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[Now FIRST rUBLISIIfil).] i. no THE HREAT MILL-STREET MYSTERY. By ADELINE SERGEANT. td a "Wife," "Roy's Kepcn- COe> Deveril's Diamond," Under False Pretences," &c. &c., [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] [SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.] street PIIOLOGUE: CHAPTERS I AND II.—In Mill- bifeet, WlùtechapeJ, a disreputable locality, a street the ^ev- Francis Helmont, and a 'i^eof^ Eyre, are standing on the the Q*1 house. Stephen Eyre, a captain info *alva«°n Army, has preceded them on tha had i, on that Jess, a former lover of Stephen's, him -f6wfc her man back a £ aia and sl)C was with ijot tAo- 20, Mill-street.1' Tiie two had come in ^voiiiH^rSuit' feavin» that Stephen, in his fury, sotoi • tbe m.an wil° had robbed him of his love irien^ri»T.°us 'njatT« Helmont fears that an old bad t !> GeorS0 Eastwood, was the one who 8tre«t i°Dled Jessie Armstrong, and he and the Captain are, WailiDS for news of the strLgu f,n<0 Jfsie- Presently a fierce fi«hS5B Ld It 0V?.r,1Md and Jessie is seen men gPr "1, stru £ 6llng win. one or more the enyy as young Dick rushes into aD D?ounts stairs the body of window sill Se'n,2iaB2iDg by- his hands from the window sill. Then someone is seen pushing the Clinging fingers from the siil and Stephen Eyre falls a dull, heavy mass on to the earth beneath fi?r Helmont feels over the warm body of ♦ h*t "i3,0' t?Dd rec°Knises with his fingers V>A £ I U JTe' In tlie meantime the neigh- bourhood has been roused and a search inside the house instituted. The dead body of Dick Eyre is found .n a quantity of debris, but no traee of any. mon? C0Te,re(3, lima P^ses on and Hel- is iB\ £ T.eB a itei'.from G«orge Eastwood, who &WaT"fron-.nFn af' A18 apPareat that he bas been WarJc ■*» some time. Shortly after- &he te^hime l^M reC6iV6S -a VTisilfrom a ^man. I. *lcr natne is Jess Armstrong and Vben B^g t0 8iVe hersel £ UP fo1 the murder of fiJl^f Sl"3Y~lCHAFTEES I. and II.—The Rev. F. JrUtTi01^' lhc biin<3 PaiEOn) >2 walking with his East™' ??rSe Eastwood, in Rag F*ir, WhitechapeF ^od i00 an artiat> an<i is on the look out for briUit 1 meets with Jess Armstrong, whose nt Lair captivates his artistic eye. He a*rangenaents for her to visit him in his her lover excites tlie iealousy °f Stephen Eyre, PART I. CIIAPTER III.-A LOVER'S RE- MONSTRANCE, WANT to speak to you," said Stephen Eyre." He laid his hand heavily on Jess's arm, and she shrank away from him with some- thing that savoured of disgust as well as of affright. She had been in a new world—a sort of fairy-land, where there were pictures and ^°ke soffi, flowers, and men who rich r^-w0lnen perhaps, who ?iter Trhinfc ci,n £ in £ j trailing gowns, a land never u ■, often vaguelj yearned, + °*t_ enter—and it jarred upon W. T r* n Stephen spoke so roughly *raii and feover» his hand hurt her thin nfi came closer to her she per- v -WPV 8 ^or the first time, that his been a 6 ??arse an(i dirty, and that he r?s Qot ai1?0 nS a pip?? of which the odour alt k shivo etker agreeable. She gave a i ,*n!^ ^rew herself away from him. t talk here," she said, almost sul- "Th do^crClme wherc we can taIlr- What are ?e» t>aclr + ata^ You come along o' from \° ^IiU"street. Why? you're miles No p v,^lere you ought to be." «• re °, [111 not said Jess. í, I ought to be T« °5 Is' anc^ ^'S way it «« W Jlt? peddle." Wha+ r" Sa^ Stephen scornfully: \VL Part rJ0o'Jl may y°u ha' been doing in fl ^ere's of the town, I'd like to know. °.^ers ? ?.ou^ basket ? AVbere's your > I ain>i. 0n.t you talk to meo' work." hpSSj Ptillinn°-k° to to y°u at a^>" sa^ h*' shawl more tightly round » ^oviug forward. I'm going or"e with you, then." tot at the -,llave a sbe said, look- « the cUy US6S aS ro^'ecl past ^er ha\1e You 8ern Inightyfluøh of money. Well, 1181 as go outside. y," you like, I don't want your com- e) be tone in& ^ere fuiias„ Proudly independent. Jess's 8t^i° %e5 her cheeks were grow- lty, b^thft i?D/i ^re was n°t renowned for ^6 ^es a usually managed to smooth ijfitQ T'l reSer,+ f ^hen he talked to Jess, and ^5 *ex? -ls surllDess. She climbed "j £ tv omnibus without look- q ing at him, and he mounted to a place on the top without a word. They did not see each other again until they met in the very heart of the City, and then Jess still refused to take much notice of her escort. Being a woman, although she did nothing but sell flowers in the street, she knew her power. She trod superbly, with her head in the air