But Grey, though he was wounded, would not allow himself to be dismayed.

But Grey, though wounded, would not allow himself to be dismayed.


There was less hope now than before, but there might still be hope;--hope for her, even though there might be none for him.

There was less hope now than before, but there might still be hope - hope for her, if not for him.


Tidings had reached his ears also as to George Vavasor, which had taught him to believe that the man was needy, reckless, and on the brink of ruin.

He had heard that George Vavasor was needy, reckless, and on the brink of ruin.


Such a marriage to Alice Vavasor would be altogether ruinous.

Such a marriage would be altogether ruinous to Alice.


Whatever might be his own ultimate fate he would still seek to save her from that.

Whatever might be his own ultimate fate, he would still seek to save her from that.


Her cousin, doubtless, wanted her money.


Might it not be possible that he would be satisfied with her money, and that thus the woman might be saved?


"Seward," he said at last, addressing his friend, who had not yet come to the end of the last crossed page.


"Well;--yes; there is something a little wrong.


I fear I must leave you, and go up to town to-day."

I fear I must leave you, and go up to town today."


Mrs. Bole will take care of you, and you must not be angry with me for leaving you."


Seward assured him that he would not be in the least angry, and that he was thoroughly conversant with the capabilities and good intentions of Mrs. Bole the housekeeper; but added, that as he was so near his own college, he would of course go back to Cambridge.

Seward assured him that Mrs. Bole was an excellent housekeeper; but that as he was so near his own college, he would return to Cambridge.


He longed to say some word as to the purpose of Grey's threatened journey; to make some inquiry as to this new trouble; but he knew that Grey was a man who did not well bear close inquiries, and he was silent.

He longed to ask about Grey's trouble; but he knew that Grey was a man who did not well bear close inquiries.


"I wish you would, old fellow; I do, indeed."


There was a tone of special affection in his voice which struck Seward at once.

The affection in his voice struck Seward at once.


"If I can be of the slightest service or comfort to you, I will of course."


Grey again sat silent for a little while.


"I have got a letter here from--Miss Vavasor," said Grey.

"I have got a letter here from - Miss Vavasor," said Grey.


"No;--it does not bring good news to me.


I do not know that I can tell it you all.


I would if I could, but the whole story is one not to be told in a hurry.

I would tell you if I could, but the whole story is one not to be told in a hurry.


There are things which a man cannot tell."


"I wish with all my heart that you knew it all as I know it; but that is impossible.

"I wish with all my heart that you knew it as I know it; but that is impossible."


There are things which happen in a day which it would take a lifetime to explain."


"I have heard bad news this morning, and I must go up to London at once.

"I have heard bad news, and I must go up to London at once.


I shall go into Ely so as to be there by twelve; and if you will, you shall drive me over.

I shall go into Ely by noon, if you will drive me over.


I may be back in a day; certainly in less than a week; but it will be a comfort to me to know that I shall find you here."


The matter was so arranged, and at eleven they started.

The matter was arranged, and at eleven they started.


During the first two miles not a word was spoken between them.


"Seward," Grey said at last, "if I fail in what I am going to attempt, it is probable that you will never hear Alice Vavasor's name mentioned by me again; but I want you always to bear this in mind;--that at no moment has my opinion of her ever been changed, nor must you in such case imagine from my silence that it has changed.

"Seward," said Grey on the journey, "if I fail in what I am going to attempt, you will probably never hear Alice Vavasor's name mentioned by me again; but I want you always to remember that at no moment has my opinion of her ever been changed.


"To my thinking she is the finest of God's creatures that I have known.


It may be that in her future life she will be severed from me altogether; but I shall not, therefore, think the less well of her; and I wish that you, as my friend, should know that I so esteem her, even though her name should never be mentioned between us."

It may be that in future she will be severed from me altogether; but I shall not, therefore, think the less well of her; and I wish that you should know that, even if her name should never be mentioned between us."


Seward, in some few words, assured him that it should be so, and then they finished their journey in silence.

Seward assured him that it should be so, and they finished their journey in silence.


From the station at Ely, Grey sent a message by the wires up to John Vavasor, saying that he would call on him that afternoon at his office in Chancery Lane.

From the station at Ely, Grey wired a message to John Vavasor, saying that he would call on him that afternoon at his office in Chancery Lane.


The chances were always much against finding Mr. Vavasor at his office; but on this occasion the telegram did reach him there, and he remained till the unaccustomed hour of half past four to meet the man who was to have been his son-in-law.

The telegram reached Vavasor there, and he remained till half past four to meet Grey.


he asked as soon as Grey entered the dingy little room, not in Chancery Lane, but in its neighbourhood, which was allocated to him for his signing purposes.


"Yes,"--said Grey; "she has written to me."

"Yes," said Grey; "she has written to me."


I tried to hinder her from writing, but she is very wilful."

I tried to prevent her from writing, but she is very wilful."


If the thing was to be told, it is better that it should be done at once."

If the thing was to be told, better that it should be done at once."


"But I hoped that there might be an escape.


I don't know what you think of all this, Grey, but to me it is the bitterest misfortune that I have known."


And I've had some bitter things, too," he added,--thinking of that period of his life, when the work of which he was ashamed was first ordained as his future task.


The whole thing seems to me to be so mad, that I partly trusted that she would see the madness of it.

The whole thing seems to me to be so mad, that I trusted that she would see the madness of it.


I am not sure whether you know anything of my nephew George?"


"I believe him to be utterly an adventurer,--a man without means and without principle,--upon the whole about as bad a man as you may meet.

"I believe him to be a man without means and without principle, on the whole about as bad a man as you may meet.


I give you my word, Grey, that I don't think I know a worse man.


He's going to marry her for her money; then he will beggar her, after that he'll ill-treat her, and yet what can I do?"


It's all very well to say that, and it's the very thing I want to do.


She's as much her own master as you are yours.


She can give him every shilling of her fortune to-morrow.

She can give him every shilling of her fortune tomorrow.


How am I to prevent her from marrying him?"


"Let her give him every shilling of her fortune to-morrow," said Grey.

"Let her give him every shilling of her fortune tomorrow," said Grey.


"Then--then,--then,--then let her come to me," said John Grey; and as he spoke there was the fragment of a tear in his eye, and the hint of quiver in his voice.

"Then - then - then let her come to me," said John Grey; and as he spoke there was the fragment of a tear in his eye, and the hint of a quiver in his voice.


[Illustration: "Then--then,--then let her come to me."]


Even the worldly, worn-out, unsympathetic nature of John Vavasor was struck, and, as it were, warmed by this.

Even the worldly, unsympathetic John Vavasor was struck.


"God bless you; God bless you, my dear fellow.


I heartily wish for her sake that I could look forward to any such an end to this affair."

I heartily wish for her sake that I could look forward to such an end to this affair."


"But Grey, you do not know Alice; you do not understand my girl.

"But Grey, you do not understand my girl.


When she had lost her fortune nothing would induce her to become your wife."

Once she had lost her fortune, nothing would induce her to become your wife."


"Leave that to follow as it may," said John Grey.


"Our first object must be to sever her from a man, who is, as you say, himself on the verge of ruin; and who would certainly make her wretched.

"Our first object must be to sever her from a man who is on the verge of ruin; and who would certainly make her wretched.


I am here now, not because I wish her to be my own wife, but because I wish that she should not become the wife of such a one as your nephew.

I am here not because I wish her to be my own wife, but because I wish that she should not marry such a one as your nephew.


If I were you I would let him have her money."


"If you were I, you would have nothing more to do with it than the man that is as yet unborn.

"If you were me, you would have no say in the matter.


I know that she will give him her money because she has said so; but I have no power as to her giving it or as to her withholding it.

I know that she will give him her money; but I have no power over her."


That's the hardship of my position;--but it is of no use to think of that now."


John Grey certainly did not think about it.


He knew well that Alice was independent, and that she was not inclined to give up that independence to anyone.


He had not expected that her father would be able to do much towards hindering his daughter from becoming the wife of George Vavasor, but he had wished that he himself and her father should be in accord in their views, and he found that this was so.

he had not expected that her father would be able to do much, but he had wished that the two men should agree in their views.


When he left Mr. Vavasor's room nothing had been said about the period of the marriage.


Grey thought it improbable that Alice would find herself able to give herself in marriage to her cousin immediately,--so soon after her breach with him; but as to this he had no assurance, and he determined to have the facts from her own lips, if she would see him.

Grey thought it improbable that Alice would marry her cousin immediately, so soon after her breach with him; but there was no certainty of this, and he determined to ask her, if she would see him.


So he wrote to her, naming a day on which he would call upon her early in the morning; and having received from her no prohibition, he was in Queen Anne Street at the hour appointed.

So he wrote to her, naming a day on which he would call upon her; and when she did not refuse, he arrived at the hour appointed.


He had conceived a scheme which he had not made known to Mr. Vavasor, and as to the practicability of which he had much doubt; but which, nevertheless, he was resolved to try if he should find the attempt possible.

He had thought of a scheme which he had not told to Mr. Vavasor. He was not sure if it was practicable, but, nevertheless, he was resolved to try it.


He himself would buy off George Vavasor.


He had ever been a prudent man, and he had money at command.


If Vavasor was such a man as they, who knew him best, represented him, such a purchase might be possible.

If Vavasor was such a man as people said, this might be possible.


But then, before this was attempted, he must be quite sure that he knew his man, and he must satisfy himself also that in doing so he would not, in truth, add to Alice's misery.

But before trying this, he must be quite sure that he knew his man, and he must satisfy himself also that in doing so he would not, in truth, add to Alice's misery.


He could hardly bring himself to think it possible that she did, in truth, love her cousin with passionate love.

He could hardly bring himself to think it possible that she actually loved her cousin with passionate love.


It seemed to him, as he remembered what Alice had been to himself, that this must be impossible.


But if it were so, that of course must put an end to his interference.


He thought that if he saw her he might learn all this, and therefore he went to Queen Anne Street.

It was to learn all this that he went to Queen Anne Street.


