upon there with all the good-nature which distinguishes those most blessed of mundane regions, induced him to remain quietly at Lumley during the beautiful months of spring. And he had enjoyed his stay. Like most other men who are members of society, he had hardly seen the country during spring since his boyhood, and now that he once more beheld how bright and beautiful it was, he came to the conclusion that the "season" was altogether a mistake. He began, too, during these days to look upon himself as a model man. His little affairs of honour, and his unfortunate difference with his wife, were set aside, and soon were totally forgotten. They were things of the past, and it would be hard, indeed, if a man were always to be reminded of the sins of his early life. The reformed rake became one of the most virtuous of men; and slowly Laura's esteem for him began to come back.

"A letter for you, my lady," said the servant, one bright May afternoon, when Laura was seated alone in her boudoir.

There was nothing very remarkable in the outside of the letter, and Laura opened it without a shadow of misgiving; but she had no sooner unfolded the sheet within the envelope than she let it drop from her hand as though she had been stung by it. The letter was unsigned.

Now, I suppose that Laura's duty was to ring for the servant, who had just left the room, and to order him to burn the ugly treacherous missive before her eyes. We are always told that this and this only is the way in which anonymous letters should be treated. We are all agreed in holding the same opinion, and yet -who amongst my readers would act up to it?

Certainly Laura did not. She fain would have done so, and for some minutes she eyed the venomous sheet of note-paper with unutterable disgust. But presently her curiosity was aroused. It might be better, after all, to see at least what the letter was about before she destroyed it. She lifted it up, and the first thing that she saw was her husband's name.

Once again there passed through her mind a misgiving as to the course she was taking. The letter-the mean, sneaking, anonymous letter-referred to her husband, the man she loved. Would it not be better to hand it to him unread, and to leave him to deal with it?

But as this thought crossed her mind, it was quickly followed by a sharp bitter pang of jealousy. Her husband had deceived her. She did not, she could not believe that he would deceive her again-he whose word of honour, as well as his vows of love, was pledged to her. But the recollection of his former sin was enough. She read the letter. Here it is :

"MY LADY,

"Excuse your humble well-wisher, who wishes to inform of what he thinks you ought to be made acquainted with. Your ladyship, the young woman is living in Lumley Hamlet, at this very moment, which her name is Grace Heaton; and those as ought to know, think that there's a deal more in it than ought to be. Leastwise your humble wisher thinks it well to inform you. So no more at present."

The letter might have been worse than it was. It was coarse, and inspired by a vulgar insinuation, but it was not untrue, in which respect it differed, as the reader will no doubt observe, from most anonymous letters.

Laura read it through a second time, with compressed lips, and knitted eyebrows. She comprehended clearly enough the fact that it was not written by a friend of her husband's, and she was annoyed, distressed, and perplexed to find that the girl whom she had believed to be far away, and who had brought so much unhappiness to herself, was living within an easy walk of Lumley Hall. But still she saw nothing in the letter to incriminate Arthur. She had his word that he had never seen Grace during their period of separation, and she could not believe that he had seen her since. Nevertheless she put the letter carefully aside, resolved to speak to her husband upon the subject before day was

over.

That very afternoon an unkind fate ordained a meeting between Grace and Sir Arthur Lumley. He had been visiting a friend at a little distance, who chanced to be still in the country, and on bia return he strolled through the pleasant lanes on foot, sending his groom forward. Suddenly, in a retired bye-path, leading towards his own park, he came face to face with the girl he had betrayed. On both sides the meeting was unexpected, though naturally it was Arthur who was the more surprised. Upon unhappy ruined Grace the effect was terrible. All her strength seemed to leave her; she stood as though paralysed, and then she clutched at the thorny hedge, in evident fear of falling.

It was not 'in Arthur Lumley to be deliberately unkind under such circumstances. My reader has seen that no man could do more unkindly actions than this gallant and ever courteous baronet. But he did them by deputy, and when an appeal was made to his sensitiveness, like that which was now conveyed to him by his eye, he was quite unable to resist it.

So, although he would have freely given a thousand pounds rather than have encountered Grace in such a place and under

VOL. VII.

2

such circumstances, he could not pass on coldly and leave her unnoticed. He approached her, and not a moment too soon, for before he knew how it had all come to pass she was lying insensible in his arms.

Did he, as he looked at the once fair face, now wan with suffering, and furrowed with grief, feel any of that remorse which the author of a great crime like that of which he had been guilty, might be expected to feel? It was his own handiwork which he saw before him in the wrecked beauty-ah! the wrecked life also -of Grace Heaton. Was he smitten to the heart with grief for the evil he had wrought? I think so: I hope so. There passed over his still handsome face a sudden spasm of pain. But the next moment he was framing excuses for himself, and wondering why a mere passing fancy, an "affair" which, in the case of any other man (so he thought), would have entailed no unpleasant consequences whatever, should have brought so much evil upon him--and upon her.

