Look Before You Leap
Author: Alexander, Mrs
Date: 2015-07-24T05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction
Description: Ebook prepared by crutledge@knology.net
Rights: Public Domain

TABLE of CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER I.

The great currents of business and pleasure were setting strongly up and down the Strand, with their accustomed even roar, on a bright May morning, some three or four years ago. The season was at its prime. Already a crowd of visitors impeded each other’s progress at the Royal Academy Exhibition; half-' past eleven had chimed from St Martin’s, and the relieved guard of Blues had turned into Waterloo Place on their homeward way to Albany Street.

In one of the best rooms in Morley’s Hotel, looking on Trafalgar Square, an elaborate breakfast was laid out, including, among other accessories of a later meal, a bottle of brandy, while two or three of soda water lay modestly on their sides in the cavity of the sideboard.

Thrown back on a sofa, near an open window, with one heel resting on the back of a chair, sat a young man, of perhaps two- or three-and-twenty, in a Persian silk dressing-gown, embroidered slippers, richly-worked smoking-cap, and all the appliances of a most luxurious morning dishabille. One of his small, white hands held a newspaper, the other supported his head—a very handsome bead! small, with delicate ears, curly black hair, and bright, happy dark eyes, a trifle too bead-like, perhaps. Downy moustaches darkened his upper lip, without concealing the red, youthful, undecided mouth, slightly apart, with a pleasant smile.

A staid, solemn man, with the air of a high-church curate, and a white tie, which had been steeped in some preparation of perpetual starch, was standing, soda-water bottle in hand, at the opposite side of the breakfast-table.

‘Hold hard, Simmons,’ said the lounger, ‘before you open that accusing bottle—I want to impress upon you that I drink it in consequence of present heat—not past excess—you feel convinced, Simmons?’

‘Yes, Sir Frederic.’

‘And—hold hard again—get me some claret, and remove the brandy out of sight—not ont of reach, mind yon! that fellow, Neville, will be here directly, and he’ll sing out for it. Any letters for him?’

‘Yes, Sir Frederic.’

‘Band them over.’

The starched man presented a salver, on which lay half-a-dozen notes and three large letters; these Sir Frederic picked out.

‘Get me the claret, Sim;’—the valet vanished.

Hum,’ said the young exquisite — ‘these two are duns, or circulars, and this —oh! this must be from our sovereign lord and brother.’Gad, how Neville will swear! I wish he had a good old father instead of a crabbed, sanctified half-brother! Neville is a capital fellow! he’d be a first-rate fellow, if—’

We are not destined to know why, at present, for the door was burst open, and a magnificent individual appeared; a tall, broad-shouldered man, in dark-blue uniform, blazing with gold, and lighted here and there with gleams of crimson; spurs jangling, saber rattling, he strode into the room like an impersonation of the pomp and circumstance of glorious war.’ With-out a word, he dashed aside his hot Hussar pelisse and shako, disclosing a sun-burnt, broad-browed face, a somewhat heavy jaw, large, clear, dark-gray eyes, wavy, yellow-brown hair, and long drooping moustaches, a shade more tawny.

‘How goes it, Compton?’ were his first words. ‘Where’s the brandy?’ Alas 1 were the second—

‘Try some claret instead,’ returned Sir Frederic, ‘it will cool you better—I am just going to have some.’

‘No, no! Brandy steadies you more, and it is infernally hot! My hand shakes like a girl’s! Oh, no!’ in answer to a look from his friend, ‘you know I never drink, and it would take a hogshead to bowl me over, if I did. But her Majesty is an early bird, God bless her—and I had scarce time after we broke up for a bath, and to scramble into uniform, before we were paraded and off at full trot to the Station—now—any letters?’

‘Here you are,’ was the ungrammatical reply of his friend, ‘I have been speculating upon them while waiting for you,’ and he tossed over the three large ones.

Neville meantime had compounded a mixture of brandy, soda-water, and ice ina huge tumbler, and drained it off thirstily,setting it down with a deep sigh of enjoyment; he took them, and selecting one, looked intently at it on all sides; then glancing up with a sadden, frank smile, which brightened his rather stern face marvelously, said,

’Gad! I never was in such a funk, either at Meerut or Lucknow, as at the sight of this confoundedly clear, accurate penmanship. Don’t laugh, Compton! Here goes!’ and the seal was broken.

A few minutes’ silence, while Captain Neville’s eye ran hastily over the even lines. Gradually the strong jaw closed with a fierce expression, and the hand, which had slowly pulled his long moustaches, dropped and clenched by his side. Then he looked up, and said quietly,

‘It’s no go, Compton.’

‘The devil it is!’ replied that ingenious youth. ‘What the deuce will you do?’

‘Sell out,’ was the rejoinder.

‘And then?’

‘Mercury, the god of vagabonds, alone knows,’ returned Neville, with a bitter laugh. ‘I am fit for little but a barrack; yet I tell you what, Compton, I must eat and get cool, and think, man, for out of this mess I He rang the bell, and on the appearance of Simmons asked for his man.

‘He is in your room, Captain Neville.’

‘Go on with your breakfast, I’ll be with you directly,’ said the Captain, and vanished.

Sir Frederic drew a chair to the table and shook his head, made a deep incision into a In a few minutes Neville re-entered, looking fresher, having doffed the glories of his uniform for a dressing-gown, like those of his companion, only more subdued in color.

Without exchanging many words, he commenced a serious onslaught on the good things before him, and while thus engaged, an explanatory word or two. Neville was a captain in the —th Hussars, the cadet of an old but decayed north-country race. The letter we have seen him read was from his half-brother —the son of his father’s first marriage,with the daughter of a city magnate— whose fortune had propped up the house of Neville. He had inherited his mother’s share in the famous banking-house of Foster Guy, our friend, now deep in the Strasbourg pie, was, as I have said, of a different stamp, though not without a family likeness. His mother was a bright coquette, noble and penniless, with warmer blood in her veins than that which flowed strong but slow through those of the Onmberland Nevilles; so, in addition to a certain tenacity of purpose, Guy had a strong dash of passion and perversity, troublesome inmates for a soldier of fortune.

Now, his weakness was not wine nor women, though he had his love affairs— mere trifles—he never cared sentimentally for anyone. But gambling—cards, dice, chance, skill, it was all alike to him. And he was long a keen and a successful gamester, at first within tolerable bounds, latterly, especially since his luck turned somewhat against him, he had gone deeper and deeper, and now, having put off all other creditors as long as he could, in order to meet his debts of honour, and his last hope cut off by his brother’s refusal to assist him, he felt almost stunned by the sudden pressure with which the knowledge that he owed nearly three thousand pounds weighed upon him. Five hundred he must pay before seven days were over, and all he had to pay it with was the price of his commission—of his gay jacket, his horses, and a few personalties. The which once gone, ‘Othello’s occupation would be o’er;’ the future a ‘slough of despond.’ To what could he turn?

Nevertheless he had strong nerve and a stout heart left; besides, he was but eight-and-twenty, so he ate to strengthen himself that he might fight his way out of the comer into which he was hemmed.

CHAPTER II.

His friend, Sir Frederick Compton, was Lieutenant in his regiment—rich, and gay, and generous—beloved by all—a trifle wild, but that was only more endearing. The sole drawback to his sunny lot was the fact that his father had decreed by his will that the heir to his broad Devonshire lands and Cornwall mines should not be of age till he was five-and-twenty, till which time he was under the severe but loving guardianship of a maternal grandfather, and the Lord Chancellor—awful personages, for the former was a grand old city Croesus, and who could hear the name of Foster and Co. without an instinctive quiver of the purses strings, while, as to the latter, who can behold his wig and not feel his locks to part ‘like quills upon the fretful porcupine?’ As if this was not bother enough, the grandfather’s heart was set on marrying the young baronet before he was out of leading-strings; and, kind, busy old man, to save the boy trouble, had found a wife for him—a ward of his own— to whom no reasonable man could make any objection. But boys, and girls too, arc ever rebellious. Neville and Compton had become known to each other previous to the latter joining the —th Hussars, through the business connection of old Mr Foster and Neville’s brother, who constituted the Co. in that famous establishment, and Guy had been at once the young baronet’s ‘fides Achates,’ and, notwithstanding his own errors, his Mentor.

By this time the first edge of appetite is blunted, and the two young men began to talk.

Said Sir Frederick, kindly, ‘Try the ‘Not to save my soul,’ returned Neville, fiercely; ‘besides, I have no right—we never were friends, and—,’ a momentary pause—‘I have no choice--I have been thinking while I eat. I must speak to Cox’s people about my commission, to-morrow, then think of the future afterwards.’

‘Don’t be in such a hurry, for God’s sake. Look here, I could easily raise you seven or eight hundred by my name, and that would stave off matters for a while, and—’

‘How am I to repay you? It would come to the same in the end. My commission must go. A thousand thanks to you, Fred, all the same. You Sir Frederick looked at his friend, and saw he had better humour him, so he grumbled out, Such a sell, but I must do it! Another slice of ham, Neville? Grandpapa is in a worse fidget than ever to have me tied to that heiress he has been saving up for me, and to-night she is to be trotted out for my inspection at a demi-semi sort of a juvenile party in St. John’s Wood—an awful slow place. The people are chums of the revered grandfather—mighty men on’Change. I have dined there at magnificent spreads; but oh! so heavy. However, I have promised to go. It will keep the old gentleman quiet awhile. I wish you’d come with me, Neville?’

‘Pshaw!’ said that gentleman, courteously. ‘But who is this girl, and why is your grandfather so anxious to marry you to her? You are rich enough.’

‘Why yes! But you see he has a mania for landed property, and she has about a thousand a-year, almost in a ring fence, lying right between my Devonshire and Cornwall estates. Then her father was a sworn ally of the old governor’s; his correspondent at New Orleans for centuries. Ultimately, he came over here, bought this property, invested his little savings, doubled them (I dare say she has thirty or forty thousand in the funds), brought up his only child in a half-savage, half-philosophic manner, and left her a ward of my granddad’s about two years ago. I suppose she is about eighteen or nineteen now. He says she is handsome—black eyes, and all that sort of thing. Mother a darkie, probably! Now I admire blondes; besides,’ he added, feelingly,. it is cruel to take a fellow’s freedom from him just as he begins to enjoy it, and I can’t be bored with any other woman now but ‘That’s all very well; but don’t you get into any mischief with Miss Totums,’ said Neville, gravely.

The young lady in question was a distinguished member of a distinguished ballet, and famed for a succession of rapid pirouettes on the extreme point of her right great toe, which had gained for her the fond but familiar appellation of ‘Teetotum,’ abbreviated as above.

Oh, I’ll take care,’ said Sir Frederic. Then, after a moment’s thought, he exclaimed, with sudden energy—

Help yourself and me! Make love to the heiress—marry her—get the tin— reform your ways—wind up in high respectability—brother’s blessing—virtue rewarded—eh?’

Pshaw!’ said Neville again.

Why not?’ persisted the young Baronet. ‘You are older than I am— have sown more wild oats. You are a good fellow; not averse to matrimony— would make her a deuced deal better husband than nine-tenths of those among whom she will probably marry! Now, ‘Compton,’ returned his friend, speaking slowly, ‘you are ridiculous.’

‘That’s right—take your time, old fellow,’ said the other, gleefully. ‘It’s just the thing for you. Come with me to the tea fight Go in and win. If she chooses to prefer you (and of course she will, if you make love to her and I don’t), my grandfather cannot blame me.’

‘’Gad! if she is darkie, all the cash in Christendom will not make up for it,’ cried Neville, half carried away by his friend’s enthusiasm. ‘But if not, if she is a nice girl, by Jove! it might be a grand throw. Yet to owe everything to a wife, is to play rather second fiddle? Eh, Compton?’

‘Pooh! nonsense! Your fine old name and social standing will be a grand feather in the eyes of a New Orleans girl. I wonder does she drawl her words through her nose—that would be dreadful.’

‘Compton,’ said Neville, thoughtfully, I’ll go with you this evening; though, by heavens, I feel ashamed of myself. I feel like a common adventurer, by George! and no gentleman.’

‘Don’t talk like an idiot. Yon are all right. You try to get up the steam, and fall in love with her. Make her very happy, and nurse the estate, and all that sort of thing. By-and-by I’ll marry some pretty blonde, and we will be first-rate neighbours, fit “to point a moral, or adorn a tale.”’

Neville rose from table, and paced the room two or three times, took another tumbler of soda-water—this time without brandy—and ultimately said—

‘There is no harm in having a look. I will go with you, Compton.’

Of course, you will be reasonable,’ returned his friend. ‘I dare say she is a charming, fresh creature, utterly free from knowledge of the world. She has been at school with some awful old woman at St. John’s Wood for the last year and a half, I believe; and you are just the sort of a Don to want the ‘What right have I to look for the cream of anything?’ said Neville, with some bitterness. ‘I wish—but why talk of wishes? Where shall we meet?’

‘Oh, here, here,’ returned the Baronet. And, Neville, do hear me. If you want to play this, or any game, successfully,you must have your wits clear. So let me send you the seven hundred, and you can pay me when you sell your commission, or marry/

‘Hum! a pretty way to spend the poor girl’s money/

‘If I know anything of women,’ said the young Lieutenant, with a pretty air of conceit, ‘she will think it well spent if you love her, and show her attention/

‘Suppose she is a woman who will talk of By Jove! there are few would try that game with you, I fancy/

‘God knows! What’s her name all this time?’

Mary Delvigne

‘French?’

‘No. South American.’

‘Well! I’ll have a look’

‘We meet, then, here, at dinner. Sharp seven. So good morning, and success.’

Sir Frederic nodded to his friend, and left the room.

CHAPTER III.

Neville was not punctual, however, and it was nine o’clock before the friends were ‘I wonder what new vagary my grand-father was up to to-day,’ said Sir Frederic^ Compton, as they began to get clear of the noisier streets. ‘The old boy was three times at the hotel this afternoon; had not long left when I returned, and said he’d have waited longer, only he had to start for Paris by the night mail, so there will be an impediment the less to our scheme to-night.’

‘Ours? Say yours,’ returned Neville.

‘Well, mine, if you will-; but I dare say that stupid waiter did not give me the right message, and Simmons was out; he so seldom asks leave of absence, that T let him go.’

‘Some men can’t say no,’ growled Neville.

‘Then they must be pleasant fellows,’ said his good-humoured companion. ‘Don’t '’be downhearted! You are on the road to love and riches. “Nothing venture, nothing have!” Here we are!’

Mrs. Coleman’s reception had progressed to a culminating point of success when pur friends reached Saratoga Lodge, St. John’s Wood, a substantial house, substantially furnished, with a wide entrance and handsome rooms. Those for reception were all on the lower floor, and the hall ended in a conservatory of tolerable dimensions, prettily lit up and well calculated for flirting.

The entrance of our Hussars sent a laint sort of sensation, down or up, through the flit and dignified hostess to the insignificant French teacher—asked in deference to the heiress’s whim of friendship. The Baronet’s air of fashion, and the soldierly bearing of his companion, were alike superior to the common standard of Saratoga Lodge. Sir Frederic, according to his genial habit, was soon perfectly at home with his hostess, whose soul he satisfied with compliments; while Neville listened with a half-suppressed smile, for at eight-and-twenty bright rooms and merry music, gay looks and pretty faces, act irresistibly, even upon the modern young man’s ‘You’re nearly across the Rubiconnow,’ whispered the former. ‘Can you dance?’

‘I ‘Must 1 Most imperatively.'

Mrs. Coleman paused here before a pretty group of three young girls. One, fair, tall, handsome, with full, light, languishing blue eyes, was sitting in a window-seat, beside a slight, timid, quiet looking brunette, whose unobtrusive paleness scarce justifies an appellation which always conveys an idea of brilliancy; at the other side of the belle blonde,’ and bending to speak to her, while the crim-som drapery of the window-curtain formed a very effective background, stood the third, tall and slight, but round and pliant, with a soft colour mantling through her clear, brown-fair cheek, and a half smile trembling on her rosy, kindly lips. Her own glossy dark hair was wound into a coronet, but no other ornament interfered with the graceful outline of her head. A snowy cloud of white muslin seemed to Neville’s rather nervous vision to float about her indistinctly, save that certain easy folds were gathered from the creamy, sloping.shoulders by a sash of black velvet to her waist, and among them rested a bouquet of brilliant, fragrant flowers. She turned to Mrs. Coleman as she approached, with an indefinable expression of joyous life—an expression which our neighbours’ word ‘

‘Sir Frederic Compton—Captain Neville,’ said the hostess. Miss Delvigne —Miss Weston.’

The gentlemen bowed.

‘Allow me the honour of the next galop,’ said Sir Frederic, with prompt decision, addressing the fair beauty.