"Of course he must come if he will," she said to herself when she received his note.

"Of course he must come if he wishes," she said to herself when she received his note.


He will say nothing half so hard to me as what I say to myself all day long."


But when the morning came, and the hour came, and the knock at the door for which her ears were on the alert, her heart misgave her, and she felt that the present moment of her punishment, though not the heaviest, would still be hard to bear.

But when the morning came, and she heard the knock, her heart misgave her, and she felt that this moment of her punishment would be hard to bear.


He came slowly up-stairs,--his step was ever slow,--and gently opened the door for himself.

He came slowly upstairs - his step was always slow - and gently opened the door for himself.


Then, before he even looked at her, he closed it again.


I do not know how to explain that it was so; but it was this perfect command of himself at all seasons which had in part made Alice afraid of him, and drove her to believe that they were not fitted for each other.

It was this perfect command of himself at all times which had in part made Alice afraid of him, and drove her to believe that they were not fitted for each other.


She, when he thus turned for a moment from her, and then walked slowly towards her, stood with both her hands leaning on the centre table of the room, and with her eyes fixed upon its surface.

She stood with both her hands leaning on the centre table of the room, and with her eyes fixed upon its surface.


"Alice," he said, walking up to her very slowly.


Her whole frame shuddered as she heard the sweetness of his voice.


Had I not better tell the truth of her at once?


Oh, if she could only have been his again!


What madness during these last six months had driven her to such a plight as this!


But that trust in his love returned to her,--that trust which told her that such love and such worth would have sufficed to make her happy.


But this confidence in him was worthless now!

- but this confidence in him was worthless now!


Even though he should desire it, she could not change again.

Even if he desired it, she could not change her mind again.


And then, as slowly she looked up at him, he asked her for her hand.


"You may give it me," he said, "as to an old friend."


She put her hand in his hand, and then, withdrawing it, felt that she must never trust herself to do so again.

She put her hand in his, and then, withdrawing it, felt that she must never trust herself to do so again.


"Alice," he continued, "I do not expect you to say much to me; but there is a question or two which I think you will answer.


Has a day been fixed for this marriage?"


"Oh, no;--not for a year," she replied hurriedly;--and he knew at once by her voice that she already dreaded this new wedlock.

"Oh, no - not for a year," she replied hurriedly; and he knew at once by her voice that she already dreaded this new wedlock.


Whatever of anger he might before have felt for her was banished.

Whatever anger he might have felt for her was banished.


She had brought herself by her ill-judgement,--by her ignorance, as she had confessed,--to a sad pass; but he believed that she was still worthy of his love.

She had brought herself by her ill-judgement - by her ignorance - to a sad pass; but he believed that she was still worthy of his love.


"And now one other question, Alice;--but if you are silent, I will not ask it again.

"And now one other question, Alice; but if you are silent, I will not ask it again.


Can you tell me why you have again accepted your cousin's offer?"


"Because--," she said very quickly, looking up as though she were about to speak with all her old courage.

"Because-," she said very quickly, looking up as though she were about to speak with all her old courage.


"But you would never understand me," she said,--"and there can be no reason why I should dare to hope that you should ever think well of me again."

"But you would never understand me," she said, "and there can be no reason why you should ever think well of me again."


He knew that there was no love,--no love for that man to whom she had pledged her hand.

He knew that there was no love for that other man.


He did not know, on the other hand, how strong, how unchanged, how true was her love for himself.

However, he did not know how unchanged and true was her love for himself.


Indeed, of himself he was thinking not at all.

Indeed, he was not thinking of himself at all.


He desired to learn whether she would suffer, if by any scheme he might succeed in breaking off this marriage.

He wished to learn whether she would suffer, if the marriage were prevented.


When he had asked her whether she were to be married at once, she had shuddered at the thought.

But it seemed that she shuddered at the thought of the marriage.


When he asked her why she had accepted her cousin, she had faltered, and hinted at some excuse which he might fail to understand.


Had she loved George Vavasor, he could have understood that well enough.


"Alice," he said, speaking still very slowly, "nothing has ever yet been done which need to a certainty separate you and me.

"Alice," he said, "nothing has yet been done which need totally separate you and me.


I am a persistent man, and I do not even yet give up all hope.


As you say yourself, I do not as yet quite understand you.

As you say yourself, I do not quite understand you.


But, Alice,--and I think that the position in which we stood a few months since justifies me in saying so without offence,--I love you now as well as ever, and should things change with you, I cannot tell you with how much joy and eagerness I should take you back to my bosom.

But, Alice , I love you now as well as ever, and should things change with you, I cannot tell you with how much joy and eagerness I should take you back to my bosom.


My heart is yours now as it has been since I knew you."


Then he again just touched her hand, and left her before she had been able to answer a word.

Then he again just touched her hand, and left her before she could answer a word.


Lady Midlothian went away on her road to London on the Wednesday morning, and Alice was to follow her on the next day.

Lady Midlothian went away on Wednesday morning, and Alice was to leave the next day.


It was now December, and the weather was very clear and frosty, but at night there was bright moonlight.

It was now December, and the weather was clear and frosty, but at night there was bright moonlight.


On this special night the moon would be full, and Lady Glencora had declared that she and Alice would go out amidst the ruins.

On this night the moon would be full, and Lady Glencora had declared that she and Alice would go out amidst the ruins.


It was no secret engagement, having been canvassed in public, and having been met with considerable discouragement by some of the party.


Mr. Palliser had remarked that the night air would be very cold, and Mr. Bott had suggested all manner of evil consequences.


Had Mr. Palliser alone objected, Lady Glencora might have given way, but Mr. Bott's word riveted her purpose.

Had Mr. Palliser alone objected, Lady Glencora might have given way, but Mr. Bott's word strengthened her purpose.


"We are not going to be frightened," Lady Glencora said.


"People do not generally walk out at night in December," Mr. Palliser observed.


"That's just the reason why we want to do it," said Lady Glencora.


"But we shall wrap ourselves up, and nobody need be afraid.

"We shall wrap ourselves up warm," she said, "and nobody need be afraid.


Jeffrey, we shall expect you to stand sentinel at the old gate, and guard us from the ghosts."


Jeffrey Palliser, bargaining that he might be allowed a cigar, promised that he would do as he was bidden.


The party at Matching Priory had by this time become very small.


There were indeed no guests left, not counting those of the Palliser family, excepting Miss Vavasor, Mr. Bott, and an old lady who had been a great friend of Mr. Palliser's mother.

There were indeed no guests left, except Miss Vavasor, Mr. Bott, and an old lady who had been a great friend of Mr. Palliser's mother.


It was past ten in the evening when Lady Glencora declared that the time had arrived for them to carry out their purpose.

It was past ten in the evening when Lady Glencora declared that the time had come to go out.


She invited the two Miss Pallisers to join her, but they declined, urging their fear of the night air, and showing by their manner that they thought the proposition a very imprudent one.

She invited the two Miss Pallisers to join her, but they declined.


Mr. Bott offered to accompany them, but Lady Glencora declined his attendance very stoutly.


"No, indeed, Mr. Bott; you were one of those who preached a sermon against my dissipation in the morning, and I'm not going to allow you to join it, now the time for its enjoyment has come."

"No, indeed, Mr. Bott," said Lady Glencora. "You were one of those who preached a sermon against my dissipation, and I'm not going to allow you to join it."


"My dear Lady Glencora, if I were you, indeed I wouldn't," said the old lady, looking round towards Mr. Palliser.


"My dear Mrs. Marsham, if you were me, indeed you would," and Lady Glencora also looked at her husband.


"I think it a foolish thing to do," said Mr. Palliser, sternly.

"I think it a foolish thing to do," said Mr. Palliser sternly.


"If you forbid it, of course we won't go," said Lady Glencora.


"Forbid it:--no; I shall not forbid it."

"Forbid it - no; I shall not forbid it."


She and Alice were already muffled in cloaks and thick shawls, and Alice now followed her out of the room.

She and Alice were already muffled in cloaks and thick shawls. Alice followed her out


There was a door which opened from the billiard-room out on to the grand terrace, which ran in front of the house, and here they found Jeffrey Palliser already armed with his cigar.

onto the grand terrace which ran in front of the house. Here they found Jeffrey Palliser armed with a cigar.


Alice, to tell the truth, would much have preferred to abandon the expedition, but she had felt that it would be cowardly in her to desert Lady Glencora.

Alice, to tell the truth, would have preferred to abandon the expedition, but could not desert Lady Glencora.


There had not arisen any very close intimacy between her and Mr. Palliser, but she entertained a certain feeling that Mr. Palliser trusted her, and liked her to be with his wife.

She had a feeling that Mr. Palliser trusted her, and liked her to be with his wife.


She would have wished to justify this supposed confidence, and was almost sure that Mr. Palliser expected her to do so in this instance.

She wished to justify this supposed trust, and


She did say a word or two to her cousin up-stairs, urging that perhaps her husband would not like it.

had said a word or two to her cousin upstairs, urging that perhaps her husband would not like it.


"Let him say so plainly," said Lady Glencora, "and I'll give it up instantly.


But I'm not going to be lectured out of my purposes secondhand by Mr. Bott or old Mother Marsham.

But I'm not going to be lectured out of my purposes by Mr. Bott or old Mother Marsham.


And if you throw me over, Alice, I'll never forgive you," Lady Glencora added.

And if you throw me over, Alice, I'll never forgive you."


After this Alice resolved that she would not throw her friend over.


But she was also becoming a little afraid of her friend,--afraid that she would be driven some day either to throw her over, or to say words to her that would be very unpalatable.

But she was becoming a little afraid of her friend - afraid that she would be driven some day either to throw her over, or to say words to her that she would not like.


"Now, Jeffrey," said Lady Glencora as they walked abreast along the broad terrace towards the ruins, "when we get under the old gateway you must let me and Alice go round the dormitory and the chapel alone.

"Now, Jeffrey," said Lady Glencora as they walked towards the ruins, "when we get under the old gateway you must let me and Alice go round the dormitory and the chapel alone.