and her eyes fixed straight before her, while Stephen followed almost humbly at her heels and did not dare to speak a word. Jess's silence was her best weapon it soon brought him to her feet. It was only when, after long walking, they had reached one of those dreary streets where all the small, mean-looking houses are exactly alike and where no traffic seems to pass, that Stephen pressed a little closer to Jess's side and said, H I've something to say to you." "1 don't want to hear it," "But you must hear it You've no business to eay I must do what I don't choose!" "Haven't T, then? A man may say what his wife must do, I reckon," liii not your wife." Bnt you've promised to be." Then I won't keep my promise. I ain't going to keep company with you no more, You're too rough for me." It's that fine gentleman that has put these fancies into your head," said Stephen, with grim, suppressed vehemence, (i I'll make him pay for it." Jess tossed her golden head a little, and walked on with her chin in the air. It was curious to note the difference in her de- meanour when she was with one whom she believed to be her inferior, and when with one who was above her in atation. With Eastwood she was shy, downcast, reserved with Stephen Eyre proud, even defiant. Yet it was the pride and the defiance of a very gentle nature, roused by treatment which seemed unjust, and it was something of" a novelty in Stephen's experience of Jess. Do you mean," he said at last, that you're not going to marry me when I get that rise of wages in the spring ?" "I shall not marry you if your wages are raised ever so high," said Jess firmly. "I ain't going to be knocked about like Nancy Burton is by her husband." I wouldn't knock you aboutt said Stephen, rather angrily, "I don't drink, and I don't see why I should be likened to John Bur- ton." Jess tightened her lips and said nothing. Maybe I hurt you just now," said her lover, trying to soften his harsh tones, « when I laid hold of yon a-ooming out of that gentle- man s place- Yes, you did, rejoined Jess quickly. U I'm sure my arm will be as black and blue as ever ISancy's was," • It Well, I didn't mean it. it I'll go so far as 1 to say I'm sorry," said Stephen, plunging his hands deeply into his pocket and looking as black as night; and why you should give up keeping company with me because I took hold of you accidental-like a bit rough, is what I can't see. And what I can't stand, neither. You've given your word to me and your bound to keep it. Else I'll know the reason why. And I guess,"—with a short and dis- agreeable laugh-II your granny 'ilknow the reason why, too." Jess drew her shoulders together, as though shrinking from a blow and remained eilent for a moment. Then she spoke in a somewhat timid tone. « I shan't tell her." But I shall tell her," said the man, his eyes beginning to glow beneath the bent black brows, and if I can't make you hear reason, perhaps she can." Jess's mood of defianoe was a transient one, and she now put up her hand furtively and touched her quivering lips, in the hope that Stephen would not notice that she was ready to cry. She was a little unlike the girls of her olass in one thing—she never cried noisily, or tried to draw atten- tion to herself and her troubles. She had a sort of natural reserve which caused her to shrink into herself when phe was sorrowful; perhaps even she had more self-control than belongs to many girls of her station. She flicked away the tear that trickled down her oheek and turned her face from Stephen without answering. But Stephen had sharper eyes and a softer heart than one might have fancied. Come, Jess, my dear," he said, gently, don't you take on. I won't say nothing to Granny. Only it riles a man, you know, when you go larking round with other fellows "I wasn't doing any think of the sort," Jess broke in angrily. The gentleman never said anything to me, he only wanted to draw a picture of me—and—and—he scarcely said a word-and there was an old lady sitting there all the time, keeping her eye on me as if she thought I wanted to steal something." And quite overcome by the picture she drew, Jess stopped short, leaned against a bit of blank wall and burst into -ears. Ii You're overdone, Jess, that's where it is." said Stephen, with gentleness so rare from him that it made the girl sob all the more bitterly. II You hain't had much to eat to- day, l'il lay my life. You come into this here shop with me, and we'll have a cup of coffee and a beefsteak. That'll set