The lady at once graciously assented. ‘Will you dance with me?’said Neville, to Neville was not a ladies’ man, and knew nothing at all of gay, innocent, young girls; nor could Miss Redoubt’s shyest pupil feel more ill at ease under the awful inspection of Madame Pirouette, the treble-exdancing mistress, than did this bold Dragoon, as he thought, ‘What shall I say? How can I tell her that she is a beautiful darling, and I wish myself an Earl, with £50,000 a-year, for her sake.’ Meantime Marie Delvigne was stealing shy glances at her stalwart admirer, to her a totally new specimen of mankind. Hitherto her experience had been limited to long-haired professors, more or less severe, while school life had proved somewhat tame, lonely, and unsympathetic; nevertheless she was enjoying that glorious spring time when ‘the light that surrounds us is all from within.’

‘What is it to be?’ said Neville, after an uncertain pause. ‘I ought,’ he continued, plucking up courage, ‘to warn you that, having been little in civilized life, I shall make but an indifferent partner/

How?’ asked Miss Delvigne, looking up at him with frank curiosity. ‘What are you, then, a soldier?’

‘Yes,’ returned Neville.

‘I am glad! I never met an English soldier before. But why are you in these clothes?’

‘You would not have me appear in uniform?’

‘Yes; it must be prettier than this costume/

‘Well, perhaps so! But shall we begin? Promise you will be lenient to my errors.

A bright glance and smile, and they started. The music was well marked. Neville had sufficient ear to get on tolerably; and moving rapidly to the inspiriting strains of a good band, with a lithe soft figure in your arms, and a pair of bright eyes sometimes glancing up to yours, is not an unpleasant mode of advancing one’s fortunes.

‘But you do very well indeed,’ said Neville’s lair partner, as they paused for breath after a long-continued turn.

Her easy tone reassured Neville, and he replied,

‘Having succeeded so far, I fear to peril the reputation I have gained, and you must be tired. I feel your hand trembling,’ he half involuntarily pressed it to his side. ‘It is hot, too. Let us go into the conservatory, or get an ice.or something?’ and, with a vague idea that he must keep out of Mrs. Coleman’s way, he led his partner to the conservatory.

The subdued light, the fragrance, the stillness, the distant music, made up a delicious atmosphere.

‘This is pleasanter than that row,’ said Neville, complaisantly. Sit here, Miss Delvigne. You look like a white blossom yourself, with that background of green leaves.’

‘Do I? What a charming idea! And where have you been if you have not been much in civilized -life?’

CHAPTER IV.

There was an indescribable charm of innocent boldness, of frank, fearless equality in her .manner that delighted Neville. Though refined and gentle, it was so fresh and so unconventional, that he thought within himself, ‘I never dreamed those Yankees could turn out such a woman. I could feel more comfortable and at home if I was not so desperately inclined to kiss her when she looks into my eyes.’

‘Well,’ said he, aloud, ‘I have been a good deal out of England—in India, at the Cape, and out-of-the-way places.

And how do you like parties, and dancing, and all this sort of thing?’

‘Very much indeed; but I like sitting in this pretty quiet place, and feeling I shall be out of school for another hour or two, almost better.’

‘You don’t like school then?’

‘No, indeed! Did you like being at school?’

‘Yes—no,’ returned Neville, hesitatingly. ‘I wish I was there once more,’ he concluded, with a sigh and a smile.

Miss Delvigne looked at him astonished.

‘Perhaps you are like myself, without relatives or friends, and in a strange land; but no, you are thoroughly English.’

‘I am English; nevertheless I am somewhat alone, though I never think of it much.’

‘Ah! you must have many friends, Sir Frederic!’

You mistake me,’ said Neville, amused. ‘My friend Compton is whirling away with your fair friend.’

‘Oh—then you are Captain Neville! How strange!’

‘Why strange?’ he asked, looking into her eyes.

‘I can hardly tell, only I thought you must be Sir Frederic Compton, because— because you looked the oldest. How bright and ^pleasant he seems to be.’

‘You seem to admire him,’said Neville, with some pique.

‘I do,’ she returned, candidly, ‘he is not like what I expected.’

‘Then you had formed some expectations,’ resumed Neville, smiling, though still piqued. ‘And you expected to find him a morose old fellow like myself?’

‘You,’ said Miss Delvigne, looking up into his face and speaking slowly and thoughtfully—‘you are ‘What the deuce does she want to know so much about him for?’ thought Neville. ‘How bold all this would sound from an English girl; yet it seems right and natural from her. She evidently knows old Foster’s schemes, and is not indisposed towards them. O yes,’ he said aloud. ‘Compton is a capital fellow, and true as steel; at least, to men.’

‘To men?’ she said, musingly and interrogatively.

‘And to women too, probably,’added' Neville, ‘only I have had no opportunities of judging. Will you give me a flower or even a leaf?’ he continued, imploringly, for she had taken her bouquet from its resting-place, and was thoughtfully playing with the blossoms.

‘Do you want one very, very much?’ she asked, playfully, and with such a winning grace, that Neville, surprised at his own feelings, and fearful of saying too ’much, contented himself with a glance, but one so expressive of admiration, that a sudden revelation flashed across his fair companion, who, with a dim, uneasy, yet delicious sense of danger, said, less frankly than before, ‘Let us return; perhaps Miss Weston will be looking for me.’

Neville silently presented his arm, but checked his companion on the threshold of their leafy retreat,

‘And my flower,’ he said; ‘do not cheat me.’

Miss Delvigne hesitated, blushed, and shyly took a spray of heliotrope from her bosom, which Neville eagerly appropriated, and led her in silence back to the place from whence they came.

Here they found the pale, quiet girl,whom Neville’s partner addressed affectionately,

‘Have you been dancing, dearest?’

‘No,’ said the pale girl, smiling with a pleasant arch expression; ‘but I have been much amused.’

‘That is well,’ said Miss Delvigne, and bowing to Neville, sat down.

He lingered a moment, loath to leave her, yet feeling himself dismissed. Presently Mrs. Coleman touched his arm,—

‘Come, Captain Neville,’ she said, ‘let me get you a partner. I must take better care of my friends. I see Sir Frederic Compton, by some stupid mistake, is dancing with Miss Weston instead of Miss Delvigne.’

‘Pray do not inflict me on any more young ladies,’ said Neville, ‘I have disgusted Miss Delvigne.’

‘Miss Delvigne! Then ‘That is quite beyond me,’ said Neville, bowing; and a waiter addressing some communication at that moment to the lady of the house, he escaped into a corner. From thence he had the satisfaction of watching the beautiful heiress go through the intricate figures with Sir Frederic, who seemed to make himself uncommonly agreeable, and to be on the happiest terms with his partner. Not even his memory of the tone in which she had said, ‘You are quite different,’ could silence the whispers of the green-eyed monster. Gradually old thoughts crept back to Neville; the gnawing sense of debt and difficulty — the contention between his sudden passion for the lair American and his shame at reckoning on a wife’s fortune to pay his debts. Yet it was not fair of Compton to suggest such a pleasant mode of liquidation, and then make love to the lady himself. It was not fair, by Jove! He (Neville) would make her a far better, steadier husband than a boy like Compton.

And so dance succeeded dance, and he saw the indefatigable Sir Frederic whirling round in a rapid waltz with the pale, quiet, friend of the heiress, who looked just as unexcited as when she had been sitting alone.

‘Now is my turn,’ thought Neville, and proceeded to search for the admired figure, which he soon descried, but, alas! leaning on the arm of a smooth-faced, accurately got-up, white-chokered young exquisite, of the composite order—a mingling of Belgravia with Marshall and Snelgrove’s. But, oh! triumph! his eye caught hers, and she smiled a smile of such undoubted, pleased recognition, that Neville was himself again. So he waited with renewed patience until the scramble called by courtesy a quadrille was over, when, advancing with an air of old acquaintanceship, said, coolly—

‘I am to take you into supper;’— a command she did not dispute; for, curtseying to her partner, she took Neville’s offered arm, asking, with a bright smile—

‘Who says so?’

‘Miss Delvigne’s soft cheek glowed, and her eyes suddenly sought Neville’s, with a look almost mournful in its yearning earnestness.

‘l am a careless, rough fellow,’ he said, gravely, replying unconsciously to the questioning glance; ‘but you asked me just now if my friend Compton was true? I think I can answer for myself that I am ‘I did not doubt you,’ she said, trying to reassume the light tone of their first conversation; for there was a tenderness in Neville’s accents that half-frightened her. And then they reached the supper-room, where, over the usual indigestible mixture of chicken, tongue, lobster-salad, ice, jelly, and trashy champagne, they got more and more familiar—talking of feelings, and sentiments, and sympathy, and a dozen topics of which Neville never thought before. And, as he marked the unmistakable sincerity, the earnest simplicity that marked his companion’s tone, he felt more and more fascinated by this truest type of womanhood he had ever met. She was so cultivated and refined, too, yet so natural, that his own difficulties and Again the music summoned the loiterers.

‘Let us rest once more in this quiet nook,’ said Neville, pausing at the conservatory, and drawing his companion into its leafy shade.

‘Are you shut up all day at that school?’ he continued. ‘Do yon never walk or ride, or go anywhere a fellow might see you?’

Miss Delvigne shook her head — the smile faded away from lip and eyes.

‘Pray give me some clue to your movements. I ‘Ah! Captain Neville, do not talk in that way. We have had a pleasant evening together, and now, I suppose, our roads in life will scarce cross again.’

' They must! they shall!’ cried Neville, impetuously. ‘But I dare not go see you.’

‘Come and see me!’ said his companion, shrinking from the bare idea, yet laughing at the picture it conjured up. (Miss Redoubt would feint at the sight of you!’

‘Well, then, do you never go out alone?’

‘Never, except—’ she paused, casting her large dark eyes down, while a half-mischievous smile played round her lips.

‘Except! Except when? I implore you, do tell me.’

‘I ought not—you know I ought not,’ returned Miss Delvigne, embarrassed, but yielding; then, brightening up a little— ‘lam a goose—you will forget all about it. I need not trouble myself—’

‘Very well; having made up your mind on that point, you may as well tell me; do, Miss Delvigne, I implore you, if it were only to try my memory.’

She looked up with a bright smile;then, meeting Neville’s eager, pleading eyes, turned away with some coquetry, and pulling the blossoms from her bouquet, said, in a low tone, and speaking quickly—

‘On Thursdays and Saturdays I take a singing lesson at Signor Carrara’s own house.’

‘And where may that be?’ asked Neville, as she paused.

‘Oh, in Albany Street.’

‘And you live somewhere in St John’s Wood? Your way lies across the Regent’s Park; and at what hour?’

‘Nay—that is enough.’

‘It is,’ said Neville, gazing into the speaking free before him.

‘But this is foolish,’ said Miss Delvigne, rising.

As she spoke, her bracelet—one of dark hair and gold—fell from her arm, and Neville lifting it, proceeded to clasp it on again. Unaccustomed to such offices, he contrived to catch the skin in closing the snap, inflicting sufficient pain to make her start and shrink.

‘I have hurt you—I have hurt you!’ he exclaimed, in despair; and, following an irresistible impulse, pressed his lips passionately to the Mr, round arm.

‘Captain Neville!’ cried the startled, confused girl, shrinking back, half frightened, with glowing cheeks.

‘Forgive me!’ Neville was beginning, when he heard Sir Frederic Compton call, at a distance—

‘Neville, Miss Weston and Miss Delvigne are inexorably summoned home. Permit me—’

And then approaching the heiress, he offered her his arm with a deprecating glance at his comrade. Miss Delvigne accepted it, murmured a soft ‘Goodnight!’ and passing from Neville’s confused vision, left him suddenly—deeply, passionately in love.

CHAPTER V.

As soon as Neville and his friend could manage it they escaped from the festivities of Saratoga Lodge.

It was a lovely night. ‘The young May moon’ was beaming as though especially bespoke for the occasion, and the gentlemen, lighting their cigars, strolled along between the fragrant gardens which adorn ‘the shady groves of the Evangelist,’ in the direction of town.

Sir Frederic was the first to speak,—

“What do you think of the venture?

‘Do you think I have any chance?’ was the counter-question.

‘You’ll go in and win, I suppose.’Gad! you are in great luck 1 I say, old fellow, I am more than half sorry I agreed to bestow the heiress on you; she is a delightful creature, one’s ‘Compton, if you regret your proposition for a moment, I will give up the scheme.’

‘Nonsense! I was in jest. If Miss Delvigne was twice as charming, I look upon her as so completely your property, that I do not give her a thought, for myself. But there is something peculiar about that little quiet girl I was dancing with, and, by Jove! her name is Delvigne too, for somebody spoke to her and your beauty answered, and then Mrs. Coleman —yes, it was Mrs. Coleman—said, rather stiffly, pointing to my little partner, “ I mean this Miss Delvigne.” ’

‘Curious,’ said Neville, puffing meditatively. ‘What did Mrs. Coleman say? ’

‘I think it was, “You have been dancing with Captain Neville,” Miss Delvigne —your friend—replied “Yes,” and then Mrs. Coleman made the remark—’

‘It is curious! Devilish queer!’ repeated Neville, thoughtfully. ‘By Jove! I shall be ready to cut my throat if my belle does not prove the right party. But there is a “Hansom,” let us hail it’ Arrived at Morley’s, Sir Frederic’s first inquiry was for his valet, and Simmons soon made his appearance, but with a crestfallen air.

‘Did you see Mr. Foster when he called here to-day?’ asked his master.

‘Yes, Sir Frederic.’

What did he want with me so particularly?’

‘Can’t say, sir, but— I beg pardon, Sir Frederic, it’s very seldom as I forget, and I hope you’ll look over it this time, sir, but in my hurry going out I quite forgot to leave this note for you. Mr. Foster gave it to me the last time he came, sir, and I just put it into my pocket to make sure of it, and it quite escaped—’

‘D—d careless of you,’ exclaimed his master, angrily. ‘It might have been of the last importance; there, say no more about it; leave the room.’

Neville had sat down dreamily in an easy-chair during this short colloquy, and looked on with a sort of lazy curiosity while Compton perused his grandfather’s epistle; it was of some length, for a minute or two elapsed, and then- Sir Frederic burst into a laugh. Throwing himself on the sofa, he held out the note to his Mend, ‘Here’s a romantic dodge, Neville,’ he said, ‘read that.’

‘Read yourself’ said Neville, drowsily.

‘“My dear boy,”’ began the Baronet, obediently, ‘“lam a good deal annoyed at not finding you, as I am obliged most unexpectedly to leave for Paris this evening; you must therefore present yourself at Mrs. Coleman’s alone. I have, however, a hint to give you. My romantic ward, Miss Delvigne, has a favourite companion, the French teacher at Miss Redoubt’s school, of the same name as her own, and she intends, in order to test you, to pass her as the heiress and pretend herself to be the French girl. I overheard the proposition myself, as I entered their sitting-room this morning. This is an excellent opportunity for you, and I lost no time in endeavouring to give you warning, but fear I shall not be able to see you before I start You can hardly make any mistake, however, as my ward is a much more distinguished, refined girl than her she has selected to fill her place. I hope to be back in a few days, when I shall, no doubt, find all progressing as I could wish.

‘“Very sincerely, yours,

‘“John Foster.’”

‘By Jove!’ was all the thoroughly-roused Neville could utter. ‘Then which was which?’ he went on, as Compton continued to laugh, and re-read the letter; ‘Did your Miss Delvigne give you any clue?’

‘No; she was rather silent, particularly after she found I was not Captain Neville. I suppose she did not think it was necessary to do much in the talking-line? Oh! yes—the little quiet pale thing must be the French teacher—she is a sweet girl, though, Neville! I took a fancy to her rather, and would like to meet her again.’

‘Pshaw!—stuff!—you could not ‘Why not?’ returned the young Baronet. ‘But I do not want to marry anyone at present‘There is no doubt the two girls were playing into each other’s hands,’ resumed Neville, returning to the more interesting question; ‘for my partner thought I was Sir Frederic Compton, and then, when she found her mistake, cross-examined me pretty closely as to your disposition, Fred, your temper, &c. O yes! it is clear enough; and I am confoundedly glad your old governor has given us a hint, for it would never do to get into the heiress’s black books; and 1 would not care to marry a foreign nobody. I do not care for money, but I like race, though if I ever met a girl that could turn a man’s head, and make him forego his resolution, that girl is Miss Delvigne.’

‘Well, every man to his taste! And, after all, your “New (Mines’ gal” may have had a malefactor for a great-grand father. Don’t look glum, old fellow. But what do you intend to do next?’

‘Oh! see her as soon and as often as I can. She goes to Albany Street every Thursday and Saturday for a music-lesson, and the day after to-morrow I’ll waylay her in the Park. If she has any old screw to accompany her, I will merely bow;. If not—and probably this friend of hers will be with her—I will feel my way. She is a charming creature. Heiress or no heiress, I should feel very much inclined to run away with her. By-the-way, is she a ward of Chancery? That would complicate matters.’