Then we'll come back by the cloisters, and we'll take another turn outside with you.


The outside is the finest by this light,--only I want to show Alice something by ourselves."


"You're not afraid, I know, and if Miss Vavasor is not--"

"You're not afraid, I know. If Miss Vavasor is not-"


"Miss Vavasor,--who, I think, would have allowed you to call her by her other name on such an occasion as this,--is never afraid."

"Miss Vavasor - who, I think, would allow you to call her Alice tonight - is never afraid."


She felt herself to be very angry with her cousin.

She felt very angry with her cousin for inviting Mr. Palliser to be familiar with her.


She almost began to fear that she had mistaken her, and had thought better of her than she had deserved.


What she had now said struck Alice as being vulgar,--as being premeditated vulgarity, and her annoyance was excessive.


Of course Mr. Palliser would think that she was a consenting party to the proposition made to him.

Of course he would assume it was with Alice's consent.


Don't be angry with me," she said, as soon as they were out of hearing.


"The truth is this;--if you choose to have him for your husband, you may."

"The truth is, if you choose to have him for your husband, you may."


"Then there can be no harm done, and I will tell him so.


Whom will you meet that would suit you better?

who will you meet that would suit you better?


You need not say a word, but leave me to tell him, that if it is to be thought of at all, it cannot be thought of till he meets you in London.

Let me to tell him to wait until he meets you in London."


"You shall tell him nothing of the kind," said Alice.


"I believe you to be joking throughout, and I think the joke is a bad one."

"I believe you are joking, and the joke is a bad one."


I know that in what I am saying I am telling you the simple truth.


He has said enough to me to justify me in saying so.


It would reconcile me to much, and it would be something to be the mother of the future Duke of Omnium."


"To me it would be nothing," said Alice; "less than nothing.

"To me it would be nothing," said Alice.


I mean to say that the temptation is one so easily resisted that it acts in the other way.


"Don't say anything more about it, Glencora."


I don't think I ever saw moonlight so bright as this.


Look at the lines of that window against the light.


They are clearer than you ever see them in the day."


They were now standing just within the gateway of the old cruciform chapel, having entered the transept from a ruined passage which was supposed to have connected the church with the dormitory.

They were now standing just within the gateway of the old chapel.


The church was altogether roofless, but the entire walls were standing.

The church was roofless, but the walls were standing.


The small clerestory windows of the nave were perfect, and the large windows of the two transepts and of the west end were nearly so.

The small windows of the nave were perfect, and the large windows of the two transepts and of the west end were nearly so.


Of the opposite window, which had formed the back of the choir, very little remained.


The top of it, with all its tracery, was gone, and three broken upright mullions of uneven heights alone remained.

The top of it, with all its tracery, was gone, and three broken upright mullions alone remained.


This was all that remained of the old window, but a transom or cross-bar of stone had been added to protect the carved stone-work of the sides, and save the form of the aperture from further ruin.


That this transom was modern was to be seen from the magnificent height and light grace of the workmanship in the other windows, in which the long slender mullions rose from the lower stage or foundation of the whole up into the middle tracery of the arch without protection or support, and then lost themselves among the curves, not running up into the roof or soffit, and there holding on as though unable to stand alone.


Such weakness as that had not as yet shown itself in English church architecture when Matching Priory was built.


And there is a peculiar feeling of cold about the chill of the moon, different from any other cold.


It makes you wrap yourself up tight, but it does not make your teeth chatter; and it seems to go into your senses rather than into your bones.

It seems to go into your senses rather than into your bones.


But I suppose that's nonsense," she added, after a pause.


"Not more so than what people are supposed to talk by moonlight."

"No more than what people are supposed to talk by moonlight."


I'd like what I say on such an occasion to be more poetical or else more nonsensical than what other people say under the same circumstances.


And now I'll tell you why I always think of you when I come here by moonlight."


"Yes, I do; that is to say, I did come very often when we had the full moon in August.

"I did come very often when we had the full moon in August.


The weather wasn't like this, and I used to run out through the open windows and nobody knew where I was gone.


I made him come once, but he didn't seem to care about it.


I told him that part of the refectory wall was falling; so he looked at that, and had a mason sent the next day.

I told him that part of the refectory wall was falling; so he had a mason sent the next day.


If anything is out of order he has it put to rights at once.


There would have been no ruins if all the Pallisers had been like him."


Do you remember that night I brought you home from the play to Queen Anne Street?"

: do you remember that night I brought you home from the play to Queen Anne Street?"


Alice had occasion to remember it, for it had been in the carriage on that evening that she had positively refused to give any aid to her cousin in that matter relating to Burgo Fitzgerald.

It had been on that evening that she had positively refused to give any aid to her cousin about Burgo Fitzgerald.


"And do you remember how the moon shone then?"

"And do you remember how the moon shone?


As we came round the corner out of Cavendish Square he was standing there,--and a friend of yours was standing with him."

As we came round the corner from Cavendish Square he was standing there - and a friend of yours was standing with him."


"Never mind that; it does not matter now."


"Yes, I do mean your cousin; and oh, Alice!


I don't know why I should love you, for if you had not been hardhearted that night,--stony cruel in your hard propriety, I should have gone with him then, and all this icy coldness would have been prevented."

I don't know why I should love you, for if you had not been stony cruel that night, I should have gone with him then, and all this icy coldness would have been prevented."


She was standing quite close to Alice, and as she spake she shook with shivering and wrapped her furs closer and still closer about her.

She was standing quite close to Alice, and as she spoke she shivered and wrapped her furs closer about her.


Yes;--we should have escaped that night if you would have allowed him to come into your house.

We should have escaped that night if you had allowed him to come into your house.


I would give everything I have in the world to have been true to him.


They told me that he would spend my money.


Though he should have spent every farthing of it, I regret it; though he should have made me a beggar, I regret it.

Though he should have made me a beggar, I regret it.


They told me that he would ill-use me, and desert me,--perhaps beat me.

They told me that he would ill-use me, and desert me.


I do not believe it; but even though that should have been so, I regret it.

I do not believe it; but even if that should have been so, I regret it."


It is better to have a false husband than to be a false wife."


Do not try to make me think that anything could tempt you to be false to your vows."


Why, child, it has been all false throughout.


How can you talk in that way, when you know that I never loved him?


They browbeat me and frightened me till I did as I was told;--and now;--what am I now?"

They browbeat me and frightened me till I did as I was told;- and now - what am I now?"


By law I am his wife; but the laws are liars!


When I went to him at the altar, I knew that I did not love the man that was to be my husband.

When I went to him at the altar, I knew that I did not love him.


But him,--Burgo,--I love him with all my heart and soul.

But Burgo I love with all my heart and soul.


I could stoop at his feet and clean his shoes for him, and think it no disgrace!"


"Oh, Cora, my friend, do not say such words as those!

"Oh, Cora, my friend, do not say such words!


Remember what you owe your husband and yourself, and come away."


"I do know what I owe him, and I will pay it him.


Alice, if I had a child I think I would be true to him.

Alice, if I had a child I would be true to him.


I know I would;--though I had no hour of happiness left to me in my life.


But what now is the only honest thing that I can do?


Why, leave him;--so leave him that he may have another wife and be the father of a child.

Why, leave him; so that he may have another wife and be the father of a child.


What injury shall I do him by leaving him?


He does not love me; you know yourself that he does not love me."


He does not; and you have seen clearly that it is so.


But another woman would give him a son, and he would be happy.


I tell you that every day and every night,--every hour of every day and of every night,--I am thinking of the man I love.

Every hour of every day and every night, I am thinking of the man I love.


I have no occupation,--no friends,--no one to whom I care to say a word.

I have no occupation, no friends to talk to.


But I am always talking to Burgo in my thoughts; and he listens to me.


"Well!--Do you begrudge me that I should tell you the truth?

"Do you begrudge me telling you the truth?


You have said that you would be my friend, and you must bear the burden of my friendship.


And now,--this is what I want to tell you.--Immediately after Christmas, we are to go to Monkshade, and he will be there.

And this is what I want to tell you. Immediately after Christmas, we are to go to Monkshade, and he will be there.


"That is easily said, child; but all the same I must go.


I told Mr. Palliser that he would be there, and he said it did not signify.


He actually said that it did not signify.


I wonder whether he understands what it is for people to love each other;--whether he has ever thought about it."

I wonder whether he understands what it is for people to love each other."


"You must tell him plainly that you will not go."


I told him plainly as words could tell him.

I told him as plainly as words could tell him.


'Glencora,' he said,--and you know the way he looks when he means to be lord and master, and put on the very husband indeed,--'This is an annoyance which you must bear and overcome.

'Glencora,' he said - and you know the way he looks when he means to be lord and master - 'This is an annoyance which you must bear and overcome.


It suits me that we should go to Monkshade, and it does not suit me that there should be any one whom you are afraid to meet.'

It suits me that we should go to Monkshade, and it does not suit me that there should be anyone whom you are afraid to meet.'


Could I tell him that he would lose his wife if I did go?

Could I tell him that he would lose his wife if I went?


Could I threaten him that I would throw myself into Burgo's arms if that opportunity were given to me?

Could I threaten that I would throw myself into Burgo's arms?


"I would have you now tell him everything, rather than go to that house."


I know what I am, and what I am like to become.


I loathe myself, and I loathe the thing that I am thinking of.


I could have clung to the outside of a man's body, to his very trappings, and loved him ten times better than myself!--ay, even though he had ill-treated me,--if I had been allowed to choose a husband for myself.

I could have loved a man ten times better than myself - even though he had ill-treated me - if I had been allowed to choose a husband for myself.


Burgo would have spent my money,--all that it would have been possible for me to give him.


But there would have been something left, and I think that by that time I could have won even him to care for me.


Alice had no doubt as to what her cousin should do.


She should be true to her marriage-vow, whether that vow when made were true or false.


She should be true to it as far as truth would now carry her.


And in order that she might be true, she should tell her husband as much as might be necessary to induce him to spare her the threatened visit to Monkshade.

