not regard the matter seriously. With a face of amusement, he walked about his study, full of conjecture. He could not take up the disturbed track of thought; he must speculate about this quaint affair.

A hesitating knock came to his door while he was thus perambulating. His writing room was held sacred; when the door was closed none but Dorothy dared approach it. Therefore he much wondered what the new interruption might be.

He went to the door-and there stood Ernestine.

"They told me Dorothy had gone out, and you were not to be disturbed," she said timidly; "and I have been waiting in the drawingroom. But I ventured to knock. If you are busy, I will come in this evening."

He had never seen Ernestine like this. She was pale, trembling, with dark lines beneath her eyes. He took her hand, and drew her into the room. This was not comedy to him now. Looking into her face, he saw that not only were there dark lines under her eyes, but the lower lids were twice their wonted size. She had been crying all night-that was very plain to him. And this was the cold Ernestine, whom people called hard, stern, unapproachable.

"Don't let me disturb you," she repeated; "I only wanted to leave a message for Dorothy, which I couldn't quite leave with the servant."

For answer he drew her to a low chair, and made her sit down.

"What does it all mean?" he said.

"Has Dorothy heard, then ?" said she, putting her hand to her side. The long hours of the past night had made havoc of her strength. "I thought I should tell her first."

Ernestine's hand, which lay on the arm of her chair, began to tremble violently.

"No," she answered, "but I have annoyed him by following the course which seemed to me right. I am sorry for that-I am indeed; but we could never carry on our double practice under one roof. should sin again, I fear."

I

"It seems strange," said Coventry, in a perplexed voice, "that such a union as yours should be affected by mere professional jealousy."

The words stung Ernestine. "That is not all," she cried passionately; "I have not left my home and my husband because I am an interfering woman, and cannot leave his patients alone. Don't think that of me!"

Coventry looked at her in surprise.

"He thinks it is all," she went on; "but it is not, and I must let him think so, I must bear that; only don't you think so!"

She had buried her face in her hands, and Coventry only just heard these words. He left her side and sat down in his writing chair, looking at her in wonder. What did all this mean? He tried to look at the matter from each side, and all manner of fancies

passed through his brain. He at once rejected the idea that Ernestine had left her husband from any cause in her own heart; no one could hear her speak of him and look in her face without knowing that her love was still absolutely his. Was it,then, the old story of a high-spirited woman's jealousy?

Ernestine looked up into his face, and her quick intuitions told her something of his thoughts.

"Now you are drawing conclusions in your own mind," she exclaimed; "don't do that! You will be wrong. You will think I am jealous, or some such thing; and you will be wrong. No! my tongue is tied to him, to everyone -but my soul revolted against the position I was placed in. I could not endure it, and so I left it; that is all."

At this moment the door was opened unceremoniously, and a second after Dorothy was on her knees at Ernestine's side, crying again. Coventry got up and shut the door, and then turned and looked at the two women. a sight fit for a poet's eyes. Dorothy's first articulate utterance was a very decided one.

It was

"You must come and live hereyou must and you shall. You shall not go into lodgings all alone."

66

"I have got lodgings close by," said Ernestine; "I could not go far away from you. But I should worry you out of your two dear lives if I came here. Why, I mean to set up a night bell!"

"It should ring into your room," persisted Dorothy. But Ernestine only smiled and shook her head, and thanked her.

"No, I shall not do that," answered Ernestine, confidently. "I am nervous this morning, I know, but I have work before me which will not allow of nervousness; so I am sure to be all right before the day is out. I shall have my hands full with little Miss Armine soon, I fear."

"Miss Armine!" cried Dorothy; "I saw her just now; surely she is not going to be seriously ill again?"

"I hope not; but her eyes are too bright, and she looks as if she had rouged inartistically. I have persuaded her to leave the rooms she is in. The landlord has no respect for sanitary laws. I want her to leave at once."

"Do you?" cried Dorothy. "Has she anywhere to go? Shall I look for some rooms for her? Poor child, she can't afford to be ill so often."

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE POLICE COURT. WHEN Laura found that she would have to appear in the police court and give her evidence against Yriarte, she immediately paid a private visit to Mr. Lingen, and asked him to advise her as to how much and how little she was to say. He had made her mind easy as to the task before her, and she arose as fresh as a daisy on the morning of the day which was to see Yriarte in the prisoner's dock.