‘No; my grandfather is her only guardian, and I trust when the old boy returns, he will find all things progressing to ‘How soon after a first meeting ought a fellow to propose?’ asked Neville.

‘Can’t tell! Suppose it depends. Never proposed to any one, Neville?’

‘No, not marriage,’ said that gentleman, gravely. ‘I feel as if I could ask Mary (her name is Mary, she pronounces it Marie), to-morrow! You see if I was rich, and she had not a penny, I would marry her. I would, by Jove!’

‘If she was really the French governess?’ put in Sir Frederic, slily.

‘That is a different matter, and would not suit. But it is absurd to talk in that way. Look at the difference of the two girls—one had dependence stamped on her whole bearing.’

‘Yes, poor little soul,’ said Compton, kindly. ‘I suppose she hasn’t an easy life of it’Gad I’d like to take care of her.’

‘Fate forbids such things to be,’ returned his mentor. ‘But let us to bed, this is a capital hint of your grandfather’s. I’ll not fail to profit by it’

CHAPTER VI.

The anticipated Saturday rose clear and fair.

It was an exquisite morning, worthy of the month of May, with life, and fragrance, and verdure, and all fresh loveliness lending beauty even to what had none in itself.

Neville, after looking in all directions in vain, took refuge in a cigar, and placed himself under one of those islands of stripling trees which dot the Regent’s Park, near the broad walk. It was now close on one o’clock—what, if she would not come! or came escorted by some duenna-like governess! perhaps the awful Redoubt herself! As these uneasy thoughts perplexed him, a light, active step approached; he turned sharply round, and she was before him—herself—fresh and bright as ever. Her cool-looking muslin dress and scarf, so exquisitely becoming and appropriate—the quiet bonnet with its delicate white ribbon, bouquets of wild roses, and artistic mingling of black lace, was enchantingly becoming and ‘And Marie Delvigne was marvellously moved. She would have been scarce mortal, and certainly not an interesting mortal, had so brilliant a hero as oursmade no impression on her mind. To say truth, this specimen of mankind, so different from all she had hitherto known, had scarce left her dazzled eyes since they first met. He was the ocean to the river of her thoughts,’ and studies and exercises had alike been obscured by constantly pondering the question—‘If, after all, I The sight of so much irrepressible emotion gave Neville a sudden sense of his own importance and superiority, like a true man as he was, because the fibre of brain and nerve in him, of stronger and coarser texture, vibrated with less delicate accuracy to the promptings of the spirit, than in woman’s finer organization. It was therefore with tolerable self-possession he raised his hat, and throwing away his cigar, smilingly addressed her—'

‘You have chosen the hottest part of the day, Miss Delvigne. It was much cooler an hour ago! ’

‘Ah, Captain Neville! I am surprised! but it is a pleasant place to lounge in with a cigar on so lovely a morning.’

‘Is it? Well, I never found.it out before. Let me carry this for you—music, I suppose. What a thick roll—you don’t intend to sing it all to-day? You’ll be frightfully done up!’

‘Oh, no! I could sing more than is there without much fatigue. You see a good deal of it is the accompaniment’

‘Is it really?’ as if she had announced a wonderful fact ‘And when must you be with this singing fellow?’

‘At one.’

‘Well, it is now 12-30 — so you need not quicken your pace — you are not afraid of a rowing, are you?’

‘A rowing!’ repeated Mary, puzzled.

‘A blowing up!’ explained Neville. ‘He would be a flinty sort of a fellow that could be down on your misdeeds!’ And he glanced tenderly into his companion’s eyes.

‘Ah! you mean, that Signor Carrara would scold me. Yes, indeed: his minutes are very precious; but on the whole, I am a favourite with him—he is very good to me.’

‘I should think so,’ said Neville, quietly,with another expressive look from his grave, grey eyes, which sunk into his hearer’s heart, and called the colour to her cheeks.

It was wonderful how much their relative positions had changed since the previous Thursday evening. Then, he was the humble, confused suitor, almost tremblingly watchful for every crumb of favour; now, informed by the treachery of a speaking face what was the real condition of the besieged, he was more in love than ever, it is true, yet conscious of a lordly certainty, a mastership of the position that lent a sort of assured tenderness to his manner, which nevertheless was profoundly respectful.

So it is ever!—in the struggle between man and woman there is a perpetual ebb and flow—a constant balance—one cannot descend without elevating the other. Marie felt this, though she could not explain it; and woman-like, was all the more fascinated, because Neville involuntarily exercised a sort of power by his very composure. She fought bravely for self-control, and with feminine instinct tried to change the conversation.

‘What a dreadful-looking man,’ she exclaimed, as one of those ragged, dirty, sullen types of humanity, which too often come ‘between the wind and our nobility’ in this luxurious city, passed them.

‘Yes,’ said Neville; ‘an ugly customer for you to meet alone — by-the-way — though I am deucedly glad of it, why do they let you walk all this way by yourself?’

‘Ah!’ said Marie, hep heart sinking so low that she thought she felt it beating in the soles of her feet—‘You think I am somebody! You mistake me for my friend! I am but the French teacher— nobody at all, except to myself!’ and she trembled.

‘Oh! you are the French teacher, are you?’ said Neville, quite unmoved — with a kindly sort of smile in his eyes— you could not see much of it on his lips, for, like Esau, he was a ‘hairy man ’— ‘but that is no reason why you are not to be taken care of.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Marie, laughing, while her heart sprang back with a flash of electric joy—then he did not care—it was all the same to him—‘but you know it is nobody’s business.’

Will you let it be mine?’ asked Neville, half in jest, astonished at his own fluency; but this was going too fast, and Marie began to wish him away —to have time to recover herself, and think.

‘You have plenty to do, I suppose; you cannot smoke cigars here every day,’ she said.

‘I can always manage one in this locality on Thursdays and Saturdays,’ returned Neville.

‘No, no; you must not!’ she exclaimed, hastily, ‘it would not do! it would not be right!’ and she stopped suddenly, her cheek flushing, and feeling really anxious to get rid of him—for they were now almost at the entrance to Albany Street—and Marie felt she could not be seen at Signor Carrara’s door with so distinguished an escort.

‘Good-by, Captain Neville,’ she said, with sadden decision, and pausing abruptly.

‘Must it be good-by so soon?’ he replied.

‘Yes.’

‘But why?’ he was beginning, when, with uncommon astuteness for a John Bull, he reflected that it might pain her to say she must not be seen with him, and he was silent;

She held out her hand—a little, violet-gloved, dainty hand—and he took it in his, where it lay, lost to sight, but certainly ‘to memory dear,’ when, a moment after, Neville stood alone, the last wave of her dress floated round the turn into Albany Street, out of sight. He stood alone, and furious with himself for losing her so soon, without some arrangement for a future meeting, without some link being fastened in the chain which was to bind them together. What a sweet, frank creature! What a graceful lithe figure! Surely she cared for him, and thus added the merit of discrimination to her other charms.

CHAPTER VII.

A friend lend him five hundred pounds. How he chafed under this complication of worry may be imagined, with his strong, impatient temper, and proud unyielding nature; for Neville, though popular among his comrades as a fine fellow, was not an amiable man.

‘Miss Delvigne has already saved me some hundreds, I fancy,’ said he to his friend, as they sat at dinner the eve of the. second interview; ‘for since I have entered into this scheme, it seems to have left me no room or time to care for anything else; and as I really do love the girl,necessities, she will distrust my motives. Poor little soul! She played the governess trick very transparently—was all in a tremble, and evidently expected I would politely say good-morning, and leave her. Ah! Compton, what a light came into her eyes when she saw I was undisturbed by her announcement. By Jove, I feel like a regular swindler! But if she will have me, she shall never repent it.’

‘No, of course not, and you must never let her find out that you knew she was the heiress till you have been married a good long while, and then get over it the best way you can. I really see no other line open for you—I mean as regards her. After all, your debts are a mere trifle compared to her fortune. However, don’t grow sentimental. What shall we do next? I think you had better, at the present stage, shell the fortress with a few rounds of fiery love-letters.’

‘I do not fancy I should do that sort of thing well, Compton. I do not mind writing straightforward, asking her to be my wife, and telling her I am a poor devil in debt and difficulty—suggesting that we should fight the battle of life side by side—that’s a good idea; but then we must reconnoitre the premises, and see how we could get a letter conveyed. We must be careful. If Saturday is tolerably fine, I shall endeavour to see her once more before I open the battery.’

‘Perhaps it would be as well,’ returned the stanch counsellor; ‘but I should like to have the matter finished, and you away on your wedding expedition, before my grandfather returns. It will be a treat to see the old gentleman open his eyes when he hears the news.’

How to open communications with some of the functionaries of Miss Redoubt’s establishment was now the difficulty; and even if this could be done, there was a great reluctance to compromise Miss Delvigne in the eyes of any servant‘If I could induce her to give me any clue to guide us,’ said Neville, in one of their numerous consultations, ‘but I fear she will not. To say truth, I am afraid to ask her.’

‘Afraid! Pshaw! Let me send Simmons to reconnoitre.’

‘I would rather go myself,’ returned Neville.

‘You will look so confoundedly suspicious.’

‘I will have a try though,’ said our hero.

Accordingly, about midday, when all St. John’s "Wood was at luncheon, a tall, moustached man might have been seen sauntering, in a purposeless way, up and down the devious turnings of that refined locality, and ultimately pausing at the junction of Warrington Terrace and Car-lingford Villas. He looked round, and stood as if lost in thought, till the sound of a wheezy, aggravating cough caught his attention. He turned and saw, niched into a convenient comer, a greyish-brownish bundle of tolerable dimensions,surmounted by a crunched bonnet, under which further inspection elucidated a withered, russet lace, with twinkling, watery eyes, and a big, helpless-looking mouth. The feet of the figure were propped up on a wooden footstool, and beside her, on a small, low table, was a basket of oranges, and some stout bunches of wallflowers.

‘Ugh, ugh!’ gasped the old woman. ‘Buy a purty posie from a poor widdy, whose heart is bruck with the cough, and the Lord will reward you. I haven’t sold a ha’porth this blessed day.’

‘Why do you stick to so unfavourable a situation?’ said Neville, idly entering into talk with her.

‘Oh! sure more times I’ve better luck. The young ladies, God bless them! do betinder-hearted to the poor widdy, God bless them! but none of them give me a penny to-day.’

At the mention of young ladies, Neville pricked up his ears.

‘What young ladies?’ he asked, in a careless tone.

' Sure the young ladies out of the Seminary's; they do be marching down like regiments of soldiers in a morning, and (hey give a poor soul a copper now and again. But there’s one ov ’em—the Lord in Heaven look down upon her! She buys me flowers, and spakes like an angel. Ah! if the rich always knew the valley of a kind word—ugh, ugh!—Oh Lord!’

‘And who is this angel of a young lady?’ said Neville, dimly expecting to hear the beloved name.

‘Faith! I dunno her name ‘Ha! And does she live near?’

‘At number twenty-two—no less—a big house, there, to the right forenent you. Faith, she’s a grand lady, and as purty a cratur’ as yer eyes’ed rest upon.’dumber twenty-two was Miss Redoubt’s famous establishment—it must be Mary Delvigne!

‘I think I know the young lady you mean,’ said Neville, with diplomatic skill, ‘a short, fair girl!’

‘No—faith,’ said the old woman. ‘Her eyes is like two sloes, and her hair’s as black as your hat, an’ she has a colour like a rose. The blessin’ of Heaven be with her! Hasn’t she a lucky mark—a brown mole on her left cheek—and may luck attind her! Won’t yer honour by a posie from a poor widdy?’

‘None to-day; but there’s a shilling for you. Good-morning.’

‘The Heavens be your bed!’ exclaimed the astonished widdy; ‘and—ugh! ugh!—’

An opportune fit Of coughing cut short her eloquence, as Neville turned hastily away, for signs of life were beginning to show themselves.

CHAPTER VIII.

Compton and his friend had various and different engagements during the rest of the next day; and it was not till Sunday morning that they met again, when Sir Frederic at a glance saw that Neville looked ‘all astray.’

‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Compton,’ he said. ‘Here’s a sell! didn’t see her — didn’t meet her! Wandered about that confounded Park till the police looked at me suspiciously; could get no trace of her! What’s to be done?’

‘Done?’ repeated Compton. ‘Now is your time for a letter; write, and have it ready for any chance; we will manage the conveyance afterwards. She may have changed the days for her lessons. A thousand things may have happened.’

‘I’ll tell you what I did on Friday,’ said Neville, and proceeded to describe his interview with the orange woman.

‘Capital!’ cried Sir Frederic, as he concluded. ‘The widdy shall be Cupid’s messenger.’

The composition of this epistle taxed Neville’s powers rather severely; and after in vain endeavouring to render it an elegant production, he threw all his scribblings into the fire, and dashed off an earnest, simple, straightforward letter, in which he told the heiress of his sudden and deep passion—of the difficulties which surrounded him—of the opposition which their proposed marriage would call forth, and the complication its publicity would add to the troubles in which he was already plunged, but from which he hoped ere long to extricate himself.

‘Once you are my own,’ it proceeded, ‘everything seems possible. With you by my side, life has no task I do not feel capable of accomplishing. Trust to me, and your future shall be my tenderest care,’ &c., &c.

In short, Neville, thoroughly in earnest, produced a very readable letter, and one well calculated to make a heart, already full of him, all his own.

‘She will not hesitate long,’ he said to Sir Frederic. ‘She will put me out of‘LOOK before too.leap.’pain one way or the other; for if ever woman was true and upright, she is, though there is just Hie least dash of coquetry about her—just enough to set one burning steadily, like a slow match! It is a wonderful position, Compton, to be head and ears in love with the right person!’

‘By Jove! you may say so.’

‘Now,’ continued Neville, ‘I’ll be off to my new acquaintance, the old apple-woman, and try to manage some means of conveying this’—tapping the letter. ‘I suppose the old lady does not attend divine service?’ (It was Sunday.)

‘Oh, possibly she hears Mass somewhere, if she is an Irishwoman! but by the time you are at Carlingford Terrace, she will be at her post. The people will be feeding from one to two, so you’ll have the field to yourself. Shall I come with you?’

‘No. She might take fright at two inquirers. Do you want to come?’

‘Well—I’d like to see that little pale girl again.’

Neville frowned; he did not like the idea of Compton seeking a friend of his future wife’s. He did not think such seeking could end well.

In spite of his attempts to delay, Neville was rather too soon at the apple-woman’s corner, and encountered the whole tide of schools returning from church.

‘By Jove!’ he often exclaimed, in after years, describing it ‘It was like shoals of mackerel or herrings sweeping Over space, and overwhelming you like an avalanche. Regiments of them, so demure and steady that I felt utterly abashed and out of countenance before them.’

Third or fourth of these detachments came Miss Redoubt’s troop, among the most distinguished and highly disciplined. The ranks were closed by two young ladies, more mature in age than the others, in whom Neville quickly recognized the friends and namesakes. The beautiful heiress flushed all over with electric rapidity, and then turned pale, as he gravely and silently bowed to them. The little pale French governess took scarce any notice of him. Another moment, and they were hidden from his sight by the gates of No. 22.

Neville’s heart beat high. She could not be indifferent to him when her colour changed so marvellously. How little she dreamed he had such an important communication for her in his pocket ! A few minutes more, and almost all stragglers had disappeared. Neville approached the old woman.

‘You do not take a holiday, then?’ he said, good-naturedly.

‘Faith! I do not,’she returned. ‘Shure, Sunday’s mee best day. The bits of boys and girls, the cratures do be going up to Hampstead, and stop to buy oranges of a poor widdy. P’rhaps yer honour wants a posy to-day?’

‘No, thank you! And your young lady friends, have they been good to you lately?’

‘Ah! sure, mee dark-eyed darlint has just gone by with the dawshy little whitecrator’ that’s always along wid her; but she never stops when they are all together. She’ll be back by-and-by, may be, by herself and then she’ll have a kind word for the poor widdy.’

Neville paused, he could not surmount an invincible repugnance to put Mary Delvigne in the power of so low and ignorant a creature as he now addressed.

‘And where does this angel of yours go to church?’ he asked, carelessly.

‘Oh! down below there. You’ll a’most see the spire beyant the big house at the corner.’

‘How do you know she goes there?’

‘Shure, all the ladies do be going there. Isn’t the clargy a grate pracher entirely, and curses an’ damns us, poor papists, up and down? Faith! he’ll know the differone day. And sorra a word the Blessed Mary will say for him!’

‘I might make some opportunity to give her the letter in church,’ mused Neville. ‘I’ll try.’

He strolled on to the church, and met the clerk coming out‘When does the afternoon service begin?’

‘At half-past three, sir,’ returned that functionary, somewhat surprised.

‘Who preaches?’ continued Neville.

‘The Reverend Mr. Jones, sir.’

‘Oh! thank you.’

In a couple of hours he returned, and presented himself‘Could you place me next Miss Redoubt’s seat?’ he whispered, pressing half-a-crown into the pew-opener’s hand.

