'When her aunt came into the kitchen,' with an effort the deserted husband continued, 'she saw Mira burning something in the fire-it was in the summertime, you understand-and looking white and worn and fit to drop. She went up-stairs-he had to stop between the sentences containing so bitter a revelationand when Miss Aggles followed, she found her in a swoon, I know it was then she discovered-'

Doctor Dilton held up his hand; he comprehended that part of the story; he had gathered up that ravel of shame and disgrace and misery long before.

'And that same day,' he remarked, after saying she would remain over the night, she stole away, as I have heard, taking the child with her. From that time to this you have never heard tale nor tiding of her?'

'Save the letter bearing a foreign postmark, saying the child was well, and those two lines in answer to the advertisement, stating the child died long ago.'

Ah! commented the doctor; 'ah !'

'I returned to England ill, penniless. My place in Australia would, I knew, be filled up immediately the tidings of my supposed death reached my employers. What with the horror of the shipwreck; the awful privations I endured before that outwardbound vessel rescued me; the mental agony I endured, fancying -well,' he went on firmly, 'fancying how much she would suffer; for, doctor, her letters were affectionate. What did you say?

'Never mind what I said,' answered Doctor Dilton. 'I said the same thing to myself many a time when you were laid up due East. Ha! if ever man made a bad bargain, it was you. But you were telling me—'

• What I meant to tell was, that I had a long bad illness after my return; that I lay at Sunnydown Farm for long between life and death; that I was nursed as tenderly as mother ever nursed a child; that, during the winter following, the old man sank and died; that Miss Aggles agreed to follow my fortunes, and, scraping together what money she could, started with me for America. For years and years ill-luck pursued me. I tried place after place, scheme after scheme, till at length we found ourselves in Australia. There I had the great good fortune to save General Graham's life, and from that hour everything prospered with me. I was able to help him he helped me. His health was so bad that, without the assistance of one younger and more vigorous than himself, he must have succumbed. His position. was so good that he was competent to push me forward; and, as I told you, I am now really a rich man. Money always comes too late.'

'Tut, tut, tut,' said Doctor Dilton, using the friendly exclamation he found of so much use amongst his farmer patients, 'nothing in this world is ever too late, except a tardy guest at dinner. Cheer up; and now let us be going; there is not another drop of wine in the bottle, and we must not have a second.'

CHAPTER XXX.

THE VICTOR VANQUISHED. MRS. DAMIAN woke one Saturday morning with her mind in a ferment. There was reason for it. Ere set of sun, Gervase, now on his way from the Continent, might possibly arrive. She was consumed with impatience to see some first-fruits of her machinations, and was already pondering what her next step had better be. To undermine this girl's fatal influence over her son was all she lived for at present, and to that end all means were holy. The grand thing was to gain time; to sow, no matter how, the seeds of discord and distrust. So much, she thanked Heaven, she might reasonably hope soon to see accomplished.

The post brought her a copy of that day's Firefly. She fell upon it with avidity, then stopped short. Who had sent this? It was addressed in an unknown hand. She opened it in haste, and was met at once by the expected large-print memoir, carefully marked out by the sender.

She read it through, with an odd blank look, like one who has broken his teeth on a nut, and finds it-hollow.

The leading facts of Laurence's public life were simply and accurately stated, without a word of impertinent comment, or or the shadow of disparagement anywhere. Gracious powers! If her son's fiancée had been a princess from the most rigidly exclusive

of German courts, this 'introduction' could not have been more deferential in its tone and language. No cheap flattery even; not a line at which fastidiousness itself could take exception.

Mrs. Damian tossed the paper aside in a pet; then put on her spectacles to look at it again. Why was that paragraph underlined?

'Strangest of all, perhaps, is it that she should have so few calumniators and detractors. But it must be a venomous nature, indeed, from whom her peculiar individuality would fail to draw the sting. So far, her only enemies have been such as knew nothing about her, either as a violin-player or as Laurence Therval.'

A distinct apprehension seized her. Now, first among her unread letters, she spied an envelope addressed in the same unfamiliar hand. She tore it open:

'Madam,-The unworthy writer of these few lines of introduction, offered to a charming young artiste, makes no apology for forwarding them to you, as to one not uninterested in her reception in this country. He has reason to think certain facts have reached your ears, which have been travestied into fictions. It will, I know, give you the sincerest pleasure to hear that they have deceived no one. The particulars of the affair I allude to reflect honour on Mdlle. Therval, and no dishonour on Baron Miramar, who

was a suitor for her hand, and sued in vain. It is rumoured that another has been more fortunate. I mention this as it has helped to trace the mischief to its

source.

'Informants who wish to remain incognito should take better precautions. The statement, as it reached me, is now in the possession of Mdlle. Therval, together with the name of the mischiefmaker.