She dressed herself with skill, and put on a veil which seemed intended to conceal her face, but really only set off its especial charms; and then, accompanied by her maid Mrs. Honiton being altogether unable to endure the sights and odours of a police court -drove to Bow-street.

She had never been there before; the horrible aspect of that thoroughfare was new to her, and she looked

around with some consternation at the ugly crowd which gathered about her carriage.

Dr. Doldy was waiting for her just inside the gloomy passage to the court. He came out and helped her from the carriage. He did not speak to her, and, without any word passing between them, uncle and niece passively submitted to the guidance of a burly policeman, who ushered. them through a dingy passage, and then, opening a door, led them into the murky little court. Laura was requested to sit down upon a narrow bench. She glanced around, and was at first taken aback by the mass of ugly, interested faces which gazed on her from the partitioned space devoted to the public. But her eye, travelling on, immediately fell upon Lewis Lingen, who sat just below her. The sight refreshed her beyond measure. The coolness and elegant languor of his bearing gave her a sense of rocklike strength. She observed his delicate-coloured gloves, which no dusty papers ever seemed to soil. She drew auguries of triumph from the rich-hearted rose in his buttonhole. And a sense of amusement came over her as she watched him ; for she saw that in one hand he held a scent bottle, which, in the intervals of looking over his papers or of speaking to those around him, he used delicately. Laura smiled to herself; she had not thought of bringing her own vinaigrette, but, she supposed, Mr. Lingen's experience of police-court odours had taught him more forethought. Certainly the atmosphere

was

abominable, she realised, now that her attention was attracted to it, and the excitement of her first entrance was wearing off. Surely the magistrate must get a headache, she thought; and can a man judge impartially with a headache?

Yes, he was mounting the steps which led to that lofty position. He was the same José Yriarte that Laura had once assured herself she loved; extravagantly well-dressed, a small cane in his gloved hand, a smile on his thinly-mustachioed lips. Laura's little boot-heel ground the board beneath her foot. This moment had an ecstacy of its own for her.

He was followed by the other prisoner, Anton, whose supremely handsome face elicited a subdued murmur of admiration from the ladies of the "people," who struggled forward, reckless of the physical sufferings of others, to catch a better view of him.

When he first appeared, a low exclamation of surprise in a familiar voice startled Laura. She looked, and saw that Dorothy Silburn stood close beside her. She must have just come in; but she took no notice of Laura-her eyes were fixed upon Anton.

Laura also looked again at the prisoners; but hurriedly dropped her eyes, for Yriarte, leaning jauntily upon the edge of the dock, was smiling at her and trying to attract her attention, as if they were at the opera instead of in a police court. Laura was intensely indignant-did he expect to carry off his humiliation so insolently? She looked covertly up through her eyelashes after a second, to see

whether he was still watching her. No; he had turned, and, with that sickly peculiar leer which distinguishes the man of low and selfish amours, was scrutinising the faces of the ladies who stood nearlooking either for the recognition of an acquaintance, or for some response to his general admiration.

Dorothy had been watching him. She suddenly turned and looked at Laura; and then took out her handkerchief and put it to her lips, as if to hide their expression. Laura now dropped her eyes and sat motionless, for she had become aware that Mr. Lingen was speaking; that he was giving an outline of the case; that he was mentioning her name. He was then just introducing her, as it were, and expressing his confidence that the public sympathies would be given to a young lady who had the courage to come forward in such a painful case. She heard him describe José Yriarte as a Spaniard of good birth and high connections.

"And his accomplice in this disgraceful case?" said the magistrate with dignity and contempt; "who and what is he ?"

"He is said to be a merchant, by himself and the other defendant," answered Mr. Lingen, turning his eyeglass upon the handsome gentleman referred to; "but no traces of any such occupation can be discovered."

"Is he a Spaniard also ?"

"He appears to be Italian," replied Mr. Lingen, " and professes to be unable to speak English. But we have an interpreter in court."