‘I think I can, sir.’

And, accordingly, Neville had the felicity of contemplating the back of the adored one’s bonnet, through a service that seemed interminable. At last, it was over, and Neville managed adroitly to pass with Miss Delvigne, side by side, down the aisle; and, dnring the transit, slid his letter into the folds of her parasol.

It was neatly done; but as he saw her shrink, and change colour, he whispered, in eager accents—

‘For God’s sake, read it!’

It was but a moment’s work, and no eye or ear save their own detected what was passing. But Mary’s cheek glowed and paled; her brain grew dizzy; she felt how momentous for her was this morning’s work. But — she took the letter. What else could she do, without risking a slander? What else could she do, when her heart was yearning for the love of the grave, chivalrous-looking stranger, who had sought her so pertinaciously, and whose earnest, passionate eyes expressed so much admiration?

It was safely in her possession, without betrayal; and now two weary days had to come and go, before Neville could judge what progress he had made. Nevertheless, it was with an unwonted sense of exultation that he met Sir Frederic at dinner.

Now,’ said he, grant I am not quite so clumsy a fellow as you took me for.’

‘No, by Cupid and Venus! You are within a few lengths of the winning-post. She will meet you. You must hurry matters on; do not give her time to think; be married next week; get a licence, and all that sort of thing, and be ready for a start.’

‘No fear of that! But Thursday is a deuced long way off.'

CHAPTER IX.

It On the following Tuesday, about 11 a.m., a cab, with a single box and a single inmate, drew up to the footway of the Edgware Road, near to where was the once famous gate of Tyburn. Close by stood a brougham and pair, and a soldierly-looking man, of aristocratic gait and mien, was strolling up and down, with an air of repressed impatience and expectation. The cab drew up—the military watcher rushed to open the door and emancipated a young lady, with pale cheeks and large lustrous eyes, suffused with tears, and otherwise evincing emotion in her bearing. Neville, however, hastily handed her into the brougham, paid the cabman, saw the box transferred to his own conveyance, and, ordering the coachman to drive fast, stepped in, and they were off at a rapid pace across the Park. In a few minutes, it seemed to Marie Delvigne, they stopped before the entrance to Kensington Church. Here stood Sir Frederic Compton, the faithful Simmons, and a respectable-looking female, suitably attired, of an uncertain age.

The young Baronet felt no small curiosity as his friend descended from the carriage, and paused to hand out his fair companion.

She was simply attired. A blue-and-white dress, of thin texture and voluminous folds, a scarf of the same, a bewitching little bonnet of straw, and lace, and corn-flowers, so neat and fresh and suitable.

She was a woman of whom any man might be proud, and Neville thrilled with triumph as he said,

‘Let me present my friend, Sir Frederic Compton, to you.’

The Baronet bowed profoundly.

‘I am to act as father,’ he said, smiling, ‘on this happy occasion; I may truly add, it is the proudest moment of my life.’

But poor Miss Delvigne was impervious to jests; she was mentally and physically trembling. Delicately organized, she was loving, shy, passionate, brave—the very type of a true woman’s nature—too terrified and ashamed of her own boldness to show her shame. Hope, fear, past, present, and future, all centred in the man whom a few minutes more would be her lord and master legally, as he was already really the master of her fate.

‘Wheeler,’ said Neville, addressing the orthodox female above-mentioned, ‘this is your mistress.’

Wheeler dropped a respectful curtsey. The sight of a female was wondrously comforting to our young friend.

Another half hour and the irrevocable words were spoken, the necessary signatures made, and Compton was wishing them joy at the church gate.

‘Keep him in order, Mrs. Neville,’ he said; ‘I assure you it is very pleasant to think that I shall have a Mend in his commanding officer.’

What a strange thrill of delight and security these few words gave her. ‘Mrs. Neville!’ Yes; she was his in the sight of God and man. Her fondness, obedience, devotion, were sacred duties, she bore his honoured name, and was one with him! A holy joy lit up her eyes, a soft colour tinged her cheek. In her supreme happiness she would have gently patronized royalty itself.

‘You shall be my friend, as you have been his,’ she said, giving her hand to the young Baronet.

‘You are the luckiest dog in Christendom,’ whispered Sir Frederic to his ally, as he sprang into the carriage, after seeing the abigail safely seated on the box, and they were away to London Bridge.

It was a dull, drizzling day, not actively cold, but chilly, with a heavy dampness that crept into the marrow and checked the currents of circulation.

Sir Frederic looked after the carriage, and sighed slightly as it disappeared, then whistled part of an air while he drew on his gloves.

It is not easy to witness intense happiness without a certain sad feeling—a kind of left-in-the-lurch sensation—which is not cheerful, especially when you have no particular occupation or pursuit.

‘So it’s all finished, and they are absolutely “linked,”’ he mused. ‘I hope it will turn out well‘There’s a sixpence for you,’ he said aloud, interrupting the.current of his thoughts, and addressing a scarecrow object with a broom in his hand, which, scenting a wedding from afar, had scrambled to the gateway in hopes of coming in for something‘Mr. Foster has only just driven off, sir,’ said the waiter, on his return, ‘and left word he would call again about two.'

‘The deuce he did!’ uttered the perplexed young man. ‘What is to be done now?’

Meantime the bride and bridegroom were speeding towards their destination. Marie leant back, her face covered with her handkerchief, and one hand clasped in Neville’s, while he, not liking to break in upon her reflections, fell himself into a confused, pleasant train of musing. lie had played out the game, and was successful. No more difficulties,, for him; but a fair home, with a ministering angel to preside over it and cherish and look after him. An elegant-looking creature, too! a credit to his taste! At this idea he pressed the hand that lay in his, which gently returned the pressure, ‘and loving him so devotedly.’ Well, she would make her a capital husband.

‘I wonder what old Foster will do! Well, he can’t do much, or take her from me. By Jove! I’d like to see the man that would dare come between us!’ and he stole an arm- round her, when the carriage suddenly stopped in one of those narrow, wretched streets, between Waterloo and London Bridges, through which, as through some horrid, unsubstantial dream, aristocratic travellers are hurried.

What’s the matter?’ cried Neville, while Marie started with sudden fear.

Horse down in front, sir. Can’t get round no way.’

What a nuisance!’ exclaimed Neville. We shall miss the train.’

He sprang out instinctively to assist, either with hands or head, the prostrate animal.

It was a difficult matter. The creature was entangled in the harness—strong and terrified—and it was ten minutes’ work to extricate him. He was then too much injured to drag away the cart, and a further delay occurred before it could be moved.

Marie’s heart beat painfully till they proceeded on their way. But the mischief had been done, and the Dover train gone some minutes before they reached the Station.

‘An hour to wait,’ said Neville, seating himself by his bride. ‘What a bore! Shall I get you a book? Or, stay! you must want some luncheon. Come! let us see what they have in the refreshment-room.’

‘I do not feel inclined either to read or eat,’ said Marie, with a sweet, shy smile, looking into Neville’s eyes for the first time since they were man and wife.

And he felt it hard, indeed, to be surrounded by witnesses at such a moment.

‘Nevertheless, you must take something,’ he said. ‘It shall be my first exercise of authority. Wheeler, Then he remembered the possible chance of some passer-by recognizing his bride, and hurried her to the ladies’ waiting-room. It was vacant, so he sat down awhile by her.

‘What will Miss Redoubt say?’ he asked, in an exulting whisper.

‘Oh, nothing till Thursday. She will think I am at Madame Pecheron’s; I often go there.’

‘Who is she; French?’

‘No; American. Her husband is French.’

‘Ah! then we have a clear start till Thursday.’

The minutes slipped by. At last it was time to take their places. But the train was crowded, and the married lovers had to endure the presence of a fast young man, armed with ‘Bell’s Life’ and redolent of tobacco; an elderly female, with a snarling pet pug; and an old red-faced gentleman, who waged a continuous warfare with this latter personage on the score of opening and shutting windows. Of course the intercourse between Neville and his wife was limited to glances, andsilent attentions on his part, while he watched, with the utmost solicitude, the pale cheek and drooping eyelids of the fair girl, whose protector he was henceforth to be.

The train stopped everywhere, and it was six o’clock before they reached the hospitable portals of the ‘Lord Warden.’

‘If you will please give me your keys, I will put out your things,’m, while the Captain’s ordering dinner,’ said Mrs. Wheeler, anxious to be up and doing. ‘This is your room,’in.’

‘Thank you,’ said Marie, following her, bewildered at this new phase of life and by her own sudden importance.

It was new and delightful to have her bonnet removed, her brushes and combs placed in her hands, and all the numberless personal services offered, that an adroit lady’s-maid knows how to perform.

‘I’m sure,’m,’ continued Wheeler, ‘I am wishing you all happiness! You have twisted up your hair beautiful. You’ll not want much hair-dressing from me,’m, though I always gave the best of satisfaction when I lived with Lady Frederic Hauton, likewise the Honourable Mrs. Prendergast.’

This was uttered with a sort of quiet volubility, as though the speaker was rather overpowered by the dignity of her hearer. Mrs. Wheeler was a fair type of her class, tall, thin, keen, and respect-able.

‘Thank you,’ said her young mistress, gently. ‘Did Captain Neville engage you himself for me ? ’

‘Yes,’m; my cousin, as is valet to Sir Frederic Compton, he sent for me, and after waiting a bit in the hotel the Captain saw me himself, and engaged me.’

‘I am very much obliged to him,’ said Marie, radiant at this proof of his thoughtful love.

Glancing once more at the pleasant image reflected in the glass, she left the chamber, and hesitated at the door of the sitting-room in her shy embarrassment. Smiling at her own foolishness, she opened it, and Neville, turning at the sound, came to meet her, and drew her towards the window, which gave rather a melancholy view over' the dull, leaden sea, where the moaning, rising wind was cresting the sullen waves with foam, and all looked bleak and stormy.

Neville did not speak. At last—at last!—after such prolonged restraint, they were together and alone! He gazed into her eyes, where he read so much of deprecating tenderness, at the red lips, parted and tremulous with such deep feel ing, that his passionate love and delight took a gentler and more earnest tone. Here was something more than he had ever met before; a ‘holy of holies,’ such as he had never entered! A feeling like a prayer gleamed for a moment across his heart, and then all thoughts merged in the intense rapture with which he clasped his arms round the lithe figure, and fondly pressing his lips to hers, held her in a long embrace.

CHAPTER X.

Highly intellectual persons might deem the conversation which ensued, and which lent the hours wings for our entranced pair, of the most desultory and unconnected description. Neville was too much engrossed by the present to bestow much thought how his bride would take the revelation that her innocent artifice was penetrated, and let her draw him into reminiscences of his past life—adventures in many lands—led on irresistibly by the magic of knowing his words were pearls and diamonds of eloquence to his admiring listener.

Dinner was over, and the cloth removed, when the waiter returned, bearing an ominous envelope having mysterious red insignia stamped upon it. Neville read it over two or three times—nursed, pulled his moustaches, and finally put it in his pocket, resuming his cheerful talk with Marie. She was too shy to question him, and the matter passed over in silence.

The next morning was wild and tempestuous to no ordinary degree. The sea dull and angry-looking—flecked over with foam crests, dashed, raging and thundering along the Terrace-walk under the coffee-room windows; and from the apartments occupied by Captain and Mrs. Neville, the spray might be seen flying over the Admiralty Pier. At noon,

Neville hoped the wind might moderate, and they should be able to cross by the midday boat. But Marie shuddered at the prospect.

‘Why may we not stay here, we are so happy?’ she murmured—when Neville returned to her after making some inquiries—‘‘Well, you see, love, the fact is, I should not be in such a hurry, only—that paper you saw me receive last night was a telegram from Compton, to say old Foster had returned, and though he cannot do us much harm, still I should not like to have our happiness broken in upon even for an hour, still I think we may venture to wait another day, he says;’ and Neville, fall of his subject, and forgetting the part he and his bride were acting, took the telegram from his pocket, and read—

‘“Grandfather returned—all safe as yet —does not go to St. John’s Wood till Thursday;” so I think we are pretty safe, thanks to your capital dodge of going to stay with your friends.’

‘0 yes!’ said Marie; but she spoke it in uncertain tones, and paused with a puzzled look—‘ Let me read it V-she resumed, stretching out her hand for the paper.

Neville gave it to her with an anxious thought—‘Have I unmasked the game too soon? What will she do or say next?’

‘I am afraid there is some mistake somewhere. Is not Sir Frederic’s grand-hither old Mr. Foster?’

‘Yes,’ said Neville, almost breathlessly.

‘Are you any relation of his, or what has he to do with it?’ she asked, gently.

‘She is too good an actress by half,’ thought Neville.

‘Oh!’ he returned, hesitatingly; ‘you see he is guardian to Miss Delvigne. Marie,’ he exclaimed, abruptly interrupting A low wail of agony interrupted him.

Oh! Guy—Guy—I see it all! You have mistaken me for my friend—for the heiress—and I—I am nothing, and have nothing!’

‘Come, come. You need not keep up the force any longer.’

But Neville spoke huskily and anxiously.

‘Guy Neville,’ she replied, with some solemnity, ‘I am Marie Delvigne, daughter of Pierre Delvigne, ‘By Heaven,’ cried Neville, fiercely— ‘you have deceived me!’

‘Oh! no, no, no!’ she cried, frantically; ‘I always told you who and what I wasHow could you—how did you mistake me?’

‘But did you not agree with that other Miss Delvigne to change places—to pass as the French teacher at Mrs. Coleman’s?’

‘Never — never — yet! I remember Marie proposed we should—but I refused—indeed I refused! How did you know it? Oh! Guy—Guy—what will become of me?’—and she sank despairingly on her knees, hiding her face in the sofa cushions.

‘By Heaven,’ exclaimed Neville, after walking up and down the room, and stopping within a few paces of the crouched and humiliated form of his wife—‘I cannot fathom it You have in some way deceived me, but you have gained very. little. I was almost a ruined man when Ifirst had the misfortune to behold you, and now this affair will ‘Then you did love me for a while! You did care for me at first,’ gasped the wretched Marie, straining with womanlike desperation for the last glimpse of Love’s Light ‘It was not altogether because you thought I had money. Oh! would to God I had thousands for you, Guy!’

‘But you have not!’ was the cruel answer.

‘Girl, if I find, as I suspect, that you have deceived me—’

But the coarser tone roused Marie’s pride. She rose, and putting back the hair from her poor dry, aching eyes, said, with blanched, trembling lips, and parching tongue, that could hardly articulate—‘I have never deceived you, I have never deceived anyone — look at me—you must read truth in my eyes—and Guy, I will be no burthen to you; i do not understand your laws; but I will do anything to help you to undo our marriage. I will set you free. I will be no burthen to you!’

Neville looked sternly at her. ‘You do not know what childish nonsense you are talking,’ he said; ‘nothing but death‘look before too leai.’ can break our marriage, and I wish to God it would come.’

‘Oh! Guy, Guy,’ and again the un happy girl threw herself on her knees, and hid her face anywhere out of sight. What was she to have thus interfered with the career of so great a man and hero? For all keen to sympathize with her idol, though writhing with unutterable agony at the blight which had fallen on herself her thought was of him — for » him! She never dreamed of turning on him with reproaches for his fortune schemes! Oh! what whirling drifts of sorrow swept one over another through the aching brain. The Heaven of yesterday—of this morning—swept away, and instead—clouds and thick darkness—yea! darkness that might be felt—meantimeNeville paced up and down the room, brooding silently—then suddenly seizing a Bradshaw,’ he studied it for a few moments, with fierce brow and compressed lip.

CHAPTER XI

‘Listen to me,’ he said at last, composedly, but with a coldness even more annihilating than his previous fury; ‘and pray get up, these theatrical attitudes do not impress me at all. I shall, in time, know whether you have deliberately deceived me or not Meanwhile, I have much to arrange in London. 1 must see Compton. In short, I must go to town immediately; do you remain here. I shall return to-morrow evening at farthest, and let you know my plans. Compose yourself,’ for she had risen, and was sittinghelplessly, with dishevelled hair, on the sofa. ‘I am going to ring for the waiter.’ He did so, and profound silence reigned till that functionary appeared.

‘I am called suddenly to town,’ said Neville, in his cool, commanding tones, all hurry and emotion checked by the presence of an inferior; ‘but Mrs. Neville,’ his brow contracted at the word, ‘and her maid remain. I shall return to-morrow night Have the bill ready below in ten minutes, I will settle it before I start.’

The waiter bowed, and retired.

Neville hesitated a moment, and turned to leave the room.

‘Guy! Guy!’ cried Marie, rising with clasped hands. ‘Hear me—do not leave me without one kind word or look! I, too, am suffering.’

‘I know not what to think,’ returned her husband, gloomily; ‘there is no time for discussion now. Be rational, and do not delay me.’

