On his way back, Walter stopped at a large linen-draper's shop to purchase some shirts and other articles, never dreaming he was followed by Sigebert. Having provided himself with all he required, and given orders where the parcel should be sent, he proceeded on his course.

Not till he had fairly housed him did the hairdresser discontinue the quest, and he then hovered near the spot for some time.

There was a mystery about Walter that greatly excited Sigebert's curiosity, and he determined to unravel it.

“Why, what have you done with your beard, sir?” cried Mrs. Hartley, as Walter entered the house.

“Left it at the hairdresser's!” he replied, with a laugh.

“Well, I can't say your appearance is much improved. I wish Rose had seen you as you were.”

“What! has your daughter come back?” cried Walter.

“No; but I expect her very shortly. She has been at Harrow-on-the-Hill, on a visit, as I think I told you, and I've just got a letter from her, telling me she will return to-day. 'Father must meet me at Lambeth Pier at noon, and carry my carpet-bag'—that's what she says; but I don't think he'll be back in time.”

“Well, I'll meet her, and carry the carpet-bag, with the greatest pleasure!” said Walter.

“But you won't know her.”

“Describe her, and I shall. Not very tall, I suppose?”

“Not very—rather short.”

“Pretty figure?”

“I think so.”

“Blooming complexion?”

“Odd you should guess that. Well, she has a pink complexion.”

“That's why you call her Rose. What sort of eyes?—black, blue, grey, or nondescript?”

“I never heard of nondescript eyes. Rose's are light blue. But how stupid I am! Here's her photograph. Very like her it is.”

“And a very pretty girl it represents,” replied Walter, examining it. “You might have said a great deal more in her praise without being charged with maternal vanity. Having seen this, I can make no mistake.”

“Not easily; for she wears the same blue serge dress, and the same hat. I'm sorry you'll lose your room, but we'll find a bed for you.”

“Oh, it can't be helped!” he cried, affecting an indifference he did not feel. “Pray has Mr. Tankard been here to-day?”

“I've seen nothing of him as yet,” she replied.

“Well, then, I'll be off. I'll soon bring your daughter back to you.”

“Dear me, how surprised she'll be!” cried Mrs. Hartley. “She'll wonder who you are.”

“Don't be afraid. I'll explain matters.”

As Walter went forth, he noticed a stout ash-plant hanging up in the passage, and took it with him—very fortunately, as it turned out.

Pleased with the task he had undertaken, he marched along quickly, and did not remark that Sigebert, who had seen him come out, was on his track.

A boat had just landed its passengers as Walter reached the pier, but he saw no one among them bearing the slightest resemblance to the pretty damsel he was looking for. However, it was not yet twelve o'clock.

About a quarter of an hour later on, another steamboat could be seen crossing the river; and on a near approach of the vessel, the deck not being crowded, he easily made out Rose.

Her photograph did not do her justice. She was even handsomer than he anticipated, and her good looks had evidently gained her the unwelcome attentions of a young but dissipated-looking individual, who was standing near her.

This person, whose looks, gait, dress, and manner showed that he belonged to the Turf, was well known to Walter, and with good reason, since he had won large sums of money from him. The young man's name was Romney; and though he contrived to hold up his head in the betting-ring, he was not in very good repute, and was regarded as a blackleg. Walter held him in detestation, for he mainly attributed his ruin to him.

Though he must have perceived that his attentions were annoying to Rose, Romney did not discontinue them, but became more impertinently assiduous as the boat neared the pier, and seemed determined not to part with her.

Rose looked out anxiously for her father, but could not discover him, nor did she perceive any person she knew, or whose protection she could claim.

Stepping on shore before her, Romney offered her his hand, but she refused to take it, and his proposal to carry her bag was peremptorily declined.

At this juncture, Walter came up, and pushing the intruder forcibly aside, bade him begone, and no longer molest the young lady.

“What business have you to interfere?” cried Romney, furiously. “Who are you? Do you know him?” he added, to Rose.

“I never saw the gentleman before,” she rejoined. “But I am greatly obliged by his assistance.”

“Gentleman!” echoed Romney, scornfully. “He doesn't deserve the term!”

“Blackleg and scoundrel!” vociferated Walter. “Do you dare to speak thus of one you have cheated and plundered?”

And seizing him by the throat, he applied the ash-plant vigorously to his shoulders.

No one attempted to interfere; and when Romney was released, he made himself scarce as soon as he could; perceiving, from the observations that reached his ears, that the feeling of the bystanders was decidedly against him. He was followed by Sigebert, who had witnessed the encounter, and determined to have a word with him.

Meanwhile, Rose had found another protector. Mr. Tankard had come up, and was standing with her at a short distance. He had given her all needful explanation respecting Walter; and when the latter joined them, after the scuffle, she said to him:

“I never imagined you came from our house, Mr. Liddel. You have really done me a great service. But how on earth did you know me? I never remember seeing you before.”

“I don't suppose you ever did,” he replied. “I knew you from the photograph your mother showed me when I offered to go and meet you at the pier, in place of your father.”

“Well, I declare, that is curious!” she cried.

“And I promised to carry your carpet-bag; but Mr. Tankard, I'm sure, is too gallant to surrender it.”

“Quite right,” replied the other. “I'm proud to be of use to Miss Rose. I was just coming to call upon you, Mr. Liddel. I've been to Belgrave Square, and have got you the situation. I saw Mr. Higgins, the butler, and he says you're to enter upon your duties the day after to-morrow.”

“Quite soon enough,” remarked Walter, laughing.

“There's something about the livery that I have to tell you; but that will do by-and-by,” added Tankard.

“Dear me, Mr. Liddel!” exclaimed Rose, raising her finely-arched eyebrows in surprise; “you're not going to wear a livery, are you?”

“Livery and powder,” supplied Tankard.

“Impossible!” exclaimed Rose.

“No; it's too true,” said Walter.

By this time they had reached the house. Rose rushed in, and was welcomed by her mother with kisses and embraces.