you up." Jess's ill temper bad completely vanished by this time, and she followed him obediently into the cook-shop that he indicated. She had in fact scarcely tasted food that day, for the weak tea and dry crust which usually formed her morning meal had gone untasted by her in her excitement, and she was now feeling strangely weak and tired. The hot food put fresh life into her, and with new strength she regained her lost self-eontrol Ididn't mean to be ill-natured, Stephen," she said, relentinglv. "Only you put me into a rage by going on as if I was doing something wicked. You don't think that, do you now ?" Of course, I don't. But those fine gentle- men ain't to be trusted, Jess." I don't trust 'em," said Jess, ingenuously. But when I can get money for Granny and Daddy Trotter in such an easy way, why shouldn't I ?" She held up half a crown before the young man's eyes. Look there she said. I'll be able to get heaps of things with that." What are you going to get p asked Stephen, suspiciously. Some baccy, first of all, for Daddy Trotter," she replied. "And some tea for Granny, and a sossidge or two for supper-or tripe which do you think's best ? And a loaf o' bread and some coals—why, I feel as if I could buy half London with this half crown 1" And nothing for yourself? No ribbojis or things ?" These are all for myself," said Jess. it No, I don't seem to care about ribbons now. I've seen something prettier." Her face lost its smile as she spoke, and a grave, remote expression settled down upon it—an expres- sion which Stephen Eyre did not in the least understand. It troubled him vaguely, though he knew not why. It reminded him of a picture that he had once seen in a dealer's window-the picture of a woman with a baby in her arms, and a look of infinite sweetness, infinite sad- ness upon her brooding face. Jess's face, transfigured for the moment by some lovely thought, was just then absolutely beautiful, I don't seem to oare no more about rib- bons," she said simply, her large eyes looking far away as if they saw things invisible. In this possibility of transfiguration lay the charm of Jess's face. A student of physiog- nomy could descern the latent beauty; he would expect to see those thin but finely-out features light up sometimes with a responsive gladness, those great eyes grow luminous with passion. There was a little touoh of spirituality in Jess's expression, which was more unusual than beauty. It seemed to say that there were unawakened capacities in her nature-undeveloped powers of thought and feeling which might be her blessing or her bane. And to those who were out of sym- pathy with her temperament this look had something a little repellant. Stephen, who loved, but was unlike her, was puzzled by it; to George Eastwood, who did not dream of loving her, but was of a somewhat similar temperament, this expression was an added charm, r Stephen did not prolong the conversation. He was very glad to have made his peaoe, and he was ready to conduct her to his house. His jealous fit had already cost him a day's work and a day's wage. But he could afford them, for he was a skilful workman, and had already saved a little money. He was a oabinet maker by trade, and far higher in the sooial scale of Whitcchapel than poor Jess and her grandmother but he had made up his mind to marry Jesa in the coming spring, aud remove with her to a little house with green ahutters on which he had fixed his heart. It was of this little house that he was wily enough to speak as he walked with Jess to her house ia Mill-sOreet, I wish I was taking yoa to the 'ome where you're a-going to be missus some day, Jess," he said, forgetting his aspirates, about whioh he was generally rather particular, in his agitation of mind. Jess smiled, in a half shy, half pleased way j and for the moment at least he knew that the battle was won. He parted from her at the door of the house where she lodged. It waj well not to con- front old Mrs. Flint too often. She was in- clined to consider Stephen her natural enemy, because he wanted to deprive her of the grand- daughter who was her natural prey. Jeas had by no means an easy life of it with her aged relative. She had very often to supply Mrs. Flint with food, and also with drink (of an intoxicating sort), especially when the old woman was laid up by one of her periodical fits of rheumatism and she had at all times to contribute largely to the support of Daddy Trotter, who was Mrs. Flint's brother, and consequently Jess's