And therefore she should tell her husband as much as might be necessary to induce him to spare her the visit to Monkshade.


All that she said to Lady Glencora, as they walked slowly across the chapel.

All this she said to Lady Glencora, as they walked slowly across the chapel.


But Lady Glencora was more occupied with her own thoughts than with her friend's advice.


"What an unconscionable time we have kept him!"


"And I shouldn't have come to you now, only that I thought I should find you both freezing into marble."


"We are not such cold-blooded creatures as that,--are we, Alice?"


"And now we'll go round the outside; only we must not stay long, or we shall frighten those two delicious old duennas, Mrs. Marsham and Mr. Bott."


These last words were said as it were in a whisper to Alice; but they were so whispered that there was no real attempt to keep them from the ears of Mr. Jeffrey Palliser.


Glencora, Alice thought, should not have allowed the word duenna to have passed her lips in speaking to any one; but, above all, she should not have done so in the hearing of Mr. Palliser's cousin.


They walked all round the ruin, on a raised gravel-path which had been made there; and Alice, who could hardly bring herself to speak,--so full was her mind of that which had just been said to her,--was surprised to find that Glencora could go on, in her usual light humour, chatting as though there were no weight within her to depress her spirits.

They walked all round the ruin, on a gravel-path; and Alice, who could hardly bring herself to speak, was surprised to find that Glencora could go on in her usual light humour, chatting as though there were nothing to depress her spirits.


It had not occurred to Alice that her accepted lover would come to her so soon.

It had not occurred to Alice that he would come to her so soon.


She had not told him expressly of the day on which she would return, and had not reflected that Kate would certainly inform him.

She had not reflected that Kate would inform him of the date of her return


She had been thinking so much of the distant perils of this engagement, that this peril, so sure to come upon her before many days or hours could pass by, had been forgotten.


When the name struck her ear, and George's step was heard outside on the landing-place, she felt the blood rush violently to her heart, and she jumped up from her seat panic-stricken and in utter dismay.

When George's step was heard outside, she felt the blood rush violently to her heart, and she jumped up from her seat panic-stricken and in utter dismay.


And then again, with what form of affection would she be accosted by him?


But he was there in the room with her before she had had a moment allowed to her for thought.

But he was there in the room with her before she could think.


She hardly ventured to look up at him; but, nevertheless, she became aware that there was something in his appearance and dress brighter, more lover-like, perhaps newer, than was usual with him.

She hardly ventured to look up at him; but, nevertheless, she became aware that his appearance and dress were brighter, more lover-like, perhaps newer, than usual.


This in itself was an affliction to her.


He ought to have understood that such an engagement as theirs not only did not require, but absolutely forbade, any such symptom of young love as this.

He ought to have understood that such an engagement as theirs not only did not require, but absolutely forbade, any such symptom of young love.


Even when their marriage came, if it must come, it should come without any customary sign of smartness, without any outward mark of exaltation.

Even when their marriage came, if it must come, it should be without any sign of exaltation.


It would have been very good in him to have remained away from her for weeks and months; but to come upon her thus, on the first morning of her return, was a cruelty not to be forgiven.

To come upon her thus, on the first morning of her return, was a cruelty not to be forgiven.


These were the feelings with which Alice regarded her betrothed when he came to see her.

These were the feelings with which Alice regarded her betrothed.


"Alice," said he, coming up to her with his extended hand,--"Dearest Alice!"

"Alice," said he, coming up to her with his hand out, "Dearest Alice!"


She gave him her hand, and muttered some word which was inaudible even to him; she gave him her hand, and immediately endeavoured to resume it, but he held it clenched within his own, and she felt that she was his prisoner.

She muttered some inaudible word, gave him her hand, and immediately tried to draw it back; but he held it clenched within his own, and she felt that she was his prisoner.


He was standing close to her now, and she could not escape from him.


She was trembling with fear lest worse might betide her even than this.


She had promised to marry him, and now she was covered with dismay as she felt rather than thought how very far she was from loving the man to whom she had given this promise.

She had promised to marry him, and now she was dismayed as she felt rather than thought how very far she was from loving him.


"Alice," he said, "I am a man once again.


It is only now that I can tell you what I have suffered during these last few years."


He still held her hand, but he had not as yet attempted any closer embrace.


She knew that she was standing away from him awkwardly, almost showing her repugnance to him; but it was altogether beyond her power to assume an attitude of ordinary ease.

and she knew that she was standing away from him awkwardly; but she was unable to act with ordinary ease.


"Alice," he continued, "I feel that I am a strong man again, armed to meet the world at all points.


Will you not let me thank you for what you have done for me?"

"Alice, will you not let me thank you for what you have done for me?"


Though the doing so should be ever so painful to her, she must say some word to him which should have in it a sound of kindness.

She must say some word which sounded kind.


After all, it was his undoubted right to come to her, and the footing on which he assumed to stand was simply that which she herself had given to him.

After all, it was his undoubted right to come to her.


It was not his fault if at this moment he inspired her with disgust rather than with love.


"I have done nothing for you, George," she said, "nothing at all."


Then she got her hand away from him, and retreated back to a sofa where she seated herself, leaving him still standing in the space before the fire.

Then she got her hand away from him, and retreated to a sofa where she sat, leaving him still standing.


"That you may do much for yourself is my greatest hope.


If I can help you, I will do so most heartily."


Then she became thoroughly ashamed of her words, feeling that she was at once offering to him the use of her purse.

Then she became thoroughly ashamed of her words, feeling that she was at once offering him the use of her purse.


"I am full of plans, all of which you must share with me.

"I am full of plans which you must share with me.


But now, at this moment, my one great plan is that in which you have already consented to be my partner.

But at the moment, my one great plan is that in which you have already consented to be my partner.


Tell me that it will make you happy to call me your husband."


Not for worlds could she have said so at this moment.


It was ill-judged in him to press her thus.


He should already have seen, with half an eye, that no such triumph as that which he now demanded could be his on this occasion.


He had had his triumph when, in the solitude of his own room, with quiet sarcasm he had thrown on one side of him the letter in which she had accepted him, as though the matter had been one almost indifferent to him.

He had had his triumph when, in the solitude of his own room, he had thrown aside her letter of acceptance as though the matter was indifferent to him.


He had no right to expect the double triumph.


Then he had frankly told himself that her money would be useful to him.


He should have been contented with that conviction, and not have required her also to speak to him soft winning words of love.


"That must be still distant, George," she said.


"And it has been my fault that you have suffered; I know that.


These years of misery have been my doing."


It was, however, the year of coming misery that was the most to be dreaded.

It was, however, the year of coming misery that she most dreaded.


"I do not say that," she replied, "nor have I ever thought it.


I have myself and myself only to blame."


Here he altogether misunderstood her, believing her to mean that the fault for which she blamed herself had been committed in separating herself from him on that former occasion.

Here he altogether misunderstood her, believing her to mean that she blamed herself for separating herself from him on that former occasion.


It may be well for people to say so, but it is never true.


One might as well say so to one's body as to one's heart.


But the hairs will grow grey, and the heart will grow cold."

Hair will grow grey, and the heart will grow cold."


"I do not see that one follows upon the other," said George.

"I do not see that one follows the other," said George.


"My hair is growing very grey;"--and to show that it was so, he lifted the dark lock from the side of his forehead, and displayed the incipient grizzling of the hair from behind.

"My hair is growing very grey;" and he lifted the dark lock from the side of his forehead to show the greying hair behind.


"If grey hairs make an old man, Alice, you will marry an old husband; but even you shall not be allowed to say that my heart is old."


That word "husband," which her cousin had twice used, was painful to Alice's ear.

That word "husband" was painful to Alice's ear.


She shrunk from it with palpable bodily suffering.


His age was nothing to the purpose, though he had been as old as Enoch.


But she was again obliged to answer him.


"I spoke of my own heart," said she: "I sometimes feel that it has grown very old."

"I spoke of my own heart," said she. "I sometimes feel that it has grown very old."


"You have come to me too quickly, George, and do not reflect how much there is that I must remember.

"You have come to me too quickly, George.


You have said that bygones should be bygones.


Let them be so, at any rate as far as words are concerned.


Give me a few months in which I may learn,--not to forget them, for that will be impossible,--but to abstain from speaking of them."

Give me a few months in which I may learn - not to forget them, for that will be impossible, but to abstain from speaking of them."


There was something in her look as she spoke, and in the tone of her voice that was very sad.

There was something in her look and voice that was very sad.


It struck him forcibly, but it struck him with anger rather than with sadness.


Doubtless her money had been his chief object when he offered to renew his engagement with her.


Doubtless he would have made no such offer had she been penniless, or even had his own need been less pressing.


But, nevertheless, he desired something more than money.


The triumph of being preferred to John Grey,--of having John Grey sent altogether adrift, in order that his old love might be recovered, would have been too costly a luxury for him to seek, had he not in seeking it been able to combine prudence with the luxury.

; he wanted the triumph of being preferred to John Grey.


But though his prudence had been undoubted, he desired the luxury also.


It was on a calculation of the combined advantage that he had made his second offer to his cousin.


As he would by no means have consented to proceed with the arrangement without the benefit of his cousin's money, so also did he feel unwilling to dispense with some expression of her love for him, which would be to him triumphant.

He would not have offered for Alice without her money; but he also wished for some expression of her love for him, to make him triumphant.


Hitherto in their present interview there had certainly been no expression of her love.


"Alice," he said, "your greeting to me is hardly all that I had hoped."


"Indeed, George, I am sorry that you should be disappointed; but what can I say?


You would not have me affect a lightness of spirit which I do not feel?"

You would not have me pretend a lightness of spirit which I do not feel?"


"If you wish," said he, very slowly,--"if you wish to retract your letter to me, you now have my leave to do so."

"If you wish to retract your letter," said he, very slowly, "you now have my leave to do so."


But she had not the courage to accept it.


What girl, under such circumstances, would have had such courage?


How often are offers made to us which we would almost give our eyes to accept, but dare not accept because we fear the countenance of the offerer?


