though doubtless she had seen him, as he was a rider at Quankibosco's Circus, then performing in the town. 'Sydney Seymour, or some such name, he calls himself,' added the Welcher, and does the bare-back trick like a bird!'

Lieutenant David Morgan was both right and wrong.

The man whom they had noticed did call himself Sydney Seymour, and did ride bare-backed at Signor Quankibosco's Circus; but Miss Brandon had been introduced to him-and more than that, had danced with him in the very best society. He was called Arthur L'Estrange then; and this was his history:

Arthur L'Estrange was the only son of General L'Estrange, an officer who had not merely served with distinction, but whose scientific knowledge of his profession had obtained for him a prominent position at the War Office. The general's greatest wish was that his son, whom he adored, should follow his profession; and the boy was educated at Sandhurst, under the special care of one of the general's old comrades, who was a professor there. Everything seemed going on well; Arthur was reported to be diligent in his studies, and unexceptional in his conduct; but one day the professor arrived hastily at the general's house, and struck consternation into the heart of his old friend, by telling him that the boy had formed an acquaintance with a young woman attached to a strolling company of actors, who had been performing in the neighbourhood, and that unless strong measures were taken he would probably disgrace himself by marrying her. Strong measures the general took at once he proceeded direct to Sandhurst; saw Arthur, and demanded to know the history of the whole affair. The boy, then about seventeen years old, answered frankly, completely endorsing the professor's story. He did know this young lady, who was called Florence Delavanti; he was in love with her; he did fully intend to marry her; but admitted, however, that he should not have taken that step without asking his father's sanction. The old general was furious: he would hear of no delay, no compromise; the girl must be given up at once, or he and his son would be strangers henceforth and for ever. A scene of hot and angry recrimination ensued, ending by the reiteration on Arthur's part of his refusal to give up the girl, and by the general swearing that henceforth his son was nothing to him, and must gain his living as he best could.

Arthur L'Estrange married the poor little girl with a high-sounding name, and became a member of the playacting troupe to which she was attached. He had been always celebrated for his agility and feats of strength, and now turned these qualifications to good use. The poor little creature whom he had made his wife was very delicate, and, about eighteen months after their marriage, lost her strength and her voice, and was incapable of fulfilling her professional duties. Thus the whole burden of the household fell upon Arthur; and, under his assumed name of Sydney Seymour, he was beginning to be well known amongst the professors of that strange world which he had adopted. In graceful agility he was allowed to be quite unique; and the unmistakable bearing of the gentleman, which distinguished him on the stage, or in the circus, always made him an object of interest to the female portion of the spectators.

Three years after his marriage, his wife died. The shock was very great to him, for he had been deeply attached to her. It was some time before he could resume the practice of his profession; and when he did so, though he was as graceful and agile as ever, there was a certain callous carelessness about him, which seemed to pervade every action of his life. His companions, who, without being acquainted with any par ticulars of his history, could not avoid. seeing that by birth and education he was not one of them, but rather a gentleman under misfortune, or, as they phrased it, a swell out of luck,' expressed their wonder that he did not return to his friends; but he only answered moodily that he had grown habituated to his life; that he had no interest or care for himelf, and that the shackles of conventional society would now be impossible for him to bear. These remarks were fully coincided with by the manager of the circus, of which he was always the greatest attraction; and thus matters stood at the opening of our story.

That evening was a 'bespeak night' at the circus, the performance being under the patronage of a nobleman who had just arrived at his shooting-box in the neighbourhood, and who attended on the occasion with a large number of his friends. The house was crammed, and amongst the audience were Minnie and Kate Brandon, attended by Captain Bassenthwaite and several other officers. Some of them had only that day come over from the barracks at Leeds, and their arrival had been cele

brated by their friends by a little dinner, at which a great deal of wine had been drunk. Of this Captain Bassenthwaite seemed to have had his full share; his eyes were rather bloodshot, his speech rather thick, and he rolled about in his seat. He also made

himself conspicuous by his loud remarks, mostly of a derogatory character, on the various performances. But it was not until the daring feat of equestrianism on a bare-backed horse' by Mr. Sydney Seymour took place, that the captain's conduct excited general attention. At the sight of the rider his dull eyes seemed to glow with rage, and turning to Miss Brandon, he said, in a thick, husky tone, 'That is the fellow who stared at you this morning on the Spa !'

'Hush, pray be quiet!' said Minnie, in a frightened voice; he did not stare at me, he

"That is all very well,' he cried; you say that to save him, but I saw him stare at you; he is staring now! By Jove, I'll- He suddenly rose, as though about to spring into the arena, but was checked by a cry of silence' which arose from the audience. His sudden motion had, however, frightened the horse, which swerved quickly on one side, disturbing the rider's equilibrium, and throwing him on to his head.

A mingled cry of fright and rage rose from the people; but Arthur L'Estrange was on his feet in a moment, bowed, quickly caught the horse, and carried on his performance with greater grace and daring even than before. Some quarter of an hour afterwards he entered the audience portion of the house, dressed in private clothes, and looking very pale and gentlemanly. His entrance was observed by the large mass of people filling the gallery, and he was cheered to the echo. At the conclusion of the performance Captain Bassenthwaite, in conducting Miss Brandon to her carriage, saw the man whose presence had so annoyed him standing with his back to the wall, as though waiting to let the visitors pass out.

'Step aside, sir,' said Bassenthwaite, pushing him roughly, and make room for your customers!'

Arthur L'Estrange made one step forward, but, seeing Miss Brandon, he merely bowed, and, turning into the crowd, followed in their footsteps. No sooner, however, had the carriage-door closed upon the ladies than Bassenthwaite, who was standing making his farewell bow, felt a grip of iron in his cravat, and heard a voice hissing in his

ear, You scoundrel! I spared you this instant because ladies were present. There are none here now, and you shall answer to me for your insults this evening!'