great uncle. Daddy Trotter suffered from paralysis of the lower limbs, He could not wa! but he could weave baskets with nimble, untiring fingers, and when the baskets were finished Jess used to take them round to various shops and sell them-for very few pence indeed. Of late she had found that as a flower-girl she earned even less than friends of hers who were needlewomen, and she had begun to wender ivhether it would not be better to give up peregrinations about the streets and take to sewing sacks, like some of her neighbours. She had no preference for a wandering life, and she knew that Stephen would be better pleased to think of her as sewing peacefully beside Daddy Trotter instead of hawking violets about the streets. And she was not without some deftness of hand, some capability of steady work. She was not a bad girl," as the neighbours said; "and she kept herself to herself "-high praise amongot the poor. But she was very ignorant, very untrained; and the glimpse that she had obtained into a life that was different from her own was scarcely likely to have an elevat- ing effect. Notwithstanding the purchases that she made out of Mr Eastwood's money before she went home in the twilight, she was greeted with a storm of abuse from her grandmother for her long absence. Jess took little notioe of it, but went on with her usual work of lighting the fire and making the tea in what seemed to be stolid silence. Old Mrs. Flint became at length so violent that she caught up a plate and hurled it at the girl's head. It missed the mark, fortunately, and then, for the first time, Jess spoke. If you do that, Granny," she said, I shall spend the next money I get on a new frock for myself and some bacoy for Daddy, and I won't bring you no tea nor firing at all." I Mrs, Flint redoubled her objurgations; but she threw no more plates, and Jess went serenely on her way with the sense of having I gained a victory. She did not often assert herself, but when she did she was not without arms of her own. When her grandmother had gone out for a last nightly prowl, and old Daddy Trotter was asleep, Jess thought that she might enjoy herself in her own fashion, for a little while. She took off her dress before going to bed in the corner, which constituted her sleeping apartment, let down her hair over her white shoulders, and looked earnestly into the few inches of looking-glass which were all she possessed. t. He likes my hair," she murmured to her- self, gazing in astonishment at the lovely golden masses that fell around her face. Nobody else ever liked it, as I heard tell. Save Stephen, maybe. But he never talked of gold and flame in that sweet way the gen- tleman did. Many's the time I've wanted to cut it off-when the boys shouted t Carrots' after me, and Granny called me an ugly, red- headed thing. But he don't think so. He's going to put it in a real lovely picture, and everybody will look at it. Don't 1 wish I could dress always as I was dressed to-day, and live in pretty rooms and be a lady Her wistful eyes looked longingly into the little mirror. Her soul was too innocent to know the danger of the poison that had been breathed into it. Stephen Eyre might well tremble. His instinct was keener and truer than that of his golden-haired, grey-eyed Jess. CHAPTER IV—DIANA, It had been cold, wintry weather when George Eastwood first met Jess Armstrong, and for some weeks-indeed, for at least three months-he felt no inclination to leave his snug bachelor quarters under the superinten- denoy of Mrs. Fogg in town for the wet roads and miry pastures of his native village in Hertfordshire. He had relations, however, in this village of Wychford whom he could not conveniently ignore, as upon one of them he was almost entirely dependent for a living, and when letters from these relations became at last unusually pressing he resolved, with a groan, to make a visit to the family man- sion and conciliate, as far as conciliation was necessary, his uuole and guardian, Colonel Eastwood. It was a hot afternoon in May. When he came out of the heat and dust of the long, level high road, and into the pleasant avenue which led to the lawn that stretched before his uncle's house, be drew a sharp breath of annoyance instead of experiencing relief, for it seemed to him that; iit the group whioh gathered round his uncle's armchair on the lawn he beheld the problem, the difficulty, the enigma of his life. And yet the scene on which his eyes rested was a very pretty one. His uncle's