scoundrel, I see," he said bitterly. "Courage."

"Man of one virtue and ten thousand crimes," quoted Beaumont, easily. "Faith, it's something to have even one virtue in this degenerate age. Where are you going?" he added, as Nestley turned away.

"Going?" echoed the doctor, fiercely. "Anywhere, so long as it is away from you."

Beaumont raised his eyebrows in affected surprise, then, shrugging his shoulders, took out his watch.

"It is now between five and six o'clock," he said, putting it back again, "and it will be dark by the time we reach Garsworth, which is the nearest village. I am staying there, but if you choose to go back again in order to avoid the moral leper, I daresay you'll reach Shunton by twelve o'clock."

"I'm not going with you," reiterated Nestley, resolutely, as the artist stepped into the road.

"'Nobody axed you, sir,' she said," retorted Beaumont, with a sneer, sauntering on. "Good-bye; a pleasant journey."

Nestley looked at the sky, out of which the red light was rapidly dying. A few stars glimmered in the pale flush of colour, and the chill breeze was growing colder while the mists lay over the fen lands like a thick white veil. He was cold and hungry, so the prospect of getting something to eat and a night's rest instead of trudging back wearily to Shunton, decided him. He shook himself impatiently, made a few steps forward, then paused irresolutely.

"Bah! Why should I mind?" he said angrily to himself. "Beaumont can do me no harm now. After five years I hardly see how his influence can affect me. I'll chance it, anyhow."Away in the distance he could see the tall form of the artist strolling easily along, so, having paused a moment to light his pipe, he strode rapidly after him. Even as he did so there flashed across his mind, with the rapidity of lightning, the phrase, "Lead us not into temptation," and a shiver, not caused by the chill wind, passed over his body, but he dismissed the warning with an uneasy laugh and walked on quickly in the track of his evil genius.

HIS EVIL GENIUS.

"Much sorrow didst thou bring to me of old, Tainted my life by poisonous words and deeds, Turned holy thoughts to evil--made me dread To face the fearless looks of honest men, Lest they should spy my quick learnt devilries, And cry, 'Off, off; this fellow is a knave.'"

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