At this moment there was a little stir among the well-dressed spectators, and a little consultation among the authorities of the court. And then, to Laura's great surprise, Dorothy Silburn, journalist, was announced, and stepped into the witness-box and was sworn by the

clerk of the court. She kissed the Bible with a little shudder, caused by its greasiness and an involuntary thought of all the lips which had pressed it before hers. The element of the ridiculous had an annoying way of presenting itself before Dorothy's mental eye at the most inopportune moment.

"I had no intention of acting as witness in this case," said she; "but, as you seem in doubt with regard to this Italian gentleman's employment, may I be allowed to state that I have seen him recently acting in the capacity of model at the Atlas School of Art, and also in a private studio."

"What an extraordinary occupation for a merchant!" remarked the magistrate. "Can you tell us anything further?" to Dorothy.

"Nothing," she said, "except this, that the models at the Atlas School are paid half-a-crown an hour, and, by private students, even less; so that, as it seems to me, this gentleman can hardly have been in a position to act as a merchant or to lend money in the

manner

named: " with which Dorothy withdrew, followed by a buzz of applause, while curious glances were turned upon Anton.

"A very shrewd conclusion," said the magistrate to himself as he made a note of her evidence.

Dorothy, her mind relieved, sat down on the bench in Laura's place; for that young lady was now called into the witness-box. Her appearance there arrested a conversation which had been going on between Yriarte and Anton since Dorothy's statement. Yriarte had been leaning towards him, and had apparently been questioning him in an under-tone; but he turned at once on hearing Laura's voice, and fixed his eyes on her with his habitual bold stare. This did not appear to disconcert Laura, who made her statements with great

composure, and quietly met his gaze several times when referring to him. She drew the line so clearly, representing herself as so innocent and injured a being, and with such apparent unconsciousness, that Lingen smiled within himself, and, looking up from his abstracted gaze upon his papers, he met Yriarte's eyes, so full of evident admiration of the lady's cleverness, that the lawyer himself hastily put up his eyeglass, in order to conceal his own expression.

"I first met Mr. Yriarte," said Laura, "at a ball given by some Spaniards of distinction in London. He afterwards obtained introductions to my aunt, Mrs. Honiton, and to my uncle, Dr. Doldy, and called frequently at both houses. He proposed marriage to me, and, as he was highly connected, my uncle made no objection, and we became engaged. Afterwards we met frequently, and, on more intimate acquaintance, decided to break off the engagement. We had frequently corresponded during the engagement; and when it was broken off I returned the letters which I had of his, and asked for my own. At first he said he had burned them; afterwards he told me he had kept a few. A short time ago I met him in Rotten Row, and he told me that he owed a man some money; and that, my letters having been in a box which contained jewelry, his creditor had seized the box, and, discovering the contents, refused to return them until the debt was paid."

She then went into some particulars of the different interviews with Yriarte, stating that he attempted to get money from her by threats and menaces.

Mr. Lingen also read aloud some of Yriarte's letters, asking for money, and saying that Anton would wait no longer, and that her letters would either be published or

handed over to certain persons whom he would not name.

"And these letters of Miss Doldy's," said the magistrate; "have they been inspected? These threats are of course groundless ?"

Mr. Lingen dropped his eyeglass, and turned a perfectly blank and expressionless countenance upon the magistrate.

"I have looked at them," he said, "and they are such as any engaged lady might write-such as any engaged lady might write," he repeated with emphasis.

Yriarte pulled his mustachios, and looked across at Laura. She was as imperturbable as if carved out of stone.

"That makes it a very serious case," said the magistrate gravely. The prisoners' advocate advocate now spoke. He said that the prisoners

allowed themselves to have acted wrongly; but he represented that their punishment should be something nominal. The principal defendant's circumstances had altered for the worse. Moreover, he had no doubt expended large sums of money during his connection with the plaintiff; and, in fine, neither of the defendants could fairly be expected to manifest the same high order of morality as an Englishman. Anton was unable to speak English, and knew nothing of the laws of the country. He had adopted a simple if rough expedient for obtaining money owed to him, and which he much needed. Yriarte was young, had not been long in England, and knew little of the social customs of the English. He had considered himself seriously ill-used by Miss Doldy, and, as some of his relations had refused to believe that the lady -who was known to be beautiful and an heiress-had accepted him in marriage, he had retained some letters as a protection against their insinuations. The fate of these