house, Wychford Manor, was old and picturesque. Quaint tourellea and gables gave it more the air of a French chateau or an ancient Scotch man- sion than of an English country-house, and the creepers which festooned it looked as if they had taken many long years in which to grow to their present height andluxuriance. Beneath a windows a velvety lawn sloped down from the terraced {walk towards jthe flower-garden and a stately cedar tree afforded shade to the little group of person who were drinking tea and eating oake at a rustic tea table on one side of the well-kept lawn, Qolonel Eastwood, the owner of the place and George's uncle and guardian, gave an air of distinction to the group. He was a fine-looking old man, with pale patrician features, snowy hair and mous- tache, dark, penetrating eyes, and peculiarly long andfiely-shaped hands. He was a well- known and distinguished man, but for some years he had been laid aside from active work. He suffered from ohronio lame- ness, brought on by gout, but his mind was as unclouded, his will as unbend- ing, his pride as inviolate as ever. Beside him sat his widowed cousin and housekeeper, Mrs. Helmont, a small, brisk, blaok-eyed woman of fifty-five, who liked to lay down the law, but was always careful to preserve a subdued and reverential air in Colonel East- wood's presenrie. Her daughter Diana pur- sued a very opposite line of behaviour. She was frankly independent in her opinions, although obedient enough in practice. She never scrupled to give her "uncle," as she called him, the benefit of her shrewd, praotioal estimate of men and things, even when it clashed-as it very often did-with his own. Strange to say, Colonel Eastwood, although generally the most arbitrary of men, appeared to like this treatment, Diana's beauty was, perhaps, a determining factor with him. She was taller than the generality of women, but so exceedingly graceful that her height usually passed without remark her hair was as black as the proverbial raven's wing, but without the glossiness of that sable plumage the slight wave in its dusky masseg caught no reflection from the summer sunlight; it was dark as night itself, and was coiled and plaited into a ooronet round her head. Her eyes were also dark, but they could flash and gleam, and they lighted up a strikingly handsome face, slightly aquiline in feature and of refined yet brilliant oplouring. Certainly Diana Ilelmont was not a woman who could be easily forgotten, and even George Eastwood acknow- ledged the power of her beauty as he came within the little circle over which she reigned I as queen, Standing by her side was abroad-shouldered, ruddy-faced giant of a man, whose eyes were fixed adoringly upon her face, He was good- looking in a common-place and rather heavy sort of way. lie had magnificent thews and sinews, and bis blue eyes, yellow hair, and fair complexion gave him the look of some Norwegian hero of ancient times. But in a drawing-room or in ladies' sooiety he was undeniably clumsy j and as Diana Helmont's eyes strayed from him to the slighter figure and refined face of George Eastwood, she may be pardoned for making some comparisons that wera not favourable to the young Titan, although he was a baronet with at least ten thousand a year, Raymond, Lord Hexhar. WAS generally considered a most desirable young man he was steady, good-tempered, and only a little stupid he had houses and

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< i i COT THE PAPER AT THE TOP AND PLACE THE SECOND INSIDE THE FIRST HALF. S VetiRP# ^VrUi

■ IN lands galore, and all these virtues and all thiff wealth did he long to lay at the feet of Miss Diana Helmont, who would have nothing t, say to him at all. 1/ Two other members of the party remain td be described. Miss Harriet Blakeney, the half sister and devoted admirer of the Revi Herbert Blakeney, vicar of the parish, was if woman of nearly fifty, hard, angular" grizzled, with peering, inquisitive eyes, and » nose so sharp and pointed that one imagined it to be always poking itself into everyone'# affairs. And a nose of this kind is not a ba4 index to a person's character, after all* Her half brother, twenty years her junioiy was far batter-looking than she had been, but he had the same pointed, rather pinched features, and the same furtive expression of the eyes. In his case, howi ever, the bad impression sometimes produced by his appearance generally died away upon further knowledge, for Herbert Blakeney hadjj the