wonder to Laura, who, seeing no disposition in Blanche to flirt with other men, or even to notice the admiration that always awaited her, could not at all understand it. Occasionally she fancied that some event, of which she was ignorant, must have occurred to work so great a change in her brother's bright and trusting nature.

'It will all be different at home,' she thought; 'there will be no question of gaiety there, and mamma has promised to live at Etheridge for another year. Blanche will be delighted that we should do so, for her one dread seems to be the idea that she may possibly be dull.'

Laura could not imagine dulness at Etheridge with Spencer for a companion, and marvelled at the different way in which people are constituted. But her hopes as to the change which a country life would effect in her brother proved utterly without foundation, for though they all went to Etheridge for the autumn, Spencer would not make up his mind to remain through the winter, but went to join Mrs. Ellerton at Paris. This kind of life continued for more than two years, varied only by occasional visits to London, and still rarer ones to Etheridge, where Spencer seemed always more than commonly anxious about his wife. Every one marvelled at the change his marriage

had made in him. Rumours reached Mrs. Carlton and her daughter that Spencer was mad with jealousy, though no one ever said that his beautiful wife gave him the slightest cause for it, and it soon became an established fact that she led a most miserable life on account of her husband's unparalleled jealousy. It was said that he would carry her away in the middle of a ball for no reason, and that he used to shut her up for days together, and would not allow any one to approach her. People pitied her, and shrugged their shoulders when Spencer's name was mentioned; and while both Laura and her mother knew that appearances justified these remarks, they were, at the end of two years, wholly at a loss to account for it.

CHAPTER IV.

It was just three years from the time that Spencer first brought his wife to England that his mother received a letter from him, saying that they intended to join her in London the next day.

'I do hope we shall keep them at home now, Laura,' she said, as she gave her daughter the letter to read. 'They must be tired of this restless, wandering life.'

I

'I should think so, mamma. wonder whether if they had had children that would have kept them quiet?'

Their visit was, upon the whole, rather more satisfactory than usual; Spencer seemed less depressed, and Blanche less devoted to gaiety. But it was almost the end of the season, and London was thinning fast. The few who remained were very much occupied by a splendid fête that the Duchess of -tended to give to some foreign royalties who had been in England during the summer and were now about to take their departure.

in

There had been considerable discussion between Laura and Blanche as to the probability of their being invited, and when at last the card of invitation came Blanche was in an ecstasy of delight, and insisted on carrying off Laura at once to choose new dresses.

They fixed upon some to which Laura repeatedly objected on account of their peculiarity, but Blanche overruled her; and when the dresses were sent home Blanche put the wreath upon her head, and hearing her husband's step on the stairs, called him in to admire it.

'It is very fantastic, at all events,' he replied, indifferently. Where is it to be worn?"

about never letting me go out without him! I should like to give him the slip some day.'

'I am not sure that it would be a bad thing,' said Mrs. Carlton, 'for I should like Spencer to be, for once, convinced that we are equal to taking care of you.'

'Are you going to the ball at House to-night? I hear it is to be an early affair, so if you dine earlier I should like to know,' said Spencer, one day, as he stood, with his hat in his hand, wanting to go

'We must dine at seven. Will that do for you?' replied his mother.

'I shall be in time. Don't wait dinner for me,' he called out, as he ran downstairs.

Blanche was in such a restless, excited state that Laura wished more than once that the invitation had never come, or that they had declined it.

'You have not put on your finery,' said Spencer, looking at his wife when she came down to dinner that day.

'Of course not,' she said, with a loud laugh. 'Fancy dining at home in a gown trimmed with beetles and butterflies!'

'Oh, Blanche! do you think Spencer is deaf?' said Laura, putting her hands up to her ears. 'He really is not.'

Her husband looked at her attentively, and took her hand.

'Come upstairs with me, Blanche. I want to speak to you,' he said, very decidedly.

She made some little resistance, but soon, hanging down her head, followed him out of the room.

'What can this mean, mamma? said Laura, looking after them in dismay. 'Is not Spencer going to allow Blanche to have any dinner to-day?'

'I suppose he only wants to speak to her for a minute,' returned her mother, uneasily. Spencer's conduct with regard to his wife was so perfectly incomprehensible to Mrs. Carlton.

In a few minutes he returned, saying, that he feared Blanche was going to have one of her bad at

tacks of tic, and that he had given her the medicine prescribed for it, and had persuaded her to lie down and try to sleep.

'Surely she will be well enough to go to this ball, that she has set her heart upon?' said Laura, in dismay.

'Certainly not; and of course I shall stay at home with her.'

'We had better all do that,' said Laura, disconsolately. 'How very provoking! only I suppose it would be too uncivil. Shall I send Blanche's dinner upstairs? Surely she had better have some?'

'My dear Laura, do let me take care of my own wife. She wants nothing but sleep, and the medicine I have given her is for that purpose. I particularly beg that no one may go near her.'

Both Mrs. Carlton and Laura felt that they could not say any more, and the dinner proceeded in silence. Soon after Spencer went upstairs, and half an hour later came downstairs, saying that his wife was fast asleep, but that as he was going out by-and-by to get some medicine for her, he had locked the door of her room, to prevent her being disturbed.