'If you desire that this matter should go no further than ourselves, let me suggest your calling on Mdlle. Therval, at Parkstreet. She is generosity itself, and an appeal to her kindness might not be in vain.-Faithfully yours,

'CHARLES SPARKLETON.'

Mrs. Damian was aghast. This man, she had forgotten she ever knew him. Hers was a slippery memory for some people; but she had taken care to engrave herself in his by some social slight he had never forgotten. She was apt to offend people in this way, and in this case the victim was not of a forgiving disposition. Seldom in his life had he been happier than when writing that letter; but the effect far exceeded his

hopes of revenge. She was stunned by his audacious impertinence, exasperated by her defeat, then sickened by a fear that swallowed up all other sensations. The weapon she had made use of -careful not to ask first if it were a lawful one-had broken in her hand; but that was not what troubled her. Her conscience was old and tough; and to gain her point in this instance, she would have gone by any crooked ways that promised to lead to her goal.

The matter was that she had failed, and that her hand had

been recognised in the affair. Even Sparkleton was far from realising what an awful nightmare he had conjured up by his last

sentence.

Gervase and Laurence were in communication no doubt. He might arrive in England any moment, and possibly rush to her first. All might come out, andthe miserable woman turned giddy as she saw the portion she had fairly and inevitably earned. Hate, disgust, contempt, and entire alienation from the single human being whose affection was of worth to her. The thought drove her frantic, and would not leave her for a moment. Amy came fluttering into her mother's room. The papers and letters were thrust hastily out of sight, but not so Mrs. Damian's distraction. She pleaded a headache, anything to account for her inability to attend as usual to the business of her daughter's trousseau, which was detaining them in town. The afternoon came, and she sent Amy out driving with Diana. Solitude was a relief, but only at first. She tossed about on the sofa, then paced the room feverishly, questioning herself. What could she do? Dared she wait-leave it to chance? Towards four o'clock came a telegram from Calais that decided the matter:

'Expect me this evening.GERVASE DAMIAN.'

A kind of panic seized her and spurred her to action. Sooner humiliate herself to Laurence, who knew all, than to Gervase, who was, and might yet be, kept in the dark.

Laurence had a concert that night, and was resting alone in the sitting-room, when a brougham, with the blinds down, drew up at the door. Mrs. Damian requested to be shown in, affirming boldly

that Mdlle. Therval expected her. The chances were that Laurence, if she had the choice, would decline the encounter. A figure seated by the window rose quickly at the startling announcement of the visitor's name.

Mrs. Damian had not thought the girl was so tall and proud and dignified - looking. During her drive the wildest hopes and conjectures had visited her brain. Gervase might have been accepted from mercenary or socially ambitious motives. All foreigners suppose Englishmen to be made of money. Gervase was not so rich as that. Perhaps Mdlle. Therval took him for a millionaire. His mother was ready to make him out a bad match, to prove that his position in society was not so very high.

But face to face with Laurence in person, she felt the straws she was clutching at were of the weakest. To be abashed in the presence of one so young was of course out of the question. But she was very uncomfortable.

'You are astonished to see me,' she began guardedly, anxious not to betray herself unnecessarily, but to sound the girl a little first. She had still a furtive hope that Sparkleton might have been amusing himself at her expense. 'I think I knew you in Rome; still I am probably the last person from whom you expected a visit.'

'I am indeed at a loss,' said Laurence definitely, to think what motive can bring you here to-day.'

'I know all,' said Mrs. Damian querulously, seating herself as she spoke. Laurence's evident wish to cut short their interview she was prepared for, and prepared obstinately to resist. All the clandestine communications you have been carrying on with my

VOL. XXXVII. NO. CCXXVI.

son, the ruinous engagement into which he has been drawn.'

'Has he told you?' she asked proudly.

'He has not dared. He knows it would break my heart.'

"Your heart' repeated the girl, with scathing emphasis.

Mrs. Damian winced. Blushing time was long past with her. Laurence was standing, still. Her attitude, her countenance, puzzled and half-intimidated her visitor, who modulated into a minor key of lamentation.

He

'He is my only son. All my hopes are centred in him. has always been our stay; and with his talents and advantages, he must, in due time, have risen to an eminent position. But he is impetuous, and it will be his ruin. The marriage into which he would let himself be'-something checked her, and involuntarily she corrected herself into which he would rush blindly, brings the downfall of all our hopes for him, and for his promotion and distinction.'

'It is his choice,' said Lau

rence.

'In a mad moment,' returned Mrs. Damian. A false step he would rue for the remainder of his life. Let us reason a little. I urge it in your interest as well as his. No good can come to you from marrying out of your station; and it would be absolutely fatal to my son's advancement in life. Are you bent upon harming him?'

'You, to talk to me of this! exclaimed Laurence, half beside herself with astonishment and indignation. Mrs. Damian's eyes were running away from hers all over the room to avoid their scrutiny. What have I done to you, that you should go out of your way to try and injure me as you have done?'

AA