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      Yes. For you have loved her as I loved her untiluntil she was false to me.

      "Ah!" chanted the old lady, with a fierce glint and a mock-persuasive smile, "add the crowning word, the capsheaf. You have the stamina to do it."

      "You should have looked to Victorine. She wants the boy to go and her dad to go with him.""Captain: There is bitwin us no understanding excep'"--the voice grew tender--"that there is no understanding bitwin us." But she let her eyes so meltingly avow the very partnership her words denied, that Irby felt himself the richest, in understandings, of all men alive.

      She really is the most brilliant creature I have ever met! she said. One quite forgets, while listening to her, that she is only a girl. No wonder you are so proud of her, and Trafford is so devoted. It really makes one wish that our own girls could go out for a time to the wilds of Australia on the chance of their acquiring something of the dear marchionesss spirit.

      "Yet you think--the great principle of so-much-for-so-much to the contrary notwithstanding--he really owes it to her to--"

      "No use," chanted Madame with enjoyment; "the other one is not coming."

      He is not here, she said in a low voice.


      To none was this house more interesting than to Flora. In her adroit mind she accused it of harboring ancient secrets in its architecture, shrewd hiding-places in its walls. Now as she stood in the panelled drawing-rooms awaiting its inmates, she pointed out to her seated companion that this was what her long-dead grandsire might have made their own home, behind Mobile, had he spent half on its walls what he had spent in them on wine, cards, and--


      Adas hand, as it hung at her side, could feel the sharp edge of Normans letter in her pocket. Should she take it out and give it to him? She glanced at his face covertly, and its haggardness encouraged her. She had heard him say that he had not seen Esmeralda. They were still apart, wherever she might be; he still thought her guilty. She would keep the letter from him and trust to chance. Fate seemed to be playing the game for her still.She heard the tread in the hall, quaked to rise and flee, and yet could not move. It came upon the threshold and paused. "Anna," said the voice that had set her heart on fire across the carriage step. She sprang up, faced round, clutched the great gun, and stood staring. Her follower was still in slave garb, but now for the first time he revealed his full stature. His black locks were free and the "Madras" dropped from his fingers to the floor. He advanced a pace or two.


      The doctor led him to a mound under a tree.No one watching them would have suspected them of being anything more than old friends; indeed, Traffords words and manner were markedly reserved.