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Egerton. Some men might
take their revenge out of you
in another way.
But it ain't
mine. I don't go back on the
oath I sworn all them years.
I shall kill you here, I judge,
and chance the British gallows.
'Tain't a bad place this for
it now.
I guess we won't be
disturbed."

He gave a short laugh and glanced round him for a moment. One hand was still fastened on Maud's sleeve, but the other, with the revolver held loose in it, hung limply at his side. Quick as light, Maud's disengaged hand shot out, twisted the weapon from his clasp, and sent it whirling over the cliff. The movement was all too swift and sudden for Watherston to prevent it; but he only laughed again with the cunning chuckle of insanity.

"Euchred! You think so. I guess you have plenty of sand, Mrs Egerton. But I can do without that thing. You may have helped to get me quit of the gallows. I am going to send you down there after the gun; and then I reckon I can go back and tell the British police the poor lady slipped over the gulch, and her friend from the States could not save her though he tried his level best. How's that? Now over you go!"

He released her for an instant, and Maud threw both arms arms round the slender trunk of the larch-tree. The madman seized her by the shoulders and tried to tear her away; but she clung desperately, and called for help with all the force she could

throw into her voice. She knew that her strength could not long avail her in the struggle with this ferocious assailant; but there was just a chance, if she could hold on for a few minutes, that her cries might attract attention and bring assistance.

As it happened, they did. Ambrose Royle, puffing confusedly along the upper path, found himself mounting the cliff, and suddenly recollected the hotel- clerk's directions.

He paused and looked round, and perceived the other footway running parallel with his own some thirty yards farther down. Between the two there was only a green slope, though the cliff fell away steeply below the second path. Ambrose was considering whether he should descend the hill or walk back to the junction, when a cry, emitted in Maud's clear carrying voice, fell upon his ear. He had not been trained to act quickly in emergencies, and he commonly thought many times before he did anything. But on this occasion he did not hesitate. He answered the call with the first shout that rose automatically to his lips, which was the shrill whoop of the hunting-field. The next moment Maud and her adversary, both looking upwards, observed a man careering down the declivity towards them, taking five yards at every stride, arms and stick waving furiously, and view - hallooing with all his might. So disconcerting was the apparition that Jim Watherston stepped

back to receive the charge of this unexpected reinforcement. But he kept his face to the foe as he gave ground, forgetting how narrow was the platform on which he stood. In his backward movement he set one foot on a loose stone a few feet from the edge, tripped and stumbled on the smooth slippery turf, tried to recover himself, slipped a yard backwards, and then threw up his arms and with a wild ory disappeared over the precipice.

Ambrose might have shared his fate, for he was coming down the slope too fast to check himself. But Maud saw the danger and caught him by the arm as he reached the level. The impact brought them both to the ground, safe, but with no margin to spare. They rose and peered cautiously over the steep descent, Ambrose very hot and panting, Maud with cheeks of marble but still breathing quietly. It was one of her characteristics that she was never "out of breath."

The American was sliding down the nearly perpendicular face of the crag, rolling over and over, and trying ineffectually to stay his progress by clawing at the loose stones and springing tufts of weed. Even as they looked he fell sheer down through a drop of several feet where the cliff curved inwards, and lay stretched out motionless on a flat slab of rock.

are my guardian angel, I believe! I might be down there if you had not come to help me. What should I have done without you? I owe you my life now-as well as my happi

ness.

Ambrose raised the little hand to his lips. Then he noticed that the white arm was all bruised and livid under the torn sleeves.

"Are you hurt?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh no!" said Maud; "there is nothing the matter with me. I am none the worse for the encounter, though I am afraid my late antagonist is. We must go back as fast as we can and have the poor wretch got out and attended to."

But as it turned out, Jim Watherston needed no further attention. attention. He had broken his neck in the final fall, and when the rescue party reached him they found him stiff and cold where he lay.

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Maud Egerton and Wilfred Fennell were married very "quietly" indeed at a Kentish village church. village church. Ambrose was the best man; and in the rosecovered porch of the village inn, before the wedded couple drove away, while Wilfred had gone indoors to make some final arrangements, he had a few words with the bride.

"You are going to be very happy," he said.

"I think so,” she answered. "But, dear Ambrose, I feel a wickedly selfish woman. I owe you my husband and my life, and I can do nothing for

Maud turned to Ambrose with a little shudder. Then she held out her hand to him. "Poor mad Jim! But you you."

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"For me?" said Ambrose Ambrose smiled again. "Ah! with a faint smile. "Oh, I don't that screen! No; I shall bless count. I am only a poor old it alwaysand you. I was thing, you know."

"Don't! You are the best and kindest of men, and my dear friend."

"Who was foolish enough to imagine he might be something more to you than a friend. Do you know that?"

"Of course I know it," said Maud; "am I not a woman? It could not be; but I hate the thought that I have only come into your life to gain happiness for myself, and to leave you disappointed and distressed. Perhaps it would have been better for you after all if you had never fallen asleep behind my screen.'

asleep and I awakened. And it is well that a man should do that some time in his life, isn't it ? I was slumbering too soundly all those empty years, in a foolish dream of my own small self. You gave me a better one. Now I can always dream of you.'