And turning from the imploring face, he hastily left the room. She dared not follow him. She heard his yoice speaking to Mrs. Wheeler. She vaguely caught the sense of his words—something of an unexpected summons and preparation, then a dull cloud came down over her ihculties. She heard the roar and clang of the sea— the escape of steam from the boat alongside the pier—and she seemed dimly learning the pattern of the paper on the wall opposite by heart. Then the sound of hastily-closed doors shook her soul; and next, that of the room in which she sat, opened, and the respectable Wheeler entered in an irreproachable cap.

‘The Captain is called away very sudden,’ she said, in tones sufficiently respectful, yet altered in some mysterious way from those of the morning. ‘It is a trial for you,’m!’

‘O yes!’ returned Marie, her large eyes gazing expressionless. ‘It is a great trial,’ and her slender fingers turned themselves together convulsively—her throat was dry, she could scarce articulate.. What was this that had happened? What had hurled her from the rapture, the repose, the paradise of a couple of hours ago, to the agony, and shame, and bewilderment of the present! No fault of hers—she was true, and loving, and faithful; and now she was alone! And‘look before you leap,’ this respectable woman, should she speak to her, would she too despise and reject her, as her beloved, her trusted, adored idol had done?’ But nature decided for her. The racked nerves could hold out no longer. She was too young, and strong, and healthy to faint, so a great burst of tears came to her relief, and it was hopeless to play a part any longer before the keen optics of her companion.

‘Wheeler,’ she said, ‘I will not deceive you. Captain Neville has married me, believing I was an heiress, through some unfortunate mistake. I have nothing, and oh! what is to become of me ? ’

The experienced Wheeler, though not given to the melting mood, was but human after all, and could not resist the infection of this agonized outburst‘Mistake!’ she exclaimed, ‘how could there be a mistake? Don’t you take on so,’m. You are his lawful, wedded wife. I am a witness, and he must support you. It isn’t at all right of him to go off and leave you here. What are we to do?’

‘Hush!’ returned Marie, with quiet dignity. ‘You must not say a word against Captain Neville; but you are right, what are we to do? Let me think.’

And rising from the sofa, she threw herself into a chair by the window, rested her head on her hands, and gazed out despairingly over the desolate, heaving, moaning waste of waters before her. ‘What was she to do?’ and the rebel brain, instead of setting obediently to work to answer this puzzling query, began diligentlyto rehearse the tender, loving passages of the last month—the Heaven of safety, rest, and Joy, which had been wrenched from her a short hour ago! Did I say a short hour? Well, some indefinite period which, to her, was past, present, future, all in one!

‘Wheeler,’ she said, at length, ‘I think I had better give you your wages, and let you go. Whatever becomes of me, I shall not require a lady’s-maid!’

‘Well,’m, as you please, and being in such trouble, I’ll not go for to speak as to my own disappointment and loss; for I give up a respectable position to take your place. But if you’ll take my advice, you’ll just stay here till your husband comes back, and don’t commit yourself to nothink anyways. Sir Frederic Compton will do something for us, he is such a rich young gentleman. My cousin’s his valet, and tells me he is a deal mixed up with it. Law!’m, however did the Captain to mistake you?’

Her mistress’s misfortunes excited Mrs. Wheeler into a wonderful amount of familiarity and curiosity in so composed a personage.

‘I cannot tell—I cannot think or speak. 1 am sick, sick at heart,’ and the unhappy girl burst into another agony of weeping, more intense and prolonged than the first, and Wheeler, after some ineffectual suggestions not ‘to take on so,’ ‘the mischief was done,’ &c., remembered it was close on the early dinner hour, and that there was a numerous and agreeable party at the servants’ ordinary; so, after a look of compassion, not uumixed with contempt, at the weeping figure by the window, she left the room.

Her absence was a relief to Marie, who, starting up, began to pace the room, sometimes pressing her hands to her brow. To remain a burden to Neville—a hated burden—hampering his movements, and crippling his resources. No! a thousand times, no! She would not cost him a penny, nor punish him with her presence. Hereafter, when worn with sorrow, and exhausted by the loneliness of life, death came, she would perhaps send for Neville, and once more resting in those beloved arms, pass away from being a grief and a trouble, and then his grave eyes might look kindly and lovingly on her.

Poor thing! the touching picture raiseda storm of sobs; it was very dramatic and effective, and she would gladly have realized it on the spot, but then she was only nineteen, and almost distraught.

But these dreams would not do; again she roused herself, and after a few moments’ silent, fervent prayer, went to her room, and began to replace the things which Wheeler had taken out, in her box, care-fiilly laying a black-silk dress at the top. She then put on her out-door attire, and sallied forth alone, at first with a strange, giddy feeling or bewilderment and terrible strangeness, then growing cooler Mid more composed in the air, she stopped and inquired her way to the principal street for shops.

Every step of that weary way was indelibly printed on her memory—the cry of the sailors who were hauling up a sail, the stand of little open carriages near the ship, the groups of half-workmen, halfsailors, whom she encountered. Finally, she reached Snargate Street, and slackening her pace, looked earnestly into the shop windows; at length she selected one, and after a short parley, became the purchaser of a little, quiet, elderly-looking bonnet of black and violet, which was put into a capacious paper bag. At another shop, she bought a cheap black Barege shawl, which she also put into the paper bag, and then walked rapidly back to the hotel, regaining her room before Mrs. Wheeler had time to finish her protracted gossip.

Marie, therefore, completed her arrangements, locked her box, put on its covercarefully and methodically, and then proceeding to the sitting-room, wrote a few lines, frequently stopping to wipe away the fast-felling tears. This accomplished, she paused a moment to recover herself and then summoned Wheeler.

‘Well,’m, I am'sure you are right to take a mouthful of fresh air, just to rouse yourself. You see you need not give way, for—’

‘Wheeler,’ said her young mistress, slowly, with a sort of despondent heaviness in her voice, ‘I am going away to my friends. They will advise me. Give this note to Captain Neville when he returns; it will explain all to him; and Wheeler, what wages were you to receive?’

After some circumlocution, the waiting-maid explained, and received -two bright sovereigns from poor Marie’s slender store.

‘The train will leave in about ten minutes,’ resumed Marie; ‘have my box carried down.’

Wheeler tried to remonstrate, but Marie imposed silence upon her; and the people of the hotel putting no obstacle in the way, she took her place unmolested, to Wheeler’s astonishment and horror, in a second-class carriage.

‘I suppose the lady will be in London before dark?’ asked Mrs. Wheeler of the porter, who had had the care of Marie’s box.

‘London,’ he replied, ‘why she is only going to Folkstone; leastways, her box was labelled to Folkstone. They’ll be there in a quarter of an hour.’

‘Folkstone,’ repeated Wheeler; ‘she’ll be going to her relations in France, then. Well, that’ll be some news for the Captain, anyway; he’ll be wanting trace of her, and the more I have to tell, the better.’

CHAPTER XII.

Meantime, poor Marie sped along, and a new set of parties were shouting, ‘Folk-stone! Folkstone!’ before she had well realized the desolate sense of freedom from Wheeler’s prying eyes. She bad made the short transit alone, and instead of a girl in light gloves and a gay bonnet, there stepped from the carriage a lady in black dress, shawl, and gloves, a black and violet bonnet, and a thick black veil, scrupulously fastened down.

‘When will the tidal up-train start?’ she asked of an official.

In about an hour, ma’am. Passengers are haying their luggage examined now.’

Marie had her box carried into a deserted ladies’ waiting-room — abandoned to dust, flies, and cobwebs—where an empty water-bottle stood in the centre of a thirsty-looking oaken table, and in unenvied loneliness, opened and re-arranged its contents. It was once more ready for the road and labelled, her own ticket (first-class this time) purchased, and she had shivered, for what seemed to her, an interminable time on the platform, before the tardy train made its ap-pearance. She was hastily thrust into a carriage, and left alone with a grave, iron-grey, supremely respectable-looking gentleman, who was readiug a pamphlet, and whose accessaries of travel, courier’s bag, writing-desk, &c. of the plainest but most costly description, lay on the seat opposite. Of him, poor Marie took little heed. Fairly lanched upon her lonely journey, its appalling desolation seemed to strike and overwhelm her, though still too excited to realize its difficulties. Where was she going? What was she to do?— but above all rose the agonizing thought that Guy—her peerless Guy—had dhly sought her for what gain she could bring him. Oh! base, base! and she should never see him more! How her eyes yearned for one more glimpse!—her lips thirsted for one more kiss from him who was but this morning her honoured and adoring husband! She wept with passionate intensity, and so long did the agony last, that her companion, who hadfrom 'time to time cast carious glances towards her, put down his pamphlet, moved uneasily on his seat, and ‘hemmed’ once or twice portentously — at length, opening a sandwich case, he took from it a bottle, the lower part of which fitted into a silver cup, and pouring out some of the contents, approached her—

‘Allow me,’ he said, in dry, cold tones, ‘yokng lady, to offer you a little sherry— if you continue to weep to such a degree, you will do yourself harm—“the spirit may be willing, though the flesh is weak” —this slight refreshment will strengthen you,’

‘Thank you,’ said Marie, grateful in her desolation for any crumb of comfort; and she drank the wine.

The gentleman looked pleased — andwiping the cup carefully with a small, but very fine damask napkin, replaced the bottle, and locked the sandwich case very methodically—keeping his seat near our heroine—

‘Hem,’ he resumed, ‘the spirit may be willing to submit to sorrow, but the flesh weak to support spiritual tendencies—far be it from me to obtrude myself on such sorrow as yours, but suffer me in a brotherly spirit to ask, do you know where to turn for comfort?’

‘Indeed, I do not!’ exclaimed Marie, with sad earnestness; whereupon her companion entered into an elaborate exposition of the doctrine of justification by faith; during which, Marie’s thoughts wandered to St. John’s Wood—the routine of school, arid her comparative happiness there—of the dismay her friend and namesake would experience when she did not return—of the rage of Miss Redoubt, until recalling her thoughts by an effort, she caught the last words of her companion’s harangue.

‘Thus, however deeply died may be the sinner, the alternative of forgiveness or destruction is offered.’

But,’ exclaimed Marie, conscious, poor child, of having been so much more sinned against than sinning, ‘I have not done wrong—not intentionally!’

‘Pardon me,’ returned the iron-gray man, ‘those words prove the immeasurable distance you are from truth;’ and he again plunged into a doctrinal disquisition, from which Marie’s thoughts soon wandered.

‘All this,’ her companion was saying when she again listened to him, ‘seems strange no doubt in your present frame of mind, but do not, I beseech you, let my words pass from your memory. We know not what merciful design may have thrown us together.

You are very, very good, to speak to me so kindly,’ said Marie, with sad meekness, ‘and I believe you have done me good.’

The stranger looked compassionately at her out of his keen, cold, grey-blue eyes.

‘You have friends to meet you at London Bridge, I presume?’ he said.

Marie shook her head. ‘I have no friends or relations here—I have come to England to earn my bread, and scarce know how to set about seeking it.’

Ah!’ returned her questioner, ‘I thought you were not English; but I fear, if you have no friends or recommendations, you will find it very hard to make out a living.’

‘God will help me,’ said Marie, with vague piety, feeling that she must not betray herself too far.

The gentleman appeared anxious to find out some more particulars of her story; but she baffled him by a simple pertinacity.

‘I do not wish to say anything more about myself, even to one so kind as you are,’ she said.

‘Far be it from me to intrude,’ returned the stranger, with a shade more coldness; ‘I thank you,’ said Marie, ‘I shall keep it in memory of you, though we shall probably never meet again.’

‘Hem,’ said her companion, relapsing into rather gloomy silence, possibly mortified at the ill-success of his philanthropy.

After a while, Marie, wearied and exhausted, dropped into an uneasy slumber.

Trains passed in more rapid succession — houses grew thicker — tickets were taken — and they rushed, panting and ‘Can I do anything for you? Direct you to an hotel?’

‘No, I thank you. Nothing!’

CHAPTER XIII.

It was unusual to see Sir Frederic Compton descend the stairs at Morley’s before noon. However, there he was, fully attired, and stepping into a ‘Hansom,’ as the band of the clock reached 10.30 on the morning after the disastrous disclosure in our last chapter.

He had a downcast, though resolved, air; his bright black eyes looked sad, and the very tones in which he gave some parting directions to his servant had in them an unwonted heaviness.

To No. —, Mecklenburgh Square—

And the horse’s head was turned in a direction opposite to that usually taken by horses in Sir Frederic Compton’s employ, for he was more wont to receive than to pay visits to his grandfather.

Mr. Foster piqued himself on being the type and model of a British merchant— ‘all of the olden time’ — and abjured modern habits, unless specially comfortable, and modem speculations, unless extra safe and profitable; affected simplicity of manners, and ostentatiously boasted his humble position, while he adored tufts in his inmost heart, and deferred to his own grandson because he had a handle to his name.

He lived in a spacious house in Mecklenburgh Square; wore a blue coat with a velvet collar, a yellow waistcoat, and a shirt frill; and piqued himself on his old-fashioned politeness.

He had risen from an elaborately set-out breakfast-table, and was in the act of drawing on his gloves (doe skin), while a butler, of splendid proportions and funereal aspect, held his hat, when another servant announced—‘Sir Frederic Compton.’

‘Eh? what? My dear boy,’—and his lips extended to a complimentary simper, which displayed a brilliant set of teeth, first-rate in cost and quality.’

‘It is so difficult to find you young men of fashion, that I have almost given up the idea of calling at Morley’s, though I have been anxious to see you and hear —Eh? what’s the matter, Sir Fred? You don’t look quite the thing.’

‘Oh, I am all right myself sir; but— ah!—in short, I am rather in the blues about my chum Neville. I—but let us go into your study: I want to speak to you.’

‘Ah! God bless my soul! You haven’t —you haven’t been lending him money? Come along.’

And he proceeded to a room at the opposite side of the hall. A melancholy apartment, with a dusky Turkey carpet, fitted with dark-polished oak, bronze ornaments, and a goodly array of solemn tomes in rich, sombre bindings. There was an inkstand on the table, but the ink was dried up, and the pens split‘Sit down, my dear boy, sit down,’ said Mr. Foster, rather fussily, and looking at his watch. ‘I have an especial appointment this morning, and can give you but a few minutes, so just let me know your errand at once.’

‘Well, sir,’ began the embarrassed young Baronet, who had been diligently rehearsing ‘beginnings’ since he first woke, and now found them all melting away at the critical moment—‘I want you to do my friend Neville a good turn with his brother, who will not refuse Here Sir Frederic stopped abruptly,feeling he had but opened the approaches.

‘Ah! hum! My dear Fred, your explanation is hardly clear. Your friend has made an imprudent marriage in hopes of bettering himself — curious method, eh?’

‘I mean,’ interrupted the Baronet, ‘he has been playing rather high.’

‘A. gambler!’ repeated Mr. Foster, aghast with virtuous indignation. ‘Admit a gambler into the Bank? You are not serious, Sir Frederic?’

‘But, grandfather, what is the poor fellow to do?—and his wife a beautiful girl.’

‘Well, I suppose Captain Neville understood his own position, and is certainly old enough to take care of himself. What business had he to make an imprudent marriage? and what induces you to take such an interest in him? There is something under all this,’ added the Banker, with more shrewdness than might be expected from his constant simper and fussy manner.

‘Well, sir, he was always a great ally of mine,’ exclaimed the warm-hearted young man; and, in short,’ he continued, rushing into it, ‘his marriage was all my fault, and I must stick by him.’

‘Your fault?’ exclaimed Mr. Foster, turning pale with sudden apprehension. But you said an imprudent marriage. Who—who is the lady?’

I am in for it now,’ thought Sir Frederic. ‘Her name was Delvigne,’ he said, slowly.

‘Delvigne? Ha!’ returned Mr. Foster. ‘What, the French teacher?’

The Baronet bowed.

‘Hum! ah! Curious circumstance. Same name, eh? My dear boy, he fancied he had trapped the heiress; is it so? Ha! ha! ha!—the biter bit—a very facetious occurrence. But stay, Fred. How was it your fault? You could not have misled him? ‘Faith! I did not, sir: and there’s the mischief.’

Why, Sir Frederic, I shall begin to fancy you wanted to help him to the wife I had intended for you.’

‘Just so, sir,’ returned Compton, restored to self-possession by the revelation.

Hear me, my dear grandfather. I was, as you, must be well aware, much averse to matrimony of any kind. I knew you would have to look out another husband for your ward, if I would not have her. Neville is a capital fellow, and would be a steady one, if he had a chance—a wellborn gentleman, and in love with the girl, who had money enough for both. By Jove! I thought I was securing her happiness and my own freedom by the same stroke. So I took Neville to Mrs. Coleman’s and the governess was so decidedly handsome and ‘Do not talk to me, sir,’ interrupted the Banker, seriously angry with his fashionable grandson for the first time in his life. ‘It was an unprincipled plot, and would have disgraced you had it succeeded. To deceive your nearest relative and—’

‘As to you, sir, I am really sorry, and apologize. But the girl would have been all right with Neville; at least, your ward would. I am not sure that it won’t go hard with poor Marie. Neville was in a devil of a mood, fancying she had somehow deceived him. But look, sir,’ continued Compton, gathering courage as he proceeded—‘How much worse it might have been! Neville might have carried off your ward, and then ten to one but I would have married the governess. I can tell you, I was half in love with her as it was; and your note, sir!—Come! that was at the bottom of the mischief.’