"Oh, let me die! Oh, sir, go away and let me die !" were the first words which Grace uttered, when she recovered her senses. Peter Dawson, who had been training her for months past in the noble art of revenge, would scarcely have been gratified had be been present when she uttered these words. The poor girl forgot everything now, but that she was in the presence of the man whom she loved, and that even to speak to him was a sin.

Why should you dic, Grace? You should not talk in that foolish way," said Arthur half-tenderly, half-petulantly. "You must take care of yourself and get well as fast as you can."

There was a woe-begone look upon her face as she heard these words that must have touched the hardest heart. It was a look which spoke of utter despair.

"No, no: I hope I shall never be well again. I hope I

shall die."

"You are very wrong to say that, Grace," replied Arthur sententiously, though not without a certain soothing influence in his tone. Then, feeling as though he must say something more, he added hurriedly: "I was very, very sorry to part from you."

Grace shook from head to foot when he said this, and turned towards him a face on which was written plainly enough, the agony which she was enduring.

Arthur could not bear to see that face. It wounded him in his heart, possibly, in bis self-esteem, certainly. He knew that he and he alone was the cause of her suffering; and he could not endure that she should think badly of him.

"I am afraid you thought me very unkind, Grace; but upon my word nobody could have been more sorry than I. I was

forced to do it, you know. But I shall always be your friend. You shall never want for anything." Still the girl only looked at him.

to have left her altogether.

The power of speech seemed

Arthur felt very uncomfortable, and yet with his characteristic horror of a scene, he shrank from parting from her. At length a happy idea struck him. He could escape more easily by promising to see her again, and then he need not keep the appointment unless he liked.

"I am afraid I must leave you, Grace. But I shall soon see you again. I must ask you some questions about yourself, and you must tell me if I can do anything for you. Will you meet me to-morrow afternoon about this time."

Grace assented in a whisper.
"And where shall the meeting be

here ?"

"No, Sir Arthur, if you would let it be at the 'Folly.' I should like that best."

A cloud passed over the baronet's face when Grace mentioned Lumley Folly as their place of meeting. But it was only a momentary one. The next instant he had recovered his composure.

"Yes: I should say the Folly is as good a place as any; but you must be punctual."

Then he kissed her he could do no less, he thought-and walked quickly away, satisfied at having escaped more easily than he had expected, from what he described to himself as a deuced awkward encounter.

Laura met him in the hall. He went up to her to kiss her, just as he had done on that afternoon in the previous summer when he came, as he now came, straight from the presence of his mistress to the presence of his wife.

Laura submitted to the kiss. She was not suspicious by nature, and in her heart she despised the letter which she had that morning received. Nevertheless she spoke of it, and spoke of it with a suddenness which disconcerted even Arthur Lumley's composure.

"Arthur, do you know that" she paused for a moment, her face burning with shame, and then proceeded bravely-" that Grace Heaton is living at Lumley?"

The baronet was completely overcome. It was not half an hour since he had kissed Grace Heaton's lips; and already some malicious sprite seemed to have conveyed the news to Laura.

No one could mistake the confusion and embarrassment which were exhibited on his face. Almost for the first time in his life his equanimity completely deserted him. Was his nerve failing, or was his conscience becoming more active? He did not know.

He only knew that he was trembling and white, and that Laura saw the state into which her words had thrown him.

Well would it have been for him if he had spoken the truth then concerning that meeting in the country lane, but he had not the courage, nay it must be said that he had not the inclination to do so. Like many other men he had become so habituated to deception and falsehood, that he instinctively chose the way which was dark and crooked rather than that which was light and straight.

"I do not know anything about her," the while every look, every word belied him.

"Arthur," cried Laura more passionately than she had ever done before, "you have deceived me, I see it in your face."

For once the placid temper of Sir Arthur Lumley was ruffled. He knew that in this matter of the chance meeting that afternoon he was altogether innocent, and yet he felt that he could not act as if he were innocent.

"I wish you would not be so foolish, Laura, I am speaking the truth."

"Your face contradicts you then. I knew you to be weak, but I little knew how dishonourable you were. I see it all now. You deceived me before, and you have deceived me again; you are deceiving me now."

"Laura, you do not know what you are saying. I have not deceived you."

"I am punished, properly punished," she continued without heeding his protestation, "for having trusted you at all. I said before that I could only be deceived once. I was mistaken. I I did not know how weak I was; but I know now."

"Laura, tell me what you mean, and do not talk in that way," said Arthur irritably.

"I mean that whilst you have been pretending to be filled with remorse, and to be thinking only of me, you have still been intriguing with this girl."

"By God, it's a lie," cried Arthur, fairly beside himself with rage and vexation.

"By God, Sir Arthur Lumley, it's the truth, and you know it." Husband and wife alike started when these words were uttered in a voice which both knew, but which neither had heard for months past. They turned and saw that Peter Dawson stood beside them.

Their conversation had taken place in the hall, where they had been utterly alone; but Peter Dawson entering unseen whilst they were speaking, had heard enough, and more than enough, for his purpose.