"I do not wish to retract my letter," said she, speaking as slowly as he had spoken; "but I wish to be left awhile, that I may recover my strength of mind.

"I do not wish to retract my letter," said she; "but I wish to be left awhile, to recover my strength of mind.


Have you not heard doctors say, that muscles which have been strained, should be allowed rest, or they will never entirely renew their tension?


It is so with me now; if I could be quiet for a few months, I think I could learn to face the future with a better courage."

If I could be quiet for a few months, I think I could learn to face the future with better courage."


"And is that all you can say to me, Alice?"


"I would fain hear one word of love from you; is that unreasonable?

"I would wish to hear one word of love from you; is that unreasonable?


I would wish to know from your own lips that you have satisfaction in the renewed prospect of our union; is that too ambitious?


It might have been that I was over-bold in pressing my suit upon you again; but as you accepted it, have I not a right to expect that you should show me that you have been happy in accepting it?"

Maybe I was over-bold in pressing my suit upon you again; but as you accepted it, have I not a right to expect that you should show me you are happy in accepting it?"


But she had not been happy in accepting it.


She was not happy now that she had accepted it.


She could not show to him any sign of such joy as that which he desired to see.


And now, at this moment, she feared with an excessive fear that there would come some demand for an outward demonstration of love, such as he in his position might have a right to make.

And now she feared he would demand some demonstration of love


She seemed to be aware that this might be prevented only by such demeanour on her part as that which she had practised, and she could not, therefore, be stirred to the expression of any word of affection.

; and she could not think of anything to do other than to keep aloof.


She listened to his appeal, and when it was finished she made no reply.


If he chose to take her in dudgeon, he must do so.


She would make for him any sacrifice that was possible to her, but this sacrifice was not possible.


She looked up at him, and saw that the cicature on his face was becoming ominous; his eyes were bent upon her with all their forbidding brilliance, and he was assuming that look of angry audacity which was so peculiar to him, and which had so often cowed those with whom he was brought in contact.

She looked up at him, and saw that the scar on his face was becoming ominous; his eyes were bent upon her with all their forbidding, angry brilliance.


"No other word, at present, George; I have told you that I am not at ease.


He had her letter to him in the breast-pocket of his coat, and his hand was on it, that he might fling it back to her, and tell her that he would not hold her to be his promised wife under such circumstances as these.

He had her letter in the breast-pocket of his coat, and his hand was on it: he almost flung it back to her, telling her that he would not hold her to be his promised wife under these circumstances.


The anger which would have induced him to do so was the better part of his nature.


Three or four years since, this better part would have prevailed, and he would have given way to his rage.

Three or four years ago, this better part would have prevailed, and he would have given way to his rage.


But now, as his fingers played upon the paper, he remembered that her money was absolutely essential to him,--that some of it was needed by him almost instantly,--that on this very morning he was bound to go where money would be demanded from him, and that his hopes with regard to Chelsea could not be maintained unless he was able to make some substantial promise of providing funds.

But now he remembered that her money was absolutely essential to him - that some of it was needed almost instantly - and that his hopes of Chelsea could not be maintained unless he was able to promise funds.


His sister Kate's fortune was just two thousand pounds.


That, and no more, was now the capital at his command, if he should abandon this other source of aid.

: and that was all the money he had at his command, if he did not use Alice's.


Even that must go, if all other sources should fail him; but he would fain have that untouched, if it were possible.


Oh, that that old man in Westmoreland would die and be gathered to his fathers, now that he was full of years and ripe for the sickle!

Oh, if only that that old man in Westmorland would die!


But there was no sign of death about the old man.


So his fingers released their hold on the letter, and he stood looking at her in his anger.


I think you owed it me to give me some warmer welcome.

I think you owed me some warmer welcome.


Is it to be thus with us always for the next accursed year?"


Alice, I have loved you above all women.


I may say that I have never loved any woman but you; and yet I am sometimes driven to doubt whether you have a heart in you capable of love.

I may say that I have never loved any woman but you; yet I am sometimes driven to doubt whether you have a heart capable of love.


After all that has passed, all your old protestations, all my repentance, and your proffer of forgiveness, you should have received me with open arms.

After all that has passed, you should have received me with open arms.


I suppose I may go now, and feel that I have been kicked out of your house like a dog."


"If you speak to me like that, and look at me like that, how can I answer you?"

"If you speak to me like that, how can I answer you?"


I wanted you to put your hand in mine, to kiss me, and to tell me that you are once more my own.


Alice, think better of it; kiss me, and let me feel my arm once more round your waist."

Alice; kiss me, and let me feel my arm once more round your waist."


She shuddered as she sat, still silent, on her seat, and he saw that she shuddered.

She shuddered, and he saw that she shuddered.


With all his desire for her money,--his instant need of it,--this was too much for him; and he turned upon his heel, and left the room without another word.

This was too much for him; he turned and left the room without another word.


She heard his quick step as he hurried down the stairs, but she did not rise to arrest him.


She heard the door slam as he left the house, but still she did not move from her seat.

She heard his quick steps, and the door slam as he left the house, but still she did not move from her seat.


Her immediate desire had been that he should go,--and now he was gone.


There was in that a relief which almost comforted her.


And this was the man from whom, within the last few days, she had accepted an offer of marriage.


George, when he left the house, walked hurriedly into Cavendish Square, and down along the east side, till he made his way out along Princes Street, into the Circus in Oxford Street.

George, when he left the house, walked hurriedly into Cavendish Square, and down to Piccadilly.


Close to him there, in Great Marlborough Street, was the house of his parliamentary attorney, Mr. Scruby, on whom he was bound to call on that morning.

Close by was the house of his parliamentary attorney, Mr. Scruby, on whom he had to call on that morning.


As he had walked away from Queen Anne Street, he had thought of nothing but that too visible shudder which his cousin Alice had been unable to repress.

As he walked away from Queen Anne Street, he thought of nothing but that visible shudder which Alice had been unable to repress.


He had been feeding on his anger, and indulging it, telling himself at one moment that he would let her and her money go from him whither they list,--and making inward threats in the next that the time should come in which he would punish her for this ill-usage.

He indulged his anger, telling himself at one moment that he would let her and her money go - and the next moment making inward threats to punish her.


But there was the necessity of resolving what he would say to Mr. Scruby.

But he had to think of what he would say to Mr. Scruby.


To Mr. Scruby was still due some trifle on the cost of the last election; but even if this were paid, Mr. Scruby would make no heavy advance towards the expense of the next election.

He still owed Mr. Scruby some trifle of the cost of the last election; but even if this were paid, Mr. Scruby would not advance much towards the expense of the next.


Whoever might come out at the end of such affairs without a satisfactory settlement of his little bill, as had for a while been the case with Mr. Grimes, from the "Handsome Man,"--and as, indeed, still was the case with him, as that note of hand at three months' date was not yet paid,--Mr. Scruby seldom allowed himself to suffer.


It was true that the election would not take place till the summer; but there were preliminary expenses which needed ready money.


Metropolitan voters, as Mr. Scruby often declared, required to be kept in good humour,--so that Mr. Scruby wanted the present payment of some five hundred pounds, and a well-grounded assurance that he would be put in full funds by the beginning of next June.

He wanted the payment of some five hundred pounds, and an assurance that he would be repaid by the beginning of next June.


Even Mr. Scruby might not be true as perfect steel, if he thought that his candidate at the last moment would not come forth properly prepared.


Other candidates, with money in their pockets, might find their way into Mr. Scruby's offices.


As George Vavasor crossed Regent Street, he gulped down his anger, and applied his mind to business.


Should he prepare himself to give orders that Kate's little property should be sold out, or would he resolve to use his cousin's money?

Should he prepare himself to give orders that Kate's little property should be sold, or would he use Alice's money?


That his cousin's money would still be at his disposal, in spite of the stormy mood in which he had retreated from her presence, he felt sure; but the asking for it on his part would be unpleasant.


But as he reached Mr. Scruby's door, he had decided that for such purposes as those now in hand, it was preferable that he should use his wife's fortune.

But as he reached Mr. Scruby's door, he had decided that for these purposes, it was preferable that he should use his wife's fortune.


It was thus that in his own mind he worded the phrase, and made for himself an excuse.

It was thus that in his own mind he worded it.


Yes;--he would use his wife's fortune, and explain to Mr. Scruby that he would be justified in doing so by the fact that his own heritage would be settled on her at her marriage.

He would use his wife's fortune, and explain to Mr. Scruby that his own heritage would be settled on her at her marriage.


I do not suppose that he altogether liked it.


He was not, at any rate as yet, an altogether heartless swindler.

He was not yet a completely heartless swindler.


He could not take his cousin's money without meaning,--without thinking that he meant, to repay her in full all that he took.

He could not take his cousin's money without thinking that he meant to repay her in full.


Her behaviour to him this very morning had no doubt made the affair more difficult to his mind, and more unpleasant than it would have been had she smiled on him; but even as it was, he managed to assure himself that he was doing her no wrong, and with this self-assurance he entered Mr. Scruby's office.

He managed to assure himself that he was doing her no wrong, and with this self-assurance he entered Mr. Scruby's office.


The clerks in the outer office were very civil to him, and undertook to promise him that he should not be kept waiting an instant.

The clerks in the outer office were very civil, and promised that he should not be kept waiting an instant.


There were four gentlemen in the little parlour, they said, waiting to see Mr. Scruby, but there they should remain till Mr. Vavasor's interview was over.

There were four gentlemen, they said, wanting to see Mr. Scruby, but they should wait till Mr. Vavasor's interview was over.


One gentleman, as it seemed, was even turned out to make way for him; for as George was ushered into the lawyer's room, a little man, looking very meek, was hurried away from it.

One gentleman, it seemed, was even turned out to make way for him; for as George was ushered into the lawyer's room, a meek little man was hurried away from it.


"You can wait, Smithers," said Mr. Scruby, speaking from within.

"You can wait, Smithers," said Mr. Scruby to him.