‘It was the saving of us,’ murmured Mr. Foster; ‘and now to come to me to assist this unprincipled scamp of a friend of yours! Really, it is audacious!’

‘Remember what might have been. Come, my dear grandfather, try and forgive me; you know the heiress is still available. Do think if you can’t give Neville a lift Let me lend him the capital to put into your concern, and I’ll answer for his steadiness. He is the soul of honour: and—come now—I see you are in a hurry—do me the favour of dining with me to-day, and we will talk the matter over more calmly.’

The old man was always flattered by an invitation from his grandson, and said, with a pleased laugh—

I am too old for so gay a man as you, Sir Fred. Besides, my partner, your friend’s brother, who was with me in Paris about that forgery matter which took me off so suddenly, could not leave me, but was to return last night, and dines with me to-day. I tell you what; come to dinner with me yourself and then we will both attack him. He is a taciturn fellow, rather; but he might be induced to give Captain Neville a lift. And now I must go to the City: at 6.30 remember—not a, moment later. But how,’ he asked, ‘how did Neville find this out—that he had got hold of the wrong party; and you—when did you hear?’

‘Why, you see, they were married the day before yesterday, and I thought they were safe off to the Continent; when, yesterday, on returning to the hotel to dress for dinner, I found Neville pacing up and down like a madman. He had discovered all that morning, and had rushed off to me. It was a nasty business, I assure you. I soothed him the best way I could, promised to see Cox about the sale of his commission, and persuaded him to return J» his poor wife, whom I pity,’pon my soul! He started at some extraordinary hour this morning, and will bring her up to-night probably. I hope to have some good news for him.’

‘It was infamous—abominable—but— began Mr. Foster.

‘Did not succeed,’ put in the grandson. ‘Plenary absolution, if you please, sir,and 6.30 sharp for dinner. I’ll be punctual. By Jove, sir, your port would induce a more careless fellow than myself to be up to time!’

‘Be steady, my boy—be steady,’ said the old gentleman; and shaking his grandson’s hand with renewed cordiality, he stepped into his brougham and drove off.

‘Thank God, that’s over!’ said Sir Frederick, to himself. ‘I must do all that’s possible with the brother. Poor Neville! I couldn’t leave him in the lurch after such a sell as that.’

So thinking, he started in the direction of the Army Agent’s, to deliver a note from Neville, and put things en train for the sale of the commission, which they had fondly hoped had been averted.

CHAPTER XIV.

To Sir Frederic’s disappointment, he found, on reaching Mecklenburgh Square with the required punctuality, at 6.30, that he was to have a Although Sir Frederic regretted the loss of so genial an opportunity as an after-dinner confabulation, he breathed more freely, and enjoyed the substantial fare set before him with a keener appetite.

The cloth had scarce been removed, when a sound of wheels pausing at the door, and the murmur of voices in question and answer, were heard. The next moment the grave butler presented a note, observing,

‘Brought by your own man, Sir Frederic.’

‘From Neville!’ cried the Baronet.

He opened and read—

‘Dear Compton,

‘Come to me as soon as possible on receipt of this. I cannot face your grandfather.

‘In great agitation, yours,

‘Guy Neville.’

Sir Frederic went out hastily into the hall.

‘Is Captain Neville alone?’ he asked of his servant.

‘Yes, Sir Frederic.’

‘Ha—and at Morley’s?’

‘Yes, sir; and I have a cab to take you back.’

‘I will be with you directly,’ said his master, re-entering the dining-room. ‘I must leave you abruptly, sir,’ he said, addressing Mr. Foster. ‘Neville is in some new scrape, and wants me immediately.’

‘Really, Sir Fred! I do not see the necessity of your transforming yourself into Captain Neville’s factotum and man of business. Why not let him get out of his scrapes as he got into them?’

‘But, grandfather, I got him into them, and I’ll pull him through if it is to be done. You are very angry, of course I can’t wonder; but I acted for the best; and if we had not made the mistake at starting—but I must not discuss it— ' come, shake hands, sir, and forgive.’

He gave his grandfather’s hand a hearty pressure, and left him.

Neville was sitting at the table with some semblance of dinner before him, when Sir Frederic entered the room. He looked haggard, dishevelled, and hard.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I have a new complication of difficulties. She’s gone,’ he concluded, rising, and coming to his friend, he wrung his hand—‘She’s gone.’

‘Who is gone, for Heaven’s sake?’

‘Marie—my wife. This is the mode she has taken to prove her sincerity! Yet,’ and his tone softened, ‘I fear I was hasty. God only knows to what desperate step I may not have driven her.’

‘But how?’ urged Sir Frederic. ‘What’s this?’

‘When I arrived this morning, about twelve o’clock, at Dover,’ returned Neville, ‘the maid, Wheeler, met me with a face a yard long, and told me that Marie had left about two hours after I did, saying she would go to her friends in London, and leaving me this note, enclosing her wedding ring;’ and Neville’s voice broke, as he threw the little packet on the table, and covered his face with his hands.

‘May I read it?’ asked the young Baronet, in a low tone.

‘Yes—read,’ said Neville, hastily.

‘“My own dear Guy,

‘“I have thought intensely what is best for me to do, and I have decided. Forget that you ever made the fatal mistake of marrying me. I return you my ring, the only token of our short union I possess. You shall never hear of me more—you shall never be burdened by me in any way. Surely your laws cannot hold such a marriage to be binding. Think of me as dead to you; but remember I never, never deceived you. You will find this out in time, and acquit me.

‘“But, Guy, I loved—ay, still love you fondly! None will ever love you bet ter!—and though I have unconsciously brought sorrow and misfortune upon you—though I am nobody and have nothing, I deserved your love. But that is all over now! God bless and protect you, and restore you to happiness and good fortune. Farewell, beloved Guy.

‘“Marie Delvigne.”’

‘She does not even sign herself by your name,’ said Sir Frederic, clearing his throat by an audible hem. ‘Poor girl! This is not the letter of a designing woman.’

‘Designing!’ cried Neville, snatching the note from Sir Fred. ‘Did you ever hear or know of so distractingly foolish a creature? Why, any woman, with agrain of common sense, would have known that once married, nothing save death or misconduct could break the tie; and though I might have used some unguarded expressions in the confusion of the moment, she ought to have known me well enough to guess I should return in a different mood.’

‘By Heaven!’ exclaimed Compton, ‘it’s an awful business. I can imagine a high-spirited, warm-hearted girl rushing away anywhere, from the sense of being a burden to the man who had married her by mistake. But let us try to think calmly what is best to be done. It is a frightful idea—the poor girl wandering about, with probably little or no cash, and—’

‘Good God!’ interrupted Neville, dash- ing his hand upon the table. ‘It is intolerable!’

‘What steps have you taken—or have you done anything?’

‘On hearing Wheeler’s tale,’ returned Neville, ‘I of course cross-examined her, and found though Marie had told her she intended seeking her friends in London, she had taken a rail ticket only to Folk-stone, and my impression was, that she took the steamboat, which did not leave yesterday till five o’clock, and crossed to Bologne. I immediately proceeded to Folkstone, and endeavoured to find some trace of her from the porters and people at the Station, aided by Wheeler’s description of her dress, but none of them had seen any person who at all answered to it. One man described a lady like Marie in age and height, but not dress. Now I am quite sure about the dress, and this porter could not remember whether she had gone on to London by the next train or not. I wasted several hours striving to gain some trace of the poor girl, and then hurried on here, intending to go to St. John’s Wood; not that I have much hope she would return there, but their knowledge of her habits and acquaintances may help me. At any rate, I wish to make it known generally that she is my wife; and hard up as I am, I will reward to the utmost in my power anyone who will restore her to me. Poor, poor Marie! I fear 1 have wounded her deeply.’

Neville stopped abruptly—the recollection of the agony in her large, soft, ‘look before you leap.’ loving eyes, raised so imploringly to him as he turned abruptly from her, rose up and nearly choked him.

‘To St John’s Wood—to the lady in whose establishment she resided?’ asked Sir Frederic. ‘ You are right, whether it lead to anything or not. But your best, and indeed only plan, is to place the matter in the hands of the police.’

After some further consultation, it was decided to go to Scotland Yard, and place the matter in the hands of the police, and then to proceed to Miss Redoubt’s.

As they drove towards St. John’s Wood, Neville long preserved unbroken silence, and the gay, genial young Baronet, unspeakably mortified at so sad a conclusion of his bright schemes, felt too uncomfortable and uneasy to venture an observation,

‘One of the most painful and humiliating results of this unhappy business,’ said Neville, breaking silence, ‘at least to myself, is to confess before a starched old schoolmistress that I have acted in so confoundedly unprincipled a manner; and then that other girl, the heiress, she will despise me, and, in short, I am in a very degrading position. But, by Heaven, I could stand anything except the idea of my poor Marie wandering about alone in her wretchedness, without a soul to give her counsel or to help her. Who could have dreamt of her flying in so decided a manner from a hasty word?’

‘And why the deuce,’ cried Sir Fred,

‘did you not keep your temper, and say, “Well I’ve got a charming wife at any rate, and we must try and pull through,” and you would have pulled through.’Gad— life isn’t so poverty-stricken, that there is but one way of being happy in it!’

‘Ah, Compton,’ returned his companion, ‘it is very easy to philosophize with well-lined pockets. You’d be of a different temper if you had nothing but debt and difficulty around and before you. However, let me only find poor Marie, and I too will think differently. Though where our food and raiment are to come from, Heaven alone can tell’

‘Ah! they’ll come, never you fear,’ said £ir Fred, cheerfully, ‘and here we are’— To the cabman, ‘There, No. 22, left hand.’

CHAPTER XV.

The time consumed by ringing the bell and applying for admission seemed of fearful length to the agitated Neville—but at length they were introduced to the presence of Miss Redoubt, awful and portentous as she loomed in the dim twilight caused by a pair of hastily - lit composites.

‘To what may I owe the honour of this visit?’ she was beginning with deliberate dignity.

‘Excuse me/ broke in Neville, ‘but has Marie, Miss Delvigne, returned?’

‘No,’ replied the bewildered lady; ‘I hardly expected her before nine o’clock. How—why, I trust, no mischance has befallen her’—whereupon Neville and Sir Frederic between them avowed to the astonished Miss Redoubt the criminal proceedings of the last few days.

It was a mangled, even an ungrammatical exposition; the friends were far too agitated to study graces of diction— but at length the whole truth was conveyed to their horrified listener.

Her first thought was not unnaturally the ruined reputation of her establishment She burst into a torrent of exclamations—

‘What an unprincipled young woman,’ she cried, gasping with rage, ‘divested of all feminine modesty and proper caution—regardless of justice to others, and the character of the establishment which sheltered her/

‘You’ll have the goodness to remember you are speaking to me of my wife,’ said Neville, sternly.

‘I must say,’ continued the infuriated schoolmistress, ‘that you are justly repaid for your unprincipled conduct—and the only reparation you can make to me for the injury your own, and your wife’s conduct has inflicted upon me, is to keep the matter perfectly quiet’

‘Certainly, madam,’ returned Neville, ‘as quiet as is consistent with an earnest search for the unfortunate lady/

‘The unfortunate lady will probably find consolation,’ sneered Miss Redoubt.

Hush! madam!’ said the young Baronet, gravely. ‘However justly annoyed, you should respect the state of my friend’s mind.’

‘I can only reflect on the serious injury he and his schemes have inflicted upon me. I would not, for worlds, that one of my pupils should know of the horrible depravity existing under the very same roof with them — nothing would induce—’

Here her harangue was interrupted by the door suddenly opening to admit the young heiress, Miss Delvigne, who, with cheeks paler even than usual, clasped hands, and a look of keen anxiety, came hastily into the room. Disregarding her gouvernante, she went straight to Neville, and laid her hand upon his arm—‘Where is she, what have you done with her?’ she ‘LOOK before you leap.’said; ‘I know there is something terribly wrong, or you would not be here.’

‘So! Miss Delvigne,’ cried the confounded Redoubt, ‘yon seem marvellously well informed. What is the meaning of this?’

‘Of course I know all about it,’ said the agitated girl, turning to her questioner, evidently, too full of her subject to regard the wrath about to be poured upon her— ‘Marie always confided in me. I knew she was to be married privately to Captain Neville, because his family would oppose it, and I thought she would be so happy, and that he was so good.’

‘Ah!’ groaned Miss Redoubt, struck dumb at this unsatisfactory result of two years’ careful training.

A most painful game of cross-questions and crooked answers ensued — which ground Neville into the very dust of humiliation, and in which the tact and determination of the heiress astonished Sir Frederic. At last she clasped his hand in the earnestness of entreaty—

‘You will tell me truth,’ she said. ‘Oh! do tell me all,’ and the Baronet, in as few as little-offensive words, declared the whole, dwelling strongly on Neville’s present love and despair—but Miss Delvigne, with a woman’s quick, instinctive sympathy, divined it all.

‘My poor Marie!’ she exclaimed. ‘How could you wound her, Captain Neville? It was base and unmanly; you must have spoken cruelly.’

‘He was cruelly situated,’ put in Sir Frederic.

‘And now.’ continued Miss Delvigne, ‘where is she? What can she be doing? Oh! find her, Sir Frederic. See, I have twenty pounds here,’ pulling out her purse, ‘give it to somebody to get her back—do something.’

‘Behold,’ cried Miss Redoubt, dramatically, ‘the pernicious effect of contamination. You forget my presence, Miss Delvigne—you put me aside.’

‘To think,’ continued the heiress, utterly disregarding her, ‘of her being alone, without a soul near to comfort her, and she loved you so much’ (to Neville)— ‘Oh! what shall we do? What shall we do?’ And she burst into a passion of tears.

Neville stood like a statue; and Sir Frederic, thoroughly moved, exclaimed,

‘Pray calm yourself! We have put the matter into the hands of the police, and believe me nothing that affection, perseverance, or money, can do to discover her, will be left undone.’

‘Can you tell me,’ asked Neville, in a low tone, ‘had she any money?’

‘Yes,’ sobbed Mary Delvigne, ‘I saw her put some in her purse on Monday night; she had twelve sovereigns, ten shillings, and a threepenny-bit.’

‘And,’ gasped the furious Miss Redoubt, ‘you knew all this, and never revealed it to me?’

‘Of course, I didn’t,’ returned the heiress. ‘Who would? No one, I know, except Miss Trotter, and she’s a cross, ill - natured, old thing, without any feeling.’

Miss Redoubt, overcome, sank back upon a sofa.

‘It would assist us materially,’ said Neville, ‘if you could give us some particulars concerning any friends or relations with whom she would be likely to take shelter.’

Miss Delvigne shook her head.

She was brought up by an old great-aunt—a severe, stingy old woman, who expected Marie never to cost her anything, and she has a cousin, Pierre something, in some ‘ But what is the aunt’s name and address?’

‘Madame Rouvigac—but I do not know her address.’

‘I am sure Miss Redoubt will not refuse what information she can give,’ said the Baronet, insinuatingly; at which appeal the incensed lady, after much abuse and solemn renunciation of the culprits, gave the name of the street, but could not remember the number.

CHAPTER XVI.

‘Good-evening, gentlemen.’ The speaker was a middle-sized, middle-aged man, plump, fair, somewhat simple in aspect, with light hair, a fresh, clean look, and very small, bright, restless eyes, of no particular colour. He was neatly dressed, and might be, from his general appearance, a prosperous clerk in some professional or mercantile house. The scene was the oft-mentioned room at Morley’s. Neville and Sir Frederic Compton were sitting at a table, on which were strewn writing-materials, papers, &c., and an eager expression dwelt on the countenance of each.

‘Good-evening,’ said Neville, turning in his chair, and taking upon himself the reply to this general salutation.

It was the day but one after their visit to Miss Redoubt. The interval had passed in feverish anticipation on the part of Neville, who, the more the difficulties of the search increased, seemed to see more vividly the disinterested simplicity of his wife, and long more ardently to recover his lost treasure, as he now felt her to be. He had written a long explanatory letter to her, to the address given him by Miss Redoubt, and impatiently awaited the result, although of the same opinion as Miss Delvigne, that his lost bride would cling to London.

And now he was at Morlev’s by appointment, to receive the report of that well-known and high-intelligent officer, Mr. Pim. That functionary laid aside his hat, and approaching the table, added to its encumbrances a small bundle of papers, folded long and evenly, and tied with black tape.

‘Well,’ cried the. impetuous young Baronet, ‘any trace yet?’