'You don't mean that you have locked her in?' said his mother, in a tone of horror. 'My dear Spencer, it is so very unsafe-in case of fire, or even if she should want anything.'

'There is not much danger of fire to-night, and she will not want anything, as she will sleep for hours,' said her son, impatiently. 'I shall probably be at home before you go out, or, if not, just after. So you may be quite happy about her.'

Laura did not feel at all happy as she went up to dress. She did not believe in Blanche's illness, and thought it a scheme of her brother's to prevent her going to -- House. She could not bear to think of him as so changed, and dressed hastily, without taking any pleasure in the anticipation of the evening.

Just as she was leaving her room, she was startled at hearing a laugh behind her, and, turning round, saw, to her amazement, Blanche, in her ball dress, standing before her.

'Is not this a good trick?' she said, still laughing. 'I heard Spencer go out; I knew his step; and then I dressed myself so quickly, for my hair was plaited before.'

'How are you now, dear? Spencer said one of your bad attacks of pain was coming on. Has it passed away?' asked Laura, looking perfectly bewildered, and then, after a moment's hesitation, added, 'And he said that your door was locked.'

'I expected that,' said Blanche, laughing, 'and so kept my eyes tight shut, that he might think me fast asleep. He forgot the key in his dressing-room door; he locked the outside, but, of course, this opened both.'

'But you cannot go to the ball now he has forbidden it,' said Laura, in some uneasiness at her flushed cheeks and excited manner. 'Besides, you have had no dinner; you will make yourself ill.'

'Shall I? I don't want any dinner. I shall get supper there. And now I am going, going-gone,' she said, putting her cloak round her; and running downstairs she jumped into the carriage, which had just driven round, without waiting for Laura or Mrs. Carlton.

Laura, in great distress, stopped her mother, who was coming out of the drawing-room already dressed, and told her what had happened.

'Never mind, my dear; I shall not stop her going. I think it a very good thing to break through Spencer's morbid fancy. Let us go at once, before he comes home. He can follow, of course, if he likes.'

With considerable misgiving Laura followed her mother, and they were soon in the string of carriages that were going at a footpace to- - House.

Blanche looked more brilliantly beautiful than ever, and a buzz of admiration followed her as she walked up the room. She danced very well, and many paused to watch her as she and the young Duke of waltzed together. Laura thought she seemed in wilder spirits than usual, owing to her having played this trick upon her husband, but wished occasionally, as she caught the sound of her

voice, that she would not talk and laugh so much louder than was her wont.

As Laura went up the room to return to her mother, after she had been dancing, she saw her brother coming forward to meet her.

'Come with me, Laura,' he said, in a low voice. 'I want you to go and speak to my mother.'

He was very pale, and there was a stern look in his countenance that frightened her.

'I had no idea that you were here, Spencer,' she began.

'Probably not,' he said, bitterly. 'I am come to try and repair the wrong you have done me this night, in bringing Blanche here.'

'She came to my room, dressed, and said she was well, and mamma thought she had better come with us. What could I do?' she pleaded. 'All you can do now is to get her away. If you will go down and get into the carriage, I will bring Blanche down. I have called for it.'

'You don't really mean that you are going to take Blanche away, now she is quite well and enjoying herself so much?'

Something very like an oath escaped him, as he stamped impatiently on the ground; and Laura, now really alarmed, did not dare to make any further remonstrance.

His wife had not seen him enter, and started violently as he came up to her.

'I am going home, Blanche. You must come with me,' he said, taking hold of her hand.

She resisted at first, swaying herself backwards and forwards without speaking. Several people turned round and looked on in surprise. Spencer's dread of a scene increased every moment. He looked at her fixedly, and said something in a low voice, which seemed to have its due effect, for she made no further resistance, but, hanging down her head, took his arm and walked quietly away.

'Shameful!' 'tyrannical!' 'what a brute!' 'how can she bear it?' was murmured on all sides; but he did not appear to hear it, and walked quickly away.

There was a flight of steps from the ball-room to the corridor which led to the cloak-room. On this staircase was a large window, which had been thrown wide open to admit more air. As Spencer Carlton led his wife down these stairs, she suddenly disengaged herself from his arm, and, looking furtively round to see that no one was near, darted on to the ledge of the window, and, with one spring, threw herself out. Her husband uttered a cry of horror, which echoed through the house and was heard above the strains of the musicians, the noise of carriages, and the sound of the feet of the dancers, and then fell heavily on the floor, perfectly senseless.

'What had happened?' 'Mr. Carlton had dropped down dead, and his wife, in her terror, had jumped through the window,' was the impression of those who hastened to the spot.

CHAPTER V.

was

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Spencer Carlton was raised from the floor, and restored to partial consciousness, while search made for his unhappy wife. She had not fallen far, and was only tially stunned, as the window through which she had sprung opened upon the roof of a room which had been built out below and had been turned into a kind of balcony for flowers. Her arm appeared to be broken, otherwise she seemed to have escaped without any other serious injury.