Vavasor apologized to his agent for the injury he was doing Smithers; but Mr. Scruby explained that he was only a poor devil of a printer, looking for payment of his little account.

Then he explained to Vavasor that Smithers was a poor devil of a printer, looking for payment of his little account.


He had printed and posted 30,000 placards for one of the late Marylebone candidates, and found some difficulty in getting his money.

He had printed 30,000 placards for one of the Marylebone candidates, and found some difficulty in getting his money.


"You see, when they're in a small way of business, it ruins them," said Scruby.

"You see, when they're in a small way of business, it ruins them.


"Now that poor devil,--he hasn't had a shilling of his money yet, and the greater part has been paid out of his pocket to the posters.

That poor devil hasn't had a shilling of his money yet."


It comforted Vavasor when he thus heard that there were others who were more backward in their payments, even than himself, and made him reflect that a longer credit than had yet been achieved by him, might perhaps be within his reach.

It comforted Vavasor to hear that there were others who were even more backward in their payments than himself, and it made him reflect that a longer credit might be within his reach.


"It is astonishing how much a man may get done for him," said he, "without paying anything for years."


So he may, if he knows how to go about it.


But when he does pay, Mr. Vavasor, he does it through the nose;--cent.

But when he does pay, Mr. Vavasor, he pays through the nose."


per cent., and worse, for all his former shortcomings."


"How many there are who never pay at all," said George.


It isn't a pleasant thing to be afraid of coming into your agent's office; not what you would like, Mr. Vavasor;--not if I know you."


"I never was afraid of meeting anyone yet," said Vavasor; "but I don't know what I may come to."


But, Lord love you, I could tell you such tales!


I've had Members of Parliament, past, present, and future, almost down on their knees to me in this little room.

I've had Members of Parliament almost down on their knees to me in this little room.


It's about a month or six weeks before the elections come on when they're at their worst.

It's about a month before the elections when they're at their worst.


There is so much you see, Mr. Vavasor, for which a gentleman must pay ready money.

There is so much for which a gentleman must pay ready money."


It isn't like a business in which a lawyer is supposed to find the capital.


If I had money enough to pay out of my own pocket all the cost of all the metropolitan gentlemen for whom I act, why, I could live on the interest without any trouble, and go into Parliament myself like a man."


George Vavasor perfectly understood that Mr. Scruby was explaining to him, with what best attempt at delicacy he could make, that funds for the expense of the Chelsea election were not to be forthcoming from the Great Marlborough Street establishment.

George Vavasor perfectly understood that Mr. Scruby was explaining to him that funds for the Chelsea election were not to be forthcoming.


"Never, Mr. Vavasor," said Mr. Scruby, very solemnly.


I may advance the money, on interest, of course, when I receive a guarantee from the candidate's father, or from six or seven among the committee, who must all be very substantial,--very substantial indeed.


"I thought you did;--but at any rate I don't want you to do it for me."


"I'm quite sure you don't," said Mr. Scruby, with a brighter tone of voice than that he had just been using.


Lord bless you, Mr. Vavasor, I know the difference between gentlemen as soon as I see them."


Then they went to business, and Vavasor became aware that it would be thought convenient that he should lodge with Mr. Scruby, to his own account, a sum not less than six hundred pounds within the next week, and it would be also necessary that he should provide for taking up that bill, amounting to ninety-two pounds, which he had given to the landlord of the "Handsome Man."

Then they went to business, and Vavasor became aware that he needed to lodge with Mr. Scruby a sum of six hundred pounds within the next week, and that he also needed to provide for that bill for ninety-two pounds which he had given to the landlord of the "Handsome Man."


In short, it would be well that he should borrow a thousand pounds from Alice, and as he did not wish that the family attorney of the Vavasors should be employed to raise it, he communicated to Mr. Scruby as much of his plans as was necessary,--feeling more hesitation in doing it than might have been expected from him.

In short, it would be well that he should borrow a thousand pounds from Alice. As he did not wish that the family attorney of the Vavasors should be asked to raise it, he told Mr. Scruby as much of his plans as was necessary, feeling more hesitation than might have been expected from him.


When he had done so, he was very intent on explaining also that the money taken from his cousin, and future bride, would be repaid to her out of the property in Westmoreland, which was,--did he say settled on himself?


"Yes, yes;--a family arrangement," said Mr. Scruby, as he congratulated him on his proposed marriage.

"Yes, yes; a family arrangement," said Mr. Scruby, as he congratulated him on his proposed marriage.


Mr. Scruby did not care a straw from what source the necessary funds might be drawn.

Mr. Scruby did not care a straw where the money came from.


Kate Vavasor, in writing to her cousin Alice, felt some little difficulty in excusing herself for remaining in Norfolk with Mrs. Greenow.

Kate Vavasor, in writing to Alice, felt some difficulty in excusing herself for remaining in Norfolk with Mrs. Greenow.


She had laughed at Mrs. Greenow before she went to Yarmouth, and had laughed at herself for going there.


And in all her letters since, she had spoken of her aunt as a silly, vain, worldly woman, weeping crocodile tears, for an old husband whose death had released her from the tedium of his company, and spreading lures to catch new lovers.

In all her letters, she had spoken of her aunt as a silly, vain, worldly woman, weeping crocodile tears for an old husband, and spreading lures to catch new lovers.


But yet she agreed to stay with her aunt, and remain with her in lodgings at Norwich for a month.

Yet she agreed to stay with her aunt in Norwich for another month.


But Mrs. Greenow had about her something more than Kate had acknowledged when she first attempted to read her aunt's character.

For Mrs. Greenow had more about her than Kate had acknowledged.


She was clever, and in her own way persuasive.


She was very generous, and possessed a certain power of making herself pleasant to those around her.


In asking Kate to stay with her she had so asked as to make it appear that Kate was to confer the favour.

In asking Kate to stay, she had made it appear that Kate was to confer the favour.


She had told her niece that she was all alone in the world.


"I have money," she had said, with more appearance of true feeling than Kate had observed before.

"I have money," she had said, with more appearance of true feeling than Kate had seen before


"I have money, but I have nothing else in the world.

, "but I have nothing else in the world.


Why should I not remain here in Norfolk, where I know a few people?


If you'll say that you'll go anywhere else with me, I'll go to any place you'll name."


Kate had believed this to be hardly true.


She had felt sure that her aunt wished to remain in the neighbourhood of her seaside admirers; but, nevertheless, she had yielded, and at the end of October the two ladies, with Jeannette, settled themselves in comfortable lodgings within the precincts of the Close at Norwich.

Kate had yielded, and at the end of October the two ladies, with Jeannette, settled in comfortable lodgings within the precincts of the Cathedral Close at Norwich.


Mr. Greenow at this time had been dead very nearly six months, but his widow made some mistakes in her dates and appeared to think that the interval had been longer.

Mr. Greenow had now been dead nearly six months, but his widow appeared to think that the interval had been longer.


On the day of their arrival at Norwich it was evident that this error had confirmed itself in her mind.


"Only think," she said, as she unpacked a little miniature of the departed one, and sat with it for a moment in her hands, as she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, "only think, that it is barely nine months since he was with me?"

, she unpacked a little miniature of the departed one, and sat with it for a moment in her hands, saying, as she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes, "Only think, it is barely nine months since he was with me!"


"Six, you mean, aunt," said Kate, unadvisedly.

"Six, you mean, aunt," said Kate, ill-advisedly.


"Only nine months" repeated Mrs. Greenow, as though she had not heard her niece.

"Only nine months," repeated Mrs. Greenow, as though she had not heard her niece.


After that Kate attempted to correct no more such errors.


"It happened in May, Miss," Jeannette said afterwards to Miss Vavasor, "and that, as we reckons, it will be just a twelvemonth come Christmas."


And Jeannette was very ungrateful, and certainly should have indulged herself in no such sarcasms.

But Jeannette was very ungrateful to indulge in such sarcasms.


When Mrs. Greenow made a slight change in her mourning, which she did on her arrival at Norwich, using a little lace among her crapes, Jeannette reaped a rich harvest in gifts of clothes.

When Mrs. Greenow made a slight change in her mourning garments, adding a little lace to her crapes, Jeannette reaped a rich harvest in gifts of clothes.


Mrs. Greenow knew well enough that she expected more from a servant than mere service;--that she wanted loyalty, discretion, and perhaps sometimes a little secrecy;--and as she paid for these things, she should have had them.


Kate undertook to stay a month with her aunt at Norwich, and Mrs. Greenow undertook that Mr. Cheesacre should declare himself as Kate's lover, before the expiration of the month.

Kate promised to stay a month with her aunt at Norwich; and Mrs. Greenow promised that Mr. Cheesacre should declare himself as Kate's lover before the end of that month.


It was in vain that Kate protested that she wanted no such lover, and that she would certainly reject him if he came.

It was in vain that Kate protested that she wanted no such lover.


"That's all very well, my dear," Aunt Greenow would say.


"A girl must settle herself some day, you know;--and you'd have it all your own way at Oileymead."

"A girl must settle herself some day, you know; and you'd have it all your own way at Oileymead."


But the offer certainly showed much generosity on the part of Aunt Greenow, inasmuch as Mr. Cheesacre's attentions were apparently paid to herself rather than to her niece.

But the offer certainly showed much generosity on Aunt Greenow's part, considering that Mr. Cheesacre's attentions were paid to herself rather than to her niece.


He had taken the lodgings in the Close, and had sent over fowls and cream from Oileymead, and had called on the morning after their arrival; but in all his attentions he distinguished the aunt more particularly than the niece.

He had found their lodgings in the Close for them, and had sent over fowls and cream from Oileymead, and called on then the morning after their arrival; but in all his attentions he distinguished the aunt more than the niece.


"I am all for Mr. Cheesacre, Miss," said Jeannette once.

"I am all for Mr. Cheesacre, Miss," said Jeannette.


"The Captain is perhaps the nicerer-looking gentleman, and he ain't so podgy like; but what's good looks if a gentleman hasn't got nothing?