‘Why, yes,’ said the detective, slowly wiping his brow, ‘I think we’ve got a faint scent of her.’

‘But even that,’ said Neville, eagerly, ‘will be enough for a man so skilful, so practised as yourself.’

‘I hope so, sir; but sometimes the keenest men are baffled by some simple accident. However, after a deal of ex- ‘Ha!’ ejaculated Neville, go on.’

‘Well, gentlemen, I’ll not detain you to tell of all the people I examined and talked to, ay, and treated, at that big place, nor all the cab men I spoke to. It was very like looking for a needle in a bundle of straw; but at last I lit on a fellow—No. two, four, six, ought—as had took up a lady in black—all in black, mind you — from the 6.40 express, on Wednesday, but he was rather the worse of liquor, so that I didn’t get much out of him then, and I couldn’t see him nowhere yesterday; but this morning I did see him, and he says he drove her straight to “ Waterloo,” and she had just one box and a little bag. They arrived in good time for the 7.30 to Portsmouth, and she paid him two shillings without a word; a porter took her box, and he saw no more of her. Now, I cannot gather another blessed scrap about her. I have lounged and talked, and strove, but not a glimpse can I catch. The porters has no recollection of anyone. It’s very different in a bit of a place like Folkstone, and such a rush and bustle as at “Waterloo.” The cab-driver had no recollection of the porter as took her box. He was paid and went away at once, but I promised him a reward if he would give us any help.’

‘Right,’ said Neville, who began to pace the room. ‘What could induce her to go to Portsmouth (if she went there)? What connections has she in that direction? She might go by Southampton to France, to join her old aunt, in Paris.’

‘Do you feel any conviction that this lady in black ‘I fancy it was her, but I couldn’t besure. You see no one saw her face much. It was the height and the voice, and a something they all remarked. But I have lost time before, by being thrown on a wrong scent. You had better put an advertisement in “The Times;” you know best how to word it.’

‘I thought you had done so,’ exclaimed Sir Frederic.

‘Yes sir, we did so at once, but no result; and I think it was not sufficiently particular worded. Now, if this gent’— nodding at Neville—‘would compose it himself—’

Here the door was opened by the inflexible Simmons, who said, ‘If you please, sir, a young lady wishes to see you.’

‘A young lady!’.exclaimed Sir Frederic, to whom he addressed himself. ‘What sort of a young lady?’

Neville, turning a shade paler than before, paused in his walk, his heart standing still with a sudden hope.

Before Simmons could reply, a slight, girlish figure entered, and the young lady said simply, ‘It’s only me, Sir Frederic.’

They recognized, to their astonishment, Miss Delvigne.

I have got some intelligence—only a little—just now, and I came off at once, hoping it might help you,’ she continued, without greeting or pause, and untying her bonnet-strings hastily.

She was as pale as ever, but her large, black eyes blazed with excitement, and though nervous in manner, it was evidently not in the least from finding herself the only lady among three men.

‘Pray sit down,’ said Sir Frederic, colouring like a girl, and placing a chair by the table.

She held out her hand to Neville kindly but silently, and then, addressing Sir Frederic, who was looking involuntarily towards the door, as though expecting some one, said,—

‘No; there is no one with me; I stole away alone, I was so anxious to know something—to see you both. But I must tell you at once! This morning, returning from our walk, I stopped to give a trifle to poor Marie’s old Irish apple-woman, that sits at the corner near our school. Yow know it?’ Neville nodded.

‘And she began to talk of Marie, and ask when she would come back. I was surprised, and said I didn’t know, and she went on and said her little grandson saw her some days ago at the Station. I asked her what Station. “Waterloo,” she said. Her little grandson sold newspapers and things there, and I asked where he was to be found, and she said he went to a ragged-school all day, but took the evening papers to Waterloo Station. His name is Dennis Rooney, and his father lives in —oh, such a queer name; I have it written down;’ and she read—‘“Cross Court, Sheep’s Alley, in the Borough.” They used to live in St. John’s Wood, and the boy was often with his grandmother, so he came to know Marie—poor dear Marie!’ ‘Really, this is a great discovery!’ said the sanguine Baronet.

‘God bless you,’ cried Neville, ‘then you must be right in your conjecture’—(to the detective)—‘that the lady in black, you traced from London Bridge to the Waterloo Station, was Mrs. Neville.’

‘It looks like it,’ returned that individual, deliberately, unmoved by the feverish gleam of hope which animated the others. ‘The young lady was uncommon sharp, to come off straight. If we find your lady, sir, she’ll have done the best of the business. I must see this boy at once, and I’m thinking the best place to catch him will be the Station itself. You say, miss, he attends every evening with the papers?’

Miss Delvigne assented.

‘Could you describe him, miss?’

‘A little, starved-looking boy,’ she returned, promptly; ‘something like a spaniel that expects a beating, with a pile of rough red hair, like a bush, and a queer voice; there’s nothing else like it. I never could help laughing when he used to ask us for pennies.’

‘Oh! I’ll find him.’

‘Shall I accompany you?’ asked Neville, eagerly.

‘Lord, bless yer heart! no, sir,’ returned the detective, with uncompromising rejection; ‘ leave it to me!’

‘But you will return and let me know what success, to-night?’

‘Well, if I’m not too late; or, you know, I may have to go on to Southampton—may be, France.’

All this time Miss Delvigne sat listening, her elbows on the table, her hands supporting her head, her bonnet pushed back, her luxuriant black hair loose and straying in wavy locks amongst her thin, white fingers, all shyness and reserve vanished, absorbed in one paramount idea —her lost friend.

Sir Frederic stole an admiring glance at her earnest face, lit up into beauty by her unselfish purpose. What a brick of a girl,’ he thought; ‘who could have expected so much fire under that cold exterior?’

Promise him a reward from me,’ she said to the officer, emphatically; ‘and remember, he only knows me as “the other young lady.” Ah! if we could only find her!’ and the tears began to roll down her face.

‘Now then, sir,’-said Mr. Pim, ‘if you‘Probably,’ said Neville, ‘Miss Delvigne will help us here? She can suggest some especial wording which will catch poor Marie’s attention, and—’

‘Have you not advertised yet?’ she interrupted, in rather indignant tones.

‘Yes,’ returned Neville, mournfully, ‘but to no avail.’

Miss Delvigne clasped her hands with a despairing gesture.

‘You will try again?’ she said.

‘Certainly.’

‘Then advertise in French.’

Mr. Pim nodded approvingly.

‘Not a bad notion,’ he said.

‘Put “To Marie from Marie,”’ continued the young heiress, ‘and go on— Oh! give me some paper, and 111 write it I suppose none of you can write French?’

‘Not very grammatically, I fear,’ returned Sir Frederic.

‘Well, shall I put it as if from myself? She’ll be more likely to mind me, you know’ (to Neville) ‘because she Neville winced almost visibly under this unconscious rebuke.

‘Will this do?’ said Miss Delvigne, after writing rapidly for a few minutes. ‘To Marie from Marie. I have good news for thee, my friend! Come or send for them. Do not cause any more to grieve the heart that has loved you since the 3rdof June, 1858, when we first met. Write to M. D. Where shall I give the address?’

‘To my lodgings, No. 5, Cecil Street,’ said Neville.

‘You see I always called her Mamie, and the 3rd of June was the day I first went to school, and was crying like to break my heart, and she was so kind! Ah! who is there to dry her tears now ?’ and the warm-hearted girl burst into sobs. ‘Oh, never mind me,’ she gasped, seeing the dismay on her companions’ feces; ‘I put it in because she’ll know at once who writes.’

‘Well, I’ll be off then,’ said the officer, ‘and have this inserted to-morrow morning.’

Meantime Sir Frederic had offered Miss’

Delvigne a glass of water, and while she drank it, bent over to comfort her with a few hopeful, sympathetic words, when the door once more opened, this time to admit Mr. Foster himself.

CHAPTER XVII.

Mr. Foster looked fresh as ever—presenting his usual well-dressed, well-washed, well-cared for appearance. Nevertheless, it did not so much convey the idea of green old age, as of some patent preserving process, whereby a certain outer seeming is obtained by drying up the sentient juices, which, while they soften and mellow man’s nature, tend to exhaustion and decay.

He paused on the threshold, silent with astonishment at the group opposite to him.

‘Well, sir,’ said Sir Frederic, taking the initiative, and advancing with his bright, frank smile to meet the old gentleman, ‘you find us in conclave, and Miss Delvigne has most kindly and promptly brought us some very important information, which will, I hope, lead to the recovery of her friend, poor Mrs. Neville.’

‘Oh, indeed!’ returned the old gentleman, with his polite, indifferent simper, which meant nothing, and hid everything; at present, it conveyed the idea of profound indifference to the subject so near the hearts of the party he addressed.

‘Hope you’ll succeed, sir,’ to Neville, as if his pocket had been picked, and he was hunting the thief. ‘Curious case, very! The bridegroom sometimes absconds, ha! ha! the bride rarely. Well,y dear ward, and what are you doing here by yourself? What romantic scheme have you got in your little heart or head? but we must take care — we must take care and not run about alone like an errant demoiselle. What’s Miss Redoubt doing to let you wander away?’

He always addressed his ward in that peculiar soothing tone, considered by some elderly men as especially acceptable to young ladies and lunatics.

It always irritated, yet lowered her in her own esteem, and reduced her to that condition of shy reserve, from which only a deep motive, a strong excitement, could rouse her native, moral courage, of which she possessed a large share, united to a silent contempt for conventionalities, the result of her rather exceptional education.

She now changed colour, and said in an embarrassed tone, totally dissimilar from the collected manner in which she had discussed the measures for Marie’s recovery.

‘It is not Miss Bedoubt’s fault, sir; I went to my room after dinner, while she was hearing a German class—put on my things, and walked out—no one saw me, and I did not think about anything but how to get to Captain Neville, and tell him what I had heard—and, oh! Mr. Foster, Sir Frederic thinks we shall find her;’ and she brightened up again.

‘Well, my dear, you seem very enthusiastic about your friend; very amiable trait in youthful character, eh! Sir Frederic! but we’ll see, we’ll see. It’s a nice match for a lady in your friend’s position—she’ll turn up, no doubt.’

‘It has been a great misfortune to her,’ said Miss Delvigne in a low voice; but I do hope it will end well yet.’

Neville, who under his peculiar circumstances, felt the presence of any stranger an intolerable insult, here took up his hat.

‘I shall go with Mr. Pirn,’ he said to Sir Frederic, ‘to suggest one or two points on the way. You’ll find me afterwards at my rooms.’

For Neville, eager in his new economy, had declined his old expensive quarters at Morley’s, and had taken a diminutive lodging in one of the small streets leading out of the Strand.

‘Good-morning, Miss Delvigne; I feel we shall owe our success to you, if we succeed; and we He shook hands with Miss Delvigne, warmly, bowed to Mr. Foster, and left the room, followed by the innocent-looking detective.

Poor fellow!’ said Sir Frederic, looking after him; ‘he is much cut up, and has suffered severely. Yet,’ he continued, ‘had this poor girl not shown the reality of her story by the desperate step she has taken, I doubt that Neville would have thoroughly believed that she did not intentionally deceive him; he is inclined to suspicion.’

‘I hate suspicious people,’ said the heiress.

‘Well, well, it is a curious case—a very curious case—and it must take a large amount of faith to believe that—that in short the French teacher did nothing to forward a delusion which was so largely to her benefit.’

Benefit!’ cried Miss Delvigne, warming up. ‘Misfortune, you mean, sir! to be tied to a husband that don’t want you— why, it’s enough to drive one mad!’ and a flush of indignation swept across her brow.

‘Don’t excite yourself my dear,’ returned Mr. Foster, with an amiable smile. ‘The mistake was, I shall ever consider, a very lucky thing, by Gad! very lucky, eh! Sir Frederic?’ with a knowing look.

At which Miss Delvigne blushed and paled, with painful rapidity.

‘Far from it, sir,’ returned the young Baronet, gravely, ‘the whole thing was a misfortune from beginning to end.’

‘You meant well, at any rate,’ began Miss Delvigne, impulsively, when the recollection of her curious position respecting Compton rushed upon and silenced her.

‘Have you seen Neville’s brother today?’ asked Sir Frederic of his grandfather.

‘Yes, I have.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He thinks it was a conspiracy to entrap Neville. Ha, ha!’ simpered Mr. Foster. ‘He has his crotchets, but he is a shrewd man — first-rate business abilities — a man of the highest honour.’

If Neville finds his wife, he’ll do yet,’said Sir Frederic. ‘If not, he’ll go to the bad.’

‘I want to go back,’ said Miss Delvigne, suddenly and sadly, depressed by the glimpse of icy realities this short conversation had given her.

‘Well, and you shall,’ cried her guardian indulgently; ‘I will escort you myself.’

‘Thank you; and, Mr. Foster, don’t let Miss Redoubt scold me—I can’t bear it to-day—I—’ and she was obliged to hide her eyes in her handkerchief.

‘Come away then—don’t cry, my dear —don’t cry.’

Sir Frederic offered his arm, and led her downstairs.

‘Don’t despond!’ he whispered, almost tenderly, and pressing her hand as he placed her in Mr. Foster’s brougham— ‘we’ll find her, and you and I will dine with Neville and his wife in their own house before long. I’ll write you word how we get on. Do let me think of you as cheering up.’

Oh! what a look Hashed back into the young Baronet’s eyes — hope, gratitude, and reliance on him.

‘’Thank you—how good you are!’ she murmured, as he drew back to admit his grandfather.

And old Foster drew up the window with an irrepressible chuckle of satisfaction.

CHAPTER XVIII.

It was early morning at Saratoga Lodge, some three or four days after the close of the last chapter, that is, the house-bell had not ceased to vibrate under the hasty applications of butchers, bakers, and greengrocers. Mrs. Coleman, in a morning dress, was deep in account-books and bills in her own after-life, while from all household management, their natural and inevitable business, they carefully abstained.

It was a warm, glowing June morning, the breeze that stirred the muslin curtains was warm—the perfume of mignonette came pleasantly from the boxes on the window-ledge, and the usual summer sounds of London—genteel London—a German band, playing not so badly for a street band, and the cry of “all a-growing, all a-blowing,” from itinerant florists? fell soothingly on the ear. The eldest Miss Coleman had desisted from a difficult passage of Thalberg’s, and Miss Eveline stitched on, absorbed in the beauties of a green ‘I cannot practise any longer, it is so warm,’ exclaimed Miss Coleman, a young lady who had already been out one season, and gathered large experience.

‘Don’t talk, Lizzy, till I count this,’ returned the younger‘What are It was the heiress, who, from her constant differences with Miss Redoubt, on the subject of her friend’s delinquency, found her sojourn in that lady’s renowned establishment not a little uncomfortable, and with Mr. Foster’s fullest approbation, gladly accepted Mrs. Coleman’s invitation to spend a few weeks with her ‘dear girls.’

‘Oh, no! it would exhaust me a great deal more to sit quiet when I feel so uneasy.’

‘If you were to take a difficult piece to practice, or an interesting book to read, it would relieve your mind; you are highly nervous, Miss Delvigne.’

‘Why, do you think I could rest and be contented, when that poor, dear, foolish thing is in the greatest trouble, perhaps in want, Miss Coleman? Think of that’ ‘Well, you know, it was all her own fault! It was very shocking of her to run off with Captain Neville at first, and worse again leaving him when she was his wife. Mamma, I assure you, is quite uneasy at your feeling so much sympathy with Miss-, Mrs. Neville (I scarcely know what to call her), and cannot bear the subject to be mentioned. Indeed, your friend is scarcely fit for us to talk about.’

‘Not fit for you to talk about!’ cried Miss Delvigne, the indignant blood mounting to her cheek. ‘Marie! the kindest, the truest! I tell you, Miss Coleman, you’d have run off with Captain Neville yourself if he had asked you!’

‘Ha, ha, ha!’ laughed the young lady, while she coloured with indignation; ‘you are very excitable, my dear.’

‘Sir Frederic Compton—Mr. Foster,’ announced a footman, and the gentlemen entered the field of action.

There was an indescribable though unexpressed antagonism between Miss Delvigne and her guardian; a sort of dim 218 consciousness on her side of being ever at a disadvantage. Now, as usual, she felt in some odd way awkward and ashamed of herself, as he entered.

‘Good-morning, young ladies! Good-morning! Fresh and charming, I see, as ever. Brought my grandson to pay his respects to you, and to give some tidings of her missing friend to my enthusiastic little ward. Eh! Mary, my dear. Youthful warmth, very pleasing to witness. Pretty well to-day, my love?’

‘Yes, Mr. Foster,’ returned his ward, dryly.

Meantime Sir Frederic had only greeted her with a profoundly respectful bow; and opened a running fire of criticism on Miss Eveline Coleman’s industry.