Who the deuce is this? Take your hand off me!' cried Captain Bassenthwaite, shaking himself free. Then turning to his assailant, 'Oh, it is you, is it?' said he. 'I thought it was a gentleman, but I shall give you in charge of the police !'

You are a bully, and so would shelter yourself under any excuse; but that I am a gentleman, at least your equal in birth and breeding, I am fully able to prove. If I can prove it, will you give me a meeting?'

'If you can; but you are only a tumbler in a circus, and one does not go out with such people.'

Fortunately there is some one here who can corroborate my assertion,' said the circus rider, turning to one of the gentlemen who had gathered round. Your name is Norman Lockwood?'

It is,' said the gentleman addressed, adding, rather contemptuously; ‘but that information might easily be acquired, and I confess I have not the slightest knowledge of you or your antecedents.'

L'Estrange stepped up to him and whispered in his ear.

'By Jove!' exclaimed Captain Lockwood aloud, you don't say so!' Then turning his acquaintance under the gaslight he looked at him for a moment earnestly, and said, 'There is no doubt about it! My dear Arthur, I am delighted at meeting you again. Bassenthwaite, I will guarantee this gentleman's position and

If I want to put a bullet through him, would you be his friend?' asked the captain.

Willingly; but we will not talk about bullets or meetings; we are none of us quite in a condition to settle preliminaries. If you are in the same mind to-morrow you will find me ready to act on this gentleman's behalf. We will meet on the Spa at eleven. Now, good-night.'

The next morning Arthur L'Estrange left the humble lodgings which he inhabited in the north quarter of the town, and walked over towards the Spa. A great change had come over the weather during the night. The wind, which had been fresh for some days, was now blowing half a gale, and the surface of the sea was covered with foam-crested breakers. All the little fleet of fishing-boats lay snugly in the shelter of the harbour, and of all the

small crafts usually dotting the surface of the bay there was only one boat visible. This was a pleasure boat, which seemed to be making for the shore, but to be beating up and down, and tacking in and out in an odd and unseamanlike fashion. There was a small group of fishermen standing on one of the grassy knolls to the southward of the Spa; one of them had a telescope, through which he was examining the solitary boat, and as he passed them Arthur heard one of them say that Jim Raper could not be out in the Nancy, or he would have struck that mainsail long ago.

When he descended on the Spa he found that universal interest was roused about the little craft, which was rapidly nearing the rocks, with her sails still flying. Groups of people were gathered together here and there, pointing eagerly to her, and discussing what appeared to be her inevitable fate.

It is impossible she can hold out!' said one of the speakers, to whom all seemed to pay attention: 'my only wonder is that she has not capsized long before this. If one could make him understand that he ought to lower that mainsail !'

'Does nobody know who it is?' asked another.

'There's two of them,' said a thirdofficers, so far as I can make out. They are in the habit of going out bathing with Jim Raper; but Jim was not there this morning-he would not have let them go if he had been, with this breeze coming on; so they got hold of the boat and went out by themselves.'

'Hoy! lower your mainsail,' roared a boatman, using his hands like a speaking-trumpet. It is no use, they can't hear. It will be all over with them in a minute!' As he spoke a tremendous wave whirled the little cockleshell aloft, and left it keel upwards. For a moment two men were seen floating in the boiling surf. Then one of them gained the boat, and dragged himself to a secure position on her bottom-the other was lost to sight.

A cry of horror burst from the crowd, in the midst of which a wild scream of a woman was specially audible. Arthur L'Estrange rushed to the spot from whence it proceeded, and found Minnie Brandon with her hands clasped and her hair loose and streaming in the wind.

Who is it?' he whispered, hoarsely. 'Captain Bassenthwaite,' she replied; 'my husband that is to be. Oh, for God's sake, try to save him!'

In an instant Arthur L'Estrange had pulled off his coat and waistcoat and his shoes, and sprang on to the top of the low wall, and thence into the boiling flood. The one man still remaine clinging to the boat, the other had risen to the surface, and was floating helplessly about fifty yards in front of him. Arthur was a splendid swimmer, and struck out boldly; the force of the tide was tremendous, and it was some time before he could reach the object of his search: twice the man had sunk, and, helpless and insensible, was throwing up his arms preparatory to his final disappearance, when Arthur L'Estrange seized him by his hair and turned his face to the shore, attempting to drag his helpless burden into safety. The tide was running out like a mill-race, and so heavy was his incumbrance that Arthur found it almost impossible to make head against it. Again and again he renewed his effort, encouraged by the fact that he was evidently nearing the shore, that he could hear the hearty cheers of those witnessing his gallant attempt, that it needed but a very few strokes more and his end would be attained. Then an enormous wall of blue water seemed to rise up against him, sea and sky were mingled together, there was a mighty rushing sound in his ears, his senses failed him, and he knew no more.

When he came to himself he was lying in bed at an hotel, with his hand clasped between those of an old gentleman, who lifted his head as the patient moved, and revealed the features of General L'Estrange. It was like a dream to Arthur, and he took it as such, and fell calmly off to sleep again. Nor for days after was he well enough to learn how half a dozen stalwart fishermen dragged him and Bassenthwaite, whose life he had saved, to the shore; how Norman Lockwood had at once telegraphed off an account to the general, who had instantly come down to Scarborough; and how the reconciliation between father and sou was complete.

It was not until weeks afterwards that Arthur L'Estrange, fully recog nised by his father and his friends, was one of a wedding party, acting, indeed, as best man to Captain Bassenthwaite, whose gratitude and affection for his preserver were unbounded, and who has since sold out of the service, and be