"The Captain is nicer-looking, and he ain't so podgy like; but what's good looks if a gentleman hasn't got nothing?"


I can't abide anything that's poor; neither can't Missus."


From which it was evident that Jeannette gave Miss Vavasor no credit in having Mr. Cheesacre in her train.


Captain Bellfield was also at Norwich, having obtained some quasi-military employment there in the matter of drilling volunteers.

Captain Bellfield was also at Norwich, having obtained some quasi-military employment in drilling volunteers.


Certain capacities in that line it may be supposed that he possessed, and, as his friend Cheesacre said of him, he was going to earn an honest penny once in his life.

As his friend Cheesacre said, he was going to earn an honest penny for once in his life.


The Captain and Mr. Cheesacre had made up any little differences that had existed between them at Yarmouth, and were close allies again when they left that place.

The Captain and Mr. Cheesacre had made up any differences that had existed between them at Yarmouth, and were close allies again.


Some little compact on matters of business must have been arranged between them,--for the Captain was in funds again.

Some little business arrangement must have been made, for the Captain was in funds,


He was in funds again through the liberality of his friend,--and no payment of former loans had been made, nor had there been any speech of such.


Mr. Cheesacre had drawn his purse-strings liberally, and had declared that if all went well the hospitality of Oileymead should not be wanting during the winter.

Mr. Cheesacre had been generous, and had declared that if all went well the hospitality of Oileymead should not be lacking during the winter.


Captain Bellfield had nodded his head and declared that all should go well.

Captain Bellfield had nodded and declared that all should go well.


"You won't see much of the Captain, I suppose," said Mr. Cheesacre to Mrs. Greenow on the morning of the day after her arrival at Norwich.

"You won't see much of the Captain, I suppose," said Mr. Cheesacre to Mrs. Greenow on the morning after her arrival at Norwich.


He had come across the whole way from Oileymead to ask her if she found herself comfortable,--and perhaps with an eye to the Norwich markets at the same time.

He had come the whole way from Oileymead to see her.


He now wore a pair of black riding boots over his trousers, and a round topped hat, and looked much more at home than he had done by the seaside.

He wore a pair of black riding boots, and a round topped hat, and looked much more at home than he had done by the seaside.


"He tells me that he must be on duty ten or twelve hours a day.


"It's a deuced good thing for him, and he ought to be very much obliged to me for putting him in the way of getting it.


But he told me to tell you that if he didn't call, you were not to be angry with him."


"You see, if he don't work now he must come to grief.


He hasn't got a shilling that he can call his own."

He hasn't got a shilling to call his own


"Not a shilling, Mrs. Greenow;--and then he's awfully in debt.

, Mrs. Greenow; and he's awfully in debt.


He isn't a bad fellow, you know, only there's no trusting him for anything."


Then after a few further inquiries that were almost tender, and a promise of further supplies from the dairy, Mr. Cheesacre took his leave, almost forgetting to ask after Miss Vavasor.

Then after a few further tender inquiries, Mr. Cheesacre took his leave, almost forgetting to ask after Miss Vavasor.


But as he left the house he had a word to say to Jeannette.


"We haven't seen a sight of him yet, sir,--and I have thought it a little odd."

"We haven't seen him yet, sir, and I have thought it a little odd."


Then Mr. Cheesacre gave the girl half-a-crown, and went his way.


Jeannette, I think, must have forgotten that the Captain had looked in after leaving his military duties on the preceding evening.

Jeannette, I think, must have forgotten that the Captain had looked in on the previous evening.


The Captain's ten or twelve hours of daily work was performed, no doubt, at irregular intervals,--some days late and some days early,--for he might be seen about Norwich almost at all times, during the early part of that November;--and he might be very often seen going into the Close.

The Captain's ten or twelve hours of daily work must have been performed at irregular times, for he might be seen about Norwich at all times of day, very often going to the Close.


In Norwich there are two weekly market-days, but on those days the Captain was no doubt kept more entirely to his military employment, for at such times he never was seen near the Close.

On Norwich's two weekly market-days, however, the Captain kept to his military employment.


Now Mr. Cheesacre's visits to the town were generally made on market-days, and so it happened that they did not meet.

Mr. Cheesacre's visits to the town were generally made on market-days, and so they did not meet.


On such occasions Mr. Cheesacre always was driven to Mrs. Greenow's door in a cab,--for he would come into town by railway,--and he would deposit a basket bearing the rich produce of his dairy.

On such occasions Mr. Cheesacre came by train and was driven to Mrs. Greenow's door in a cab, with a basket bearing the rich produce of his dairy.


It was in vain that Mrs. Greenow protested against these gifts,--for she did protest and declared that if they were continued, they would be sent back.

In vain Mrs. Greenow protested against these gifts, saying she would send them back; but they


They were, however, continued, and Mrs. Greenow was at her wits' end about them.

continued, and she was at her wits' end about them.


Cheesacre would not come up with them; but leaving them, would go about his business, and would return to see the ladies.


On such occasions he would be very particular in getting his basket from Jeannette.


As he did so he would generally ask some question about the Captain, and Jeannette would give him answers confidentially,--so that there was a strong friendship between these two.

, and would ask about the Captain, and Jeannette would give him confidential answers.


said Mrs. Greenow, as Kate came into the sitting-room one morning, and saw on the table a small hamper lined with a clean cloth.

said Mrs. Greenow, as Kate came into the sitting-room one morning, and saw a small hamper on the table.


"It's as much as Jeannette has been able to carry."


"So it is, ma'am,--quite; and I'm strong in the arm, too, ma'am."


"And he do admire you both so much," said Jeannette.


"Of course I don't want to offend him for many reasons," said the aunt, looking knowingly at her niece.


"I don't know anything about your reasons, aunt, but if I were you, I should leave the basket just as it is till he comes in the afternoon."

"If I were you, aunt, I should leave the basket just as it is till he comes in the afternoon."


"Would you mind seeing him yourself, Kate, and explaining to him that it won't do to get on in this way.

"Would you mind seeing him yourself, Kate, and explaining to him that he can't carry on in this way?


Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling him that if he'll promise not to bring any more, you won't object to take this one."

Perhaps you could tell him that if he'll promise not to bring any more, you won't object to taking this one."


"Nonsense, aunt;--I won't have you say so;--before Jeannette, too."

"I won't have you say so, aunt; in front of Jeannette, too."


"I think it's for both, ma'am; I do indeed.

"I think it's for both of you, ma'am," said Jeanette.


And there certainly ain't any cream to be bought like it in Norwich:--nor yet eggs."


And the widow lifted up the corner of the cloth.


"I declare if there isn't a turkey poult already."


Why, that's worth ten and sixpence in the market if it's worth a penny."


"It's out of the question that I should take upon myself to say anything to him about it," said Kate.

"It's out of the question that I should say anything to him about it," said Kate.


"Upon my word I don't see why you shouldn't, as well as I," said Mrs. Greenow.

"I don't see why you shouldn't," said Mrs. Greenow.


"I'll tell you what, ma'am," said Jeannette: "let me just ask him who they're for;--he'll tell me anything."

"I'll tell you what, ma'am," said Jeannette: "let me just ask him who they're for."


"Don't do anything of the kind, Jeannette," said Kate.


"Of course, aunt, they're brought for you.

"Of course they're brought for you, aunt."


A gentleman doesn't bring cream and turkeys to-- I've never heard of such a thing!"


"I don't see why a gentleman shouldn't bring cream and turkeys to you just as well as to me."


Indeed, he told me once as much himself."


"Then, if they're for me, I'll leave them down outside the front door, and he may find his provisions there."

"Then, if they're for me, I'll leave them outside the front door, for him to find."


And Kate proceeded to lift the basket off the table.


"Leave it alone, Kate," said Mrs. Greenow, with a voice that was rather solemn; and which had, too, something of sadness in its tone.

"Leave it alone, Kate," said Mrs. Greenow, with a voice that was rather solemn and sad.


"And I do hope you won't mention my name.


It's the most absurd thing in the world.


The man never spoke two dozen words to me in his life."


"He speaks to me, though," said Mrs. Greenow.


"He doesn't come here with those big flowers in his button-hole for nothing," said Jeannette,--"not if I knows what a gentleman means."


"Of course he doesn't," said Mrs. Greenow.


"If you don't object, aunt," said Kate, "I will write to grandpapa and tell him that I will return home at once."


"I don't think you'll be so silly as that, my dear."


On the present occasion Mrs. Greenow undertook that she would see the generous gentleman, and endeavour to stop the supplies from his farmyard.

However, Mrs. Greenow promised to see the gentleman, and try to stop the supplies from his farmyard.


It was well understood that he would call about four o'clock, when his business in the town would be over; and that he would bring with him a little boy, who would carry away the basket.

He would generally call about four o'clock, after his business in the town, bringing a little boy to carry away the basket.


At that hour Kate of course was absent, and the widow received Mr. Cheesacre alone.

At that hour Kate was absent, and the widow received Mr. Cheesacre alone.


The basket and cloth were there, in the sitting-room, and on the table were laid out the rich things which it had contained;--the turkey poult first, on a dish provided in the lodging-house, then a dozen fresh eggs in a soup plate, then the cream in a little tin can, which, for the last fortnight, had passed regularly between Oileymead and the house in the Close, and as to which Mr. Cheesacre was very pointed in his inquiries with Jeannette.

The basket was in the sitting-room, and on the table were laid out the rich things which it had contained; the turkey, a dozen fresh eggs, cream in a little tin can,


Then behind the cream there were two or three heads of broccoli, and a stick of celery as thick as a man's wrist.


Altogether the tribute was a very comfortable assistance to the housekeeping of a lady living in a small way in lodgings.

Altogether the tribute was a very comfortable assistance to a lady living in a small way in lodgings.


Mr. Cheesacre, when he saw the array on the long sofa-table, knew that he was to prepare himself for some resistance; but that resistance would give him, he thought, an opportunity of saying a few words that he was desirous of speaking, and he did not altogether regret it.

