VERY HARD CASH.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND."

CHAPTER XXIX.

LONG before this open rupture Jane Hardie
had asked her father, sorrowfully, whether she
was to discontinue her intimacy with the Dodds;
she thought of course he would say "Yes," and
it cost her a hard struggle between inclination
and filial duty to raise the question. But Mr.
Hardie was anxious her friendship with that
family should continue; it furnished a channel
of news, and in case of detection might be useful
to avert or soften hostilities; so he answered
rather sharply, "On no account: the Dodds are
an estimable family; pray be as friendly with
them as ever you can." Jane coloured with
pleasure at this most unexpected reply: but her
wakeful conscience reminded her this answer
was given in ignorance of her attachment to
Edward Dodd; and urged her to confession. But
at that Nature recoiled: Edward had not openly
declared his love to her; so modest pride, as
well as modest shame, combined with female
cowardice to hold back the avowal.

So then Miss Tender Conscience tormented
herself; and recorded the struggle in her diary;
but briefly, and in terms vague and typical; not
a word about "a young man"—or "crossed in
love"—but one obscure and hasty slap at the
carnal affections, and a good deal about "the
saints in prison," and "the battle of Armageddon."

Yet, to do her justice, laxity of expression did
not act upon her conduct and warp that, as it
does most mystical speakers'.

To obey her father to the letter, she maintained
a friendly correspondence with Julia Dodd,
exchanging letters daily: but, not to disobey him
in the spirit, she ceased to visit Albion Villa.
Thus she avoided Edward, and extracted from
the situation the utmost self-denial, and the
least possible amount of "carnal pleasure," as
she naively denominated an interchange of
worldly affection, however distant and respectful.

One day she happened to mention her diary,
and say it was a present comfort to her, and
instructive to review. Julia, catching at every
straw of consolation, said she would keep one
too, and asked a sight of Jane's for a model.
"No, dear friend," said Jane: "a diary should
be one's self on paper."

This was fortunate: it precluded that servile
imitation, in which her sex excels even mine;
and consequently the two records reflect two
good girls, instead of one in two skins; and may
be trusted to conduct this narrative forward, and
relieve its monotony a little: only of course
the reader must not expect to see the plot of a
story carried minutely out, in two crude
compositions written with an object so distinct: he
must watch for glimpses and make the most of
indications. Nor is this an excessive demand
upon his intelligence; for, if he cannot do this
with a book, how will he do it in real life, where
male and female characters reveal their true
selves by glimpses only, and the gravest and
most dramatic events give the diviner so few and
faint signs of their coming?

Extracts from Julia Dodd's Diary:

"Dec. 5th. It is all over; they have taken
papa away to an asylum: and the house is like a
grave, but for our outbursts of sorrow. Just
before he went away the medal came—oh no, I
cannot. Poor, poor mamma!

8 P.M. In the midst of our affliction Heaven
sent us a ray of comfort: the kindest letter from
a lady, a perfect stranger. It came yesterday;
but now I have got it to copy: oh, bless it; and
the good, kind writer.

Dear Madam,—I scarcely know whether to
hope or to fear that your good husband may have
mentioned my name to you; however, he is just
the man to pass over both my misbehaviour and
his own gallantry; so I beg permission to introduce
myself. I and my little boy were passengers
by the Agra; I was spoiled by a long residence
in India, and gave your husband sore
trouble by resisting discipline, refusing to put
out my light at nine o'clock, and in short by
being an unreasonable woman, or rather a spoiled
child. Well, all my little attempts at a feud
failed; Captain Dodd did his duty, and kept his
temper provokingly. The only revenge he took
was a noble one; he jumped into the sea after
my darling Freddy, and saved him from a watery
grave, and his mother from madness or death;
yet he was himself hardly recovered from a
wound he had received in defending us all against
pirates. Need I say more to one who is herself
a mother? You will know how our little
misunderstanding ended after that. As soon as we