‘They put butterflies and birds, and all sorts of things, among flowers. Why don’t you try to caterpillar, Miss Coleman? There’s the ‘And my good friend Mrs. Coleman,’ asked Mr. Foster, glancing rather uncomfortably at this grouping of the party. ‘I should be glad of a word of advice from her excellent judgment. Might I venture to ask for a private interview? Ah— I—’

‘Certainly, Mr. Foster,’ said the eldest and experienced Miss Coleman, rising. ‘Mamma is generally occupied till about this time in the morning, but I am sure she is free now;’ and she left the room.

‘I must see you again, my little dove,’said the polite old gentleman to Miss Delvigne, ‘after I have spoken to your kind hostess. I must arrange about a residence for you. It shan’t go back to Miss Redoubt’s if it don’t like!’

‘I certainly shall not,’ returned his ward, with sudden decision, though in a low tone.

‘Hey! My fair ward is determined, is she? Well, well; we’ll see’—taking her hand and patting it—‘you can do what you like with your old guardian. He is soft—too soft—by half.’

‘Mamma will be delighted to see you, Mr. Foster,’ said Miss Coleman, re-entering. ‘She is in her own room. I will take you to her. Eveline, you are to go to the study and copy this for mamma ’—holding out a paper.

The young lady rose at once, took it, and left by a door at the farther end of the room.

‘I must see you again, my dear; wait for me. Fred, my boy, leave you in good company, eh? ’

As the door closed Miss Delvigne rose from her seat, and approaching the young Baronet, without a shadow of embarrassment, exclaimed,

‘What news have you for me? Why did you not write again?’

Because, unfortunately, I had no good news to communicate', then, I wanted to see you myself, and tell you what we have been doing. The boy you described has been found; but that is all. It took a great deal of trouble to discover him, and then nothing could extract a syllable 222 ‘look before you leap.’of information from him. It was impossible to convince him that the police could mean well to Miss—I mean Mrs. Neville —or to anyone. A detective and the gallows seem synonymous terms in the apprehension of the interesting race to which he belongs; and he has fairly baffled everyone. The extraordinary amount of unnecessary lies and fabulous circumstantial histories he has told, would supply a railway library. The detective thinks he must be heavily bribed to confuse everyone, and throw us off the right scent; but I believe it is only a native instinct to bamboozle the police.’

‘I knew you would never manage him,’ said the heiress, thoughtfully. ‘I tell you, Sir Frederic, no one will ever get anything out of him but myself. He wouldtrust me. Can I not see him? I might go to your hotel or the police-office, or better than all, to poor Dennis’s own home, if you will come with me.’

‘You ‘No, no; not here,’ cried Mary Delvigne, colouring. ‘They laugh at me, and they despise my poor, dear Marie; they say she is not fit to be spoken of! What do you think of ‘look before you leap.’

‘Certainly not,’ cried the profound judge; ‘I know it is what old people call imprudent, and wrong, and all that sort of thing; but I also know that, if I could ever hope a woman I loved would so far do wrong for me, the profoundest reverence and tenderness, and—’ The young Baronet hesitated and coloured at his own impetuosity—‘would never suffice in my estimation to prove my gratitude.’

‘Well, I believe you have a good heart,’ said his companion, with a grave simplicity, that at once charmed and mortified him; ‘still, if everything had been clear and open, all this misery would not have happened, and I suspect you were at the bottom of the mischief.’

‘I am afraid I was,’ said Compton, candidly. ‘God knows with what good intentions, and to a certain degree successfully; for Neville, whatever he may have said in the horror of discovering that—’

He paused, remembering suddenly the awkwardness of the subject.

She hadn’t any money,’ said the heiress, coolly, completing his sentence. Go on.’

Well, whatever he may have said in the agony of the disappointment, Neville was most passionately in love—in love, I believe, for the first time in his life. And had she the rank of an empress, and the wealth of an empire, I do not think he would have sought her if he was not. Certainly money was of importance to him; it is, more or less, to everyone; that is—I mean—’

And again the unfortunate Baronet felt stranded.

‘You are right—I dare say you are right,’ said the young heiress, thoughtfully. ‘Money is very necessary to some —to men especially; and I most heartily wish I could give all mine to Marie and Captain Neville. Have I much, Sir Frederic? How much? I suppose you know all about it’

‘I wish to God you hadn’t a And Sir Frederic started from his seat, and walked abruptly to the other end of the room.

The heiress looked after him, much surprised, coloured vividly, smiled, and composing herself, laughed outright.

‘Thank you,’ she said; ‘I believe it is a good wish. But to the point. Will you manage that I shall see Dennis? I must see him.’

‘Ask my grandfather yourself,’ said Sir Frederic, gloomily; ‘he can refuse you nothing.’

‘Now, you know that is all nonsense,’ returned Miss Delvigne. ‘Besides, I hate to ask him anything. I don’t like—’ Site paused. ‘I know I am rude; pray forgive me, but I don’t like him well enough, and he thinks me a fool.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Sir Frederic, laughing, and picking up a small charm, in the shape of a heart, formed of malachite and gold, which, in nervously ‘look before tou leap.’playing with, Miss Delvigne had detached from her chain.

She held out her hand.

‘No; you have been so rude and severe to me to-day, you must give me this as atonement.’

‘Rude to you?’ she cried. ‘How? I did not know; I never intended—you are very good. Ah! Sir Frederic, give it to me.’

‘Well, another time. Let me keep it now? On my soul, Miss Delvigne, if you knew how miserable I feel about this business of Neville’s, and—and something else, you would not refuse me any little crumb of comfort!’

Miss Delvigne was silent for a moment, then abruptly asked,—

‘How is Captain Neville?’

‘Oh! he is really to be pitied; he was in such despair when we could extract nothing from the boy, that he insisted the only way to get a clue was through her French relations.’

The heiress shook her head.

‘So I think,’ replied Sir Frederic, to that mute expression of opinion.

She is in London; I feel she is,’ said Miss Delvigne.

‘So do I, somehow.’

Here Mr. Foster re-entered, rather fussily, leading in Mrs. Coleman.

‘Must be off now, my dear ward. Hope my grandson has done his best to atone for my absence? Ha, ha, ha! Mrs. Coleman most kindly and considerately and hospitably has invited you to pass a month under her agreeable roof. Eh! I think I must leave you now.’

‘One moment, sir,’ said his grandson;

‘Miss Delvigne is terribly cut up at the. failure of our attempts to extract any trace of poor Neville’s wife from that boy. She is of opinion that she could get the truth from him, and is anxious, with your permission, and in your presence, to examine him herself.’

‘Do, dear Mr. Foster,’ exclaimed Mary, warmed out of her general coldness towards her guardian by her extreme anxiety; ‘do let me see this poor, ignorant boy; he will trust me!’

‘Who would not trust you, my dear young lady?’ said the polite old gentleman. ‘Well, we’ll see about it—we’ll see about it.’ Mrs. Coleman assumed an air of being deaf, and dumb, and blind, during the prosecution of so improper a topic.

Again Mary and Sir Frederic urged the impracticable Mr. Foster, who, with ‘nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,’ would only pat his ward’s cheek and repeat, ‘We’ll see, we’ll see;’ then, kissing her brow, took an elaborate leave of Mrs. Coleman and left the room.

Sir Frederic held Mary’s hand for an unnecessary moment, with a lingering pressure, and whispered,—

‘Trust me, I will manage it’

CHAPTER XIX

Baffled, fevered, mortified, yet still, over and above all other feelings, absorbed in his search for Marie, Neville dared not relinquish the hope of finding her. It seemed the only chance for him to keep from brain-fever; besides, like a true Saxon, there was a strong vein of common sense in his character, and he argued that in the long run detectives were rarely baffled.

The thought of the critical time which was slipping by sometimes made his brain reel with images of horror. The idea of Marie, bright and gentle, so pore, and so inexperienced, buffeted by the roughness of common life, without a friend or protector within reach, without money (for to Neville’s experience five or six pounds was scarce two days’ provision), alone in the world, thrilled him with positive pain.

Then, her tender grace and beauty would rise up before him with redoubled attraction, till he gnashed his teeth in agony at the probability that others, besides himself, might feel its power just as keenly.

And this bright, warm-hearted, high-minded creature, whose native nobility, like that of the thorough-bred courser’s, deceived you by its trusting docility into forgetfulness of its latent power, he had tortured, crushed, and flung away, because she had only youth and loveliness, and truth and affection, and bright intelligence —but no £ Bah! how he loathed himself! How all his difficulties vanished—all things would be easy to him could he but find Marie, reinstate himself in her good opinion, and exercise the divine right, once more to clasp her in his arms, and proclaim in the face of the world that she was his own!

But Neville showed very little of all this — his haggard face and fevered eye, the rare exclamations forced from him by the intensity of his inward sufferings, alone bespoke them.

His brother, partially coming out of the iron indifference he had maintained since‘look before tou leap.’ the crowning error of his sinning relative, had sent for Neville; and though in Guy’s present state of humiliation, there was probably the best chance of the brother’s managing an amicable interview, it had ended in instilling a double allowance of embittered prejudice into the minds of both.

Neville gave but a short sketch of it to his friend, Sir Frederic.

‘’Gad, sir!’ he said to the latter, ‘he thinks he can trample honour, and feeling, and every attribute of a gentleman under his feet, because his pockets are well lined. He spoke in that cool, collected, distracting manner of his, as though he had deliberately weighed every syllable he was saying beforehand, which makes it a deuced deal more insulting. I will not attempt to repeat his words, but they were of a character towards one, dearer to me than life itself for whom I am a thousand times more jealous, because I have placed her in so equivocal a position; a character, by Jove! that had he not been my father’s son, I should have horsewhipped him within an inch of his life. By Heaven, I doubt if we can have a drop of the same blood in our veins! ’

Dear Sir Frederic,

‘I have not seen you, or Mr. Foster, or heard from either of you for three days. What are you doing? and when am I to see Dennis? I know you never will get anything out of him without me. It is nearly ten days since my poor, dear Marie disappeared, and nothing done yet. What worthless detectives! I could have done better myself. I entreat you to take me to Dennis, or bring Dennis to me. What cruelty to keep a girl in slavery till she is twenty-one! Do make your grandfather agree to my seeing him somewhere—not here.

‘Yours sincerely,

‘Mary Delvigne.’

‘My dear Miss Delvigne,

‘We lost all trace of Dennis for two days — but they have him now. My grandfather will call for you to-morrow at eleven.

‘We are to meet at Neville’s lodgings. Do not accuse me of being a laggard! I have every motive to urge on that can actuate a man, and among them your wishes are all potent‘Command me at all times.

Yours most faithfully,

‘Frederic Compton.’

Sir Frederic and Neville were waiting at the latter’s lodgings for nearly half-an-hour before Mr. Pirn made his appearance. He entered the room with a less placid countenance than usual, bearing a slightly mortified and peevish expression.

He dragged after him the boy Dennis— a shade dirtier even than ordinary—with his face screwed into a whimsical look of despair, suffering, and injured innocence.

‘You’ll excuse me, gentlemen,’ he said, apologetically, ‘bringing this here varmint into your society—but if I take my eye from him one moment, he’s off—and its precious hard to catch him again. Stand in that comer, you young rascal! and don’t stir till I give you leave! It’s my belief, sir’ (to Neville), ‘that he knows a deal more than you think; but he’s such a blockhead, he won’t understand that the best thing for all parties is to make a clean breast’

‘Ah, good gentleman!’ whined Dennis, with an indescribable mixture of London twang and Irish brogue, ‘sure, I’m a poor orphant! why do yer let him be always a torturin’ o’ me? I’ve no peace, night nor day—and I’ve lost mee characther at the Station thro’ having the likes of him inquirin’ after me! There isn’t a respectable boy’ull give me browns for a sixpence— 240 ‘look before you leap.’oo—‘But, my man,’ said Neville, kindly, ‘it would be better for you to tell the truth about this lady, and get a reward, than to howl in that fashion.’

‘Lady! why then—look here now— sure, the divil a lady, good nor bad, I seen. It's an invention of his,’ jerking his thumb towards Mr. Pim, ‘to chate yes.’

‘He’s the most desperate young liar I ever came across,’ ejaculated that individual. ‘There is no use your beating about the bush. You know you acknowledged to seeing the lady we want.’

‘If I did, it was to save being worrited to death by yes! Didn’t I tell yes,

’ she took a first-class ticket for Hampton Court, and that wouldn’t satisfy yer?’

‘You rascal! you know you said it was a second-class to Worthing.’

‘Well—be Gorra—it was a third-class to Portsmouth! Will that plaise yes? Oh, murther! let me out of this!’ and, suddenly diving under the detective’s elbow, he made a rush to the door, which opened at that moment to admit Mr. Foster, who received the very unwelcome fugitive in his precise arms.

The old gentleman was speechless with indignation, and the detective, Neville, and Sir Frederic, eagerly captured and removed the aggressor, who was secured in a remote comer of the room, while Mr. Foster entered, conducting his ward.

She field out her hand to Sir Frederic and Neville with friendly cordiality, while Mr. Foster exclaimed—

‘You see, my dear ward, what curious encounters your amiable enthusiasm hurries you into. Faugh! my dear sir’ (to Neville), ‘could your man oblige me with a clothes-brush?’

Miss Delvigne meantime disregarding the chair drawn forward for her by Neville, advanced to the imprisoned ‘Don’t you know me, Dennis?’

‘Oh! then Glory be to God! Is it y’rself, miss, jewel? Sure, I’m safe now. Ah, then it’s meeself that’s been tortured an’ badgered! but the divil a word iv truth ever they got out of me! ’

This last sentence was uttered with a proud consciousness of merit.

‘Well, but you will tell ‘A’, then, what do you want me to tell?’

‘Listen to me. You know what friends that tall lady—who was so kind to you— was with me; you know we were always beside each other; but you did not know how I have cried and grieved not to be able to find her, fearing, Dennis, that she may have no money, or friends, or any thing.’

‘Och, murther! ye don’t say so?’

‘Yes, I do; and I must find her; and this gentleman here—her husband — is breaking his heart about her.’

‘Musha, then,’ returned Dennis, with another burst of tears—‘I dunno which of yes to believe; but, sure, I done it for the best. Ah, miss, honey! I’ll believe ‘Nevertheless, you knew what he meant,’ said Miss Delvigne, gravely.

‘May be I did, and may be I didn’t,’ returned Dennis, while the rest gathered round in deep attention.

‘Go on,’ said Mary.

‘Well, you see, I had just gone round to get a few coppers of change to the arrival platform, and there was rather a scrimmage—for the Portsmouth Express was just in—and first I heard her voice, which I knew as well as I knows granny’s, say—“Thank you,” to a bit of a country looking lad, what was patting down her box.’

‘Then,’ said Neville, in an agitated tone, ‘it was not on the ‘No, sir; I never see her, except at t’other side in the Station; and then I thought it a rum go—her not having a railway porter to carry her box. I was just going fur to offer to call a cab, when she hailed one herself; and then I had to run back to an old gent as was bawling for his change.’

This statement was evidently true—for Dennis never varied from it; nor had he more to tell, save that he thought, but was not sure, that the cab hailed by Mrs. Neville had a grey horse, and a “fat, ould driver.”’

It was now more than a fortnight since the missing lady had been detected by the lynx-eyes of Dennis, which added in no small degree to the difficulties of the search. Still Mr. Prim was again quietly sanguine.

‘You see, sir/ he said to Nevill, who in this re-awakening of hope could scarce steady his voice to speak, ‘you see, sir, we have ascertained two points beyond a doubt:—First, that the lady’s dress was different from what she wore at Dover; secondly, that she was at the Waterloo Station about nine, on the evening of Wednesday, the 25th. Now to find the cab-driver! It’s evident, that, after arriving at the departure side of the Station, she got some one to carry her luggage round to the other—and a clever dodge it was, too; it was a clear head to think of that, of course. Anyone searching for her would conclude that she had started by some of the down trains. I must lose no time in trying to find the cab and driver, for our future proceedings depend very much on this.’

He took up his hat—bowing to the rest of the company — when Neville stopped him.

‘For the future,’ he said, resolutely, ‘we hunt in couples. It is impossible to say how soon you may discover Mrs.

Neville, and under false impressions, without your possessing proper authority, she might be hurried into some rash step towards greater concealment, which might—. In short, I am with you.’

‘And,’ cried Miss Delvigne, ‘hadn’t you better take Dennis, too? He might point out the cab, or help you in many ways.’

‘Bless your heart, miss!’ said the detective, admiringly. ‘It is not a bad notion; especially as the young varmint has made a clean breast of it, at last’

‘There, Dennis,’ continued Miss Delvigne, placing a very acceptable ‘something’ in his hands—‘do your best, be a good boy, and I will give you more.’

‘Arrah, then! My eye! sure, yes are a rale lady, and I’ll find t’other un foryes, if she’s above ground. The Lord’ull reward yer honour.’

‘I really believe we have some clue at last,’ exclaimed Neville, his voice almost tremulous with hope.

END OF VOL. I.