Several gentlemen went to her assistance, and two of the servants attempted to lift her from the ground and carry her through the window. But she moaned so pitifully that they were obliged to desist. At last, one man, more powerful and more determined than the rest, took her up in his arms and laid her on a sofa, near to the place where Spencer was still lying. The sight of his pale face seemed to quiet her at once, and she crept to his side, and began to stroke his hands, crying quietly all the time. A beartfelt ejaculation of thanksgiving escaped him when he opened his eyes and saw his wife, whom he

imagined to have been dashed to atoms, alive and by his side. The arm which hung powerless by her side required immediate attention, and Mrs. Carlton directed that she should be carried to the carriage, while Spencer and his sister followed.

Shocked and dismayed, neither Mrs. Carlton nor Laura felt that they could speak to Spencer, especially as Blanche continued talking and moaning as the pain of her arm increased. It was now evident that she was labouring under a temporary fit of insanity. But Mrs. Carlton could not make up her mind to speak to her son on the subject, though he now knew that the wretched secret of his life could bo no longer concealed.

As soon as her arm would allow of it Blanche was moved to Etheridge; and then she fell into a depressed, melancholy state, and her health seemed gradually to decline. As time went on, symptoms of injury to her spine, unperceived at the time, showed themselves, and she became partially paralyzed. Her husband never left her, and his mother saw with anxiety how much this protracted nursing was telling upon him.

Surely you will allow us to help you to nurse poor Blanche,' she said to him one day, reproachfully. 'You are fagging yourself to death.' 'I am well enough, mother. I do not wish to keep you away from Blanche, but I know best what she means. I think she gets weaker every day. That fall was a great shock to her. You have been so kind and so considerate, in never questioning me about her, that I should like you to know all, and how wretched my life has been.

'Four years ago, I became so madly in love with Blanche, from the first moment I saw her, that I felt I could not live without her, and used every possible endeavour to gain her affections. 1 was with her constantly, but she never seemed to understand that I loved her; and at last I asked her mother's permission to be allowed to speak to her, and implore her to be my wife.' 'How could her mother allow

you to do so?" said Mrs. Carlton, indignantly.

That is a question for her own conscience,' he replied, with a sad and bitter smile. There was an odd kind of hesitation in her manner at first, but afterwards she made no difficulty, and attributed Blanche's indifference, as I did myself, to her extreme youth. Now I look back, many things strike me as strange which then, in my infatuation, I scarcely noticed. Our marriage was a hurried one, as you know; and Mrs. Ellerton would not listen to your wish that we might come to England. As soon as we were married we went to Naples, and in about six weeks one of these paroxysms came on. I laid it then to incipient fever, and rejected the notion of the doctor, who apprehended that the symptoms were those of hereditary insanity. I told Mrs. Ellerton the doctor's opinion, when, to my horror, she confessed that he was right, and informed me that her husband was confined in a lunatic asylum. She excused herself by saying that she had believed that Blanche had nearly outgrown this tendency, and was persuaded that the climate of Italy would complete the cure, which she affirmed it had already begun. She told me that these attacks were the cause of Blanche's extreme delicacy, and their leaving America. She implored me to bear with her, as she was convinced that she would gradually recover. There was no need to counsel me to be patient with her, poor darling! but you can imagine how heart-stricken I was, and what my life has been ever since. While it was possible, I concealed this. I heard all that was said and believed against me: how I was supposed to ill-treat one whom it was the sole object of my life to shield and protect; but I heeded it not. There was no longer any happiness for me in life, and I cared for nothing that the world might say; for, say what it might, nothing could exceed my loneliness and misery. It grieved me most to see how you and Laura misjudged

me; and yet for her sake, and for the possible chance of a child, I bore all in silence. Now you know why I never allowed her to go out without me. It was no "morbid fancy" that made me so careful of her. Any excitement had a tendency to bring on one of her attacks, and from long habit, and closely watching her, I had learned to detect the very first symptoms. By quiet and medicine these attacks are under a certain amount of control, and they now seldom last many days. My conduct throughout may have been mistaken,' he said, with a deep sigh, 'but I have lived this life for her sake-not for my own.'

Mrs. Carlton could not reply. She was weeping too bitterly for the son whose life had been so strangely blighted.

Dearest Spencer,' she said at length, 'now you will let us help you to bear this trial. You have borne it alone far too long.'

He grasped his mother's hand without speaking; and from that day she shared her watch over the wife that was fading away so slowly and surely before their eyes. Blanche was now always quiet, occasionally quite rational, but she grew rapidly weaker, and it could scarcely be said to be a grief, when she was laid in the old church at Etheridge; for they who loved her knew that sorrow and danger were, for her, over in this world, and that they might think of her as at rest.

It was many years before Spencer Carlton at all recovered the bitter trial of his young life; though, long after, the merry voices of children were heard once again in the old castle at Etheridge. He was now a grey-haired, middle-aged man, and had married again, late in life. His present wife was very different to her he had so loved and mourned. She was the daughter of the clergyman of the parish, a kind-hearted, sensible woman, without either beauty or accomplishment. With her he led a quiet, useful life; but the impress of his great grief had left indelible traces upon him, which were never effaced.