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"No," said Maud; "don't dream of me or of anybody; but be your real self and stay awake. There is so much to do!"

"Even for a poor old thing? Well, perhaps there is something. At any rate, I shall not go to sleep again, I think.” SIDNEY LOW.

MUSINGS WITHOUT METHOD.

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-THE

THE IMPERIAL PRESS CONFERENCE-LORD ROSEBERY'S SPEECHA POLICY OF DEFENCE- THE DECEPTION OF CABLES A TRUE VISION OF ENGLAND - THE LIMITATIONS OF THE CONFERENCETHE POWER OF THE PRESS LORD MORLEY'S OPTIMISM GENEROSITY OF CRITICS THE NECESSITY OF INVECTIVEJOURNALISM AND LITERATURE—THE USE OF THE CLICHÉ — THE WORLD OF JOURNALISM-THE CENTENARY OF TOM PAINE-PAINE AND THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION A MEMBER OF THE CONVENTION-THE REPRIEVE OF LOUIS XVI.-'THE RIGHTS OF MAN'" NOTES BY THE WAY.'

THE Imperial Press Conference, held during the past month, disclosed a warmth of feeling on either side which could not but be grateful to the friends of our Empire. To know all is to pardon all, and it seemed in many a perfervid meeting as though the misunderstandings which have sometimes perplexed the Mother Country and the Colonies were swept away for ever. The misunderstandings were inevitable. Ignorance is a dark clouder of counsel, and if at times we have thought our Colonies exacting, they, on the other hand, have found the travelling Englishman haughtily contemptuous, and have suffered from the shifts and wiles of that plague of Empire-the remittance-man. And then comes a meeting, frank, intimate, enthusiastic, and all is forgotten save the ties of close relationship and common policy. By the best of good fortune it fell to Lord Rosebery to pronounce the speech of welcome, and he pronounced it with the tact and irony which he possesses alone among modern orators. Eloquently he told

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them of the ancient and stately civilisation which they would find embodied in our time-worn abbeys and cathedrals, and in our venerable colleges. With a quiet satire he urged them to see the country life of England on their present visit, because when they next came it might not be here for them to see. And then he bade them marvel at the energy and alertness of England's commerce and manufactures, and pictured as surrounding and watching all a prodigious and always inadequate armada. "All these," said he, "are yours as much as ours. Your possession, your pride, and your home.'

These are words of wisdom and sincerity. The Colonies share the pride and privilege of England. What will they give in exchange? Pride and privilege are nothing unless they are guarded with zeal and with sacrifice, and if we are to sustain the burden of Empire we must unite in a settled policy of defence. With the Mother Country the Colonies stand or fall. Not one of them is strong enough or populous

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enough to fight its own battles in the coming era of competition. So many and so various are the interests which may presently turn the Pacific into a theatre of war, that prudence as well as patriotism suggests a closer and more practical union between England and her Colonies. It is foolish and even criminal to hide the bitter truth from our eyes, and it is vastly to Lord Rosebery's credit that he spoke out "loud and strong.' It was not for him to cover up the facts and to say the pleasant thing. He spoke not as a politician ada politician addressing his constituents, but as a statesman confronted by men who asked for the truth, not for deception. He sketched the bellum tacens, the silent war, in the midst of which we live, the armaments on sea and land, which the nations of Europe are preparing in rivalry one with another, and in a time of seeming peace. He declared with a proper pride that we could and would build Dreadnoughts, and he sent back to our young Dominions this message, that some personal duty and responsibility for national defence rests upon every man and every citizen. And this has been the burden of the speeches that throughout the Conference were listened to with the sternest patience and acclaimed with the greatest enthusiasm — national defence. Did any discussion fall below the level of this high purpose it met with a cold response, if it were not received in tired silence. On either side there seemed a clear under

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standing of the Empire s wants and dangers, and this understanding alone has proved the long journey of the delegates well worth taking. England, through the mouth of Lord Rosebery, has made her demand. The Colonies have recognised its justice through the mouths of their journalists. "We have cadged long enough on the Mother Country," confessed an eminent Canadian. Said a delegate from Sydney: "Australians realised that if there were any danger to Great Britain's supremacy on the seas they were right in the thick of it. Therefore the question of naval defence was one of life and death to them." Here are exemplified the two motivesself-interest and pride-which bind men and States most closely one to another; and if in one of them there is a certain cynicism, for that very reason it holds those who recognise it in the firmest of firm chains.

First, then, in importance has come the question of national defence. And after that, as we have said, it is well that those who do their best to shape the opinions of our Colonies should have some knowledge of England. Too long have we been disparted from our natural friends and allies by deceiving cables. Silence itself does not mislead so effectually as a telegraphic wire. Thrift suggests suggests few words or an inexpressive code. In either case ignorance, profound and dangerous, is the result. Nor is there any country in the world which it is easier to misunderstand than

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