Mr. Cheesacre, when he saw the array on the table, prepared himself for some resistance; but he thought it would give him an opportunity of saying a few words.


"I just called in," he said, "to see how you were."


"We are not likely to starve," said Mrs. Greenow, pointing to the delicacies from Oileymead.

"We are not likely to starve," said Mrs. Greenow, pointing to the delicacies.


"Just a few trifles that my old woman asked me to bring in," said Cheesacre.

"Just a few trifles my old housekeeper asked me to bring."


"But your old woman is by far too magnificent," said Mrs. Greenow.

"But she is far too magnificent," said Mrs. Greenow.


"She really frightens Kate and me out of our wits."


Mr. Cheesacre had no wish that Miss Vavasor's name should be brought into play upon the occasion.

Mr. Cheesacre had no wish to bring Miss Vavasor's name into the conversation.


"Dear Mrs. Greenow," said he, "there is no cause for you to be alarmed, I can assure you.

"Dear Mrs. Greenow," said he, "there is no cause for you to be alarmed.


I don't think anything of such things as these."


"But I and Kate think a great deal of them,--a very great deal, I can assure you.

"But Kate and I think a great deal of them.


Do you know, we had a long debate this morning whether or no we would return them to Oileymead?"

Do you know, we had a long debate this morning whether we would return them to Oileymead?"


"Yes, indeed: what are women, situated as we are, to do under such circumstances?

"Yes, indeed: consider our circumstances.


When gentlemen will be too liberal, their liberality must be repressed."

When gentlemen are too liberal, their liberality must be repressed."


"And have I been too liberal, Mrs. Greenow?


What is a young turkey and a stick of celery when a man is willing to give everything that he has in the world?"


"You've got a great deal more in the world, Mr. Cheesacre, than you'd like to part with.


We won't talk of that now, Mr. Cheesacre."


"If you really have anything to say, you had by far better speak to Kate herself."

"If you really have anything to say, you had better speak to Kate herself."


Just at this moment, as he was drawing close to the widow, she heard, or fancied that she heard, Jeannette's step, and, going to the sitting-room door, called to her maid.


Jeannette did not hear her, but the bell was rung, and then Jeannette came.

who did not hear her; but the bell was rung, and then Jeannette came.


"You may take these things down, Jeannette," she said.


"Mr. Cheesacre has promised that no more shall come."


"But I haven't promised," said Mr. Cheesacre.


"You will oblige me and Kate, I know;--and, Jeannette, tell Miss Vavasor that I am ready to walk with her."

"You will oblige me and Kate, I know. And, Jeannette, tell Miss Vavasor that I am ready to walk with her."


Then Mr. Cheesacre knew that he could not say those few words on that occasion; and as the hour of his train was near, he took his departure, and went out of the Close, followed by the little boy, carrying the basket, the cloth, and the tin can.

Then Mr. Cheesacre knew that he could not say those few words this time; so he departed, followed by the little boy carrying the basket.


But Lady Glencora was not brought to repentance by her husband's last words.

But Lady Glencora was not brought to repentance by her husband's words.


It seemed to her to be so intolerably cruel, this demand of his, that she should be made to pass the whole of her first evening in town with an old woman for whom it was impossible that she should entertain the slightest regard, that she resolved upon rebellion.

It seemed to her to be intolerably cruel, this demand that she should pass her first evening in town with an old woman whom she disliked.
She resolved upon rebellion.


Had he positively ordered Mrs. Marsham, she would have sent for that lady, and have contented herself with enduring her presence in disdainful silence; but Mr. Palliser had not given any order.

He had not ordered that she invite Mrs. Marsham,


He had made a request, and a request, from its very nature, admits of no obedience.

merely requested, and a request does not demand obedience.


The compliance with a request must be voluntary, and she would not send for Mrs. Marsham, except upon compulsion.

She would not send for Mrs. Marsham unless he forced her to.


Had not she also made a request to him, and had not he refused it?

Had she not also made a request to him, and had he not refused it?


It was his prerogative, undoubtedly, to command; but in that matter of requests she had a right to expect that her voice should be as potent as his own.


She wrote a line, therefore, to Alice before she went to bed, begging her cousin to come to her early on the following day, so that they might go out together, and then afterwards dine in company with Mr. Bott.


"I know that will be an inducement to you," Lady Glencora said, "because your generous heart will feel of what service you may be to me.

"I know that will be an inducement to you," Lady Glencora said, "because your generous heart will feel how that will help me.


Nobody else will be here,--unless, indeed, Mrs. Marsham should be asked, unknown to myself."

Nobody else will be here - unless, indeed, Mrs. Marsham should be asked, unknown to me."


Then she sat herself down to think,--to think especially about the cruelty of husbands.

Then she sat down to think about the cruelty of husbands.


She had been told over and over again, in the days before her marriage, that Burgo would ill-use her if he became her husband.

She had been told in the days before her marriage that Burgo would ill-use her if he became her husband.


The Marquis of Auld Reekie had gone so far as to suggest that Burgo might probably beat her.

The Marquis of Auld Reekie had gone so far as to suggest that Burgo might beat her.


But what hard treatment, even what beating, could be so unendurable as this total want of sympathy, as this deadness in life, which her present lot entailed upon her?

But what hard treatment could be so unendurable as this total lack of sympathy on her husband's part?


As for that matter of beating, she ridiculed the idea in her very soul.

As for that matter of beating, she ridiculed the idea.


She sat smiling at the absurdity of the thing as she thought of the beauty of Burgo's eyes, of the softness of his touch, of the loving, almost worshipping, tones of his voice.

She sat smiling at the absurdity of the thing as she thought of the beauty of Burgo's eyes, of the softness of his touch, of his loving voice.


Would it not even be better to be beaten by him than to have politics explained to her at one o'clock at night by such a husband as Plantagenet Palliser?

Would it not even be better to be beaten by him than to have politics explained to her at one o'clock at night by Plantagenet Palliser?


Had she married Burgo they would have been in sunny Italy, and he would have told her some other tale than that as they sat together under the pale moonlight.

If she had married Burgo they would have been in sunny Italy, sitting together under the pale moonlight.


She had a little water-coloured drawing called Raphael and Fornarina, and she was infantine enough to tell herself that the so-called Raphael was like her Burgo--no, not her Burgo, but the Burgo that was not hers.


At any rate, all the romance of the picture she might have enjoyed had they allowed her to dispose as she had wished of her own hand.


She might have sat in marble balconies, while the vines clustered over her head, and he would have been at her knee, hardly speaking to her, but making his presence felt by the halo of its divinity.

She might have sat on marble balconies, while the vines clustered over her head, and he would have been at her knee, hardly speaking to her, but making her happy, lapped in the delight of loving.


He would have called upon her for no hard replies.


With him near her she would have enjoyed the soft air, and would have sat happy, without trouble, lapped in the delight of loving.


And why should not such a lot have been hers?


Her Raphael would have loved her, let them say what they would about his cruelty.


Poor, wretched, overburthened child, to whom the commonest lessons of life had not yet been taught, and who had now fallen into the hands of one who was so ill-fitted to teach them!

Poor, wretched, overburdened child, to whom the commonest lessons of life had not yet been taught, and who was now in the hands of one so ill-fitted to teach them!


The world had laden her with wealth till she had had no limb free for its ordinary uses, and then had turned her loose to run her race!

The world had laden her with wealth till she could barely move, then turned her loose to run her race!


His voice, as he spoke, clearly showed that his anger was either over or suppressed.


"Yes; I have asked her to come and drive, and then to stay for dinner."


I shall send the carriage for her if she can come.


And then, after a short pause, he added, "As that is settled, perhaps you would have no objection to ask Mrs. Marsham also?"

After a short pause, he added, "As that is settled, perhaps you would have no objection to ask Mrs. Marsham also?"


And then he added, being ashamed of the tinge of falsehood of which he would otherwise have been guilty, "I know she is not engaged."

And then he added, so as to avoid a falsehood, "I know she is not engaged."


"I have not asked her, if you mean that, Glencora.


I told her that I did not know what your engagements were."


"I will write to her, if you please," said the wife, who felt that she could hardly refuse any longer.

"I will write to her, if you wish," said the wife, who felt that she could hardly refuse any longer.


So Lady Glencora did write to Mrs. Marsham, who promised to come,--as did also Alice Vavasor.

So Lady Glencora did write to Mrs. Marsham, who promised to come - as did Alice.


Lady Glencora would, at any rate, have Alice to herself for some hours before dinner.


At first she took comfort in that reflection; but after a while she bethought herself that she would not know what to tell Alice, or what not to tell.

She took comfort in that reflection; but after a while she realised that she would not know how much to tell Alice.


Did she mean to show that letter to her cousin?


If she did show it, then,--so she argued with herself,--she must bring herself to endure the wretchedness of her present lot, and must give up for ever all her dreams about Raphael and Fornarina.

If she did show it, then - she told herself - she must give up for ever all her dreams about life with Burgo.


If she did not show it,--or, at any rate, tell of it,--then it would come to pass that she would leave her husband under the protection of another man, and she would become--what she did not dare to name even to herself.

If she did not show it, then she would leave her husband, and would become - something she did not dare to name even to herself.


She knew that she would go with Burgo, should he ever come to her with the means of going at his and her instant command.

She knew that she would go with Burgo if he found a way.


But should she bring herself to let Alice know that such a letter had been conveyed to her, Burgo would never have such power.

But if she let Alice know about his letter, Burgo would never have such power.


I remember the story of a case of abduction in which a man was tried for his life, and was acquitted, because the lady had acquiesced in the carrying away while it was in progress.


She had, as she herself declared, armed herself with a sure and certain charm or talisman against such dangers, which she kept suspended round her neck; but whilst she was in the post-chaise she opened the window and threw the charm from her, no longer desiring, as the learned counsel for the defence efficiently alleged, to be kept under the bonds of such protection.


Lady Glencora's state of mind was, in its nature, nearly the same as that of the lady in the post-chaise.


Whether or no she would use her charm, she had not yet decided, but the power of doing so was still hers.