lingering outside, and will not mind keeping me company a little while."
From The Fortnightly Review.
DUTCH GUIANA.
CHAPTER I.
THE COAST.
"When creeping carefully along the beach
The mouth of a green river did they reach,
Cleaving the sands, and on the yellow bar
The salt waves and the fresh waves were at war."
"'Tis known, at least it should be," that Surinam, geographically indicated by the easterly slice of Guiana placed between our own South-American possessions on the one side and French Cayenne on the other, is up to the present day under Dutch rule; while Demerara, or, to speak more correctly, the broad British territory that includes in one the three provinces of Ber-