habit of making himself very agreeably to the people whom he met, while httr sistec did not make herself agreeable to anybod The Blakeneys were distant connections oj Mrs. Helmont's late husband, and for her sakj Colonel Eastwood tolerated their presence although he had no great liking for either 0. them. « Well, a eorge," he said, his fine, pale facij lighting up with a look of undisguised pie*- sure, so you have oome at last! Miss Blak^, ney and the Vicar are here, you see. Diana* give George some tea; he looks hot anj|, fagged." J, Is hot tea a remedy for heat ? said George, as he greeted the various members Ot the party, and then sank with a sigh, h real and half assumed, into a low wiokef chair. j « Was it very hot in London? asked AfcT" Helmont. f Yes, very.* w > If Poor Frank!" said Diana. Do you mean your brother Francis f? asked Miss Blakeney. U Oh, my dear, yod' may depend upon it that he makes himseUt comfortable. I knew a clergyman onoe in the] East of London, and everybody thought tha|. he was living a most saintly life; but a friend of mine called upon him one day, and he wac eating salmon outlets and drinking iced chanW pagne, "When people make such a fuss abou^F their good works you may be sure that there's something behind it all." t >; Do you mean that there is I sorn ing. behind' Frank's splendid charity to th" poor P" exolaimed Diana, her dark eye flashing fire. I don't think Francis ever made a full about his good works," said Mrs. Helmont. g. I am sure he does not," said the ColonejLf And then they alljfixed their eyies on the ufl| fortunate Harriet, aud mentally crushed hen but Harriet refused to be crushed, Ii I was not 'saying anything against Francis Helmont," she said, in her rasping ,p voice. Ii I do not know anything ag him. I was speaking generally, Mr, Refc mont is as good or as bad as most othjg! clergymen, I suppose. I have Dot kno:, many whom I should dare tQ praise." Aj; her eyes rested affectionately upon Ueverend Herbert. I don't know naueh about the generality of parsons," said George, in his cool, slow He was leaning in his chair, a cup of tei^xff one hand—a picture of laiy ease ana contentment. But I do know that Franorf Helmont is living as few other inen of abilities would oare to Uve—jfiving up evert* thing for the sake of some miserable starfin* wretches in the foullest slums of London, aira I honour him for the work that he is doiln That's right, Qeorge," said the Colons heartily, j6iana said nothing, but she Btoqffl beside George's chair, and her Jiand atray<|l involuntarily to his shoulder lfith i career ing touoh, The young mah Coloured as fi? felt it, and bent his brow. There wis ft look of decided annoyance upon hi? faoG-r* look which did not pass away for sown minutes after Diana's withdrawal of hand. 4 A little silence followed upon this short colloquy—not a very comfortable 6il«no$ £ The Colonel expressed a wish W into the house, and before he went he said Ifif Diana: "Show George the new toroing,ho Diana. He has not seen them yet. mond —to Lord ijexham—" ^ill you co^ up to the house with me? £ >on't rnov^* Marian," he continued hastily to Mrs.IIelmonW Miss Blakeney will perhaps take another cup of tea. Don't let me disturb anyone. J This was the Colonel's fashion of arranging matters for his guests. Lord Hexham aocompanied his host to tip house with a decidedly sullen expression countenance. He did not believe in beine forcibly divided from his beloved Diana. MrSp Helmont, perfectly understanding her kins^ man's wiles, had to whisper in a peremptory,, mauner to Miss Blakeney before that 1&41 would resume the seat from which {jhe 4 risen. The Reverend Herbert Blakj stood and stared, Well, upon my word 1" said the vivaoiott|j Harriet. "We might all be negrb 3l$v|l when the Colonel is near. We are none us allowed to have wills of our own—that is very dear." W ill yon come to see the forcing-houi^ George?" said Diana flushing darkly, looking the young man straight in the faa-^ "As Uncle Henry wishes it; perhaps fro ought to go,* .j Sf I suppose we ougM»" George, dryl^ and then the two young pecple set off 1 somewhat ungracious manner, eaoh inclining away from the other as they walked, with tb air of people who wished to separate on thft earliest opportunity. Uncle Henry has taken a great deal 0* trouble about these new houses," Diana said presently, with an evident effort. ",1:1. thought you would like them," It is very kind of lt.im," said Qeorge, wifcn a curioua sort bl edge in fc £$