her reputation is a terrible thing, the blow, if it did come, would be greatly softened by the possession of her fortune. But as usual, with all her shallow acuteness, Laura misjudged those whom she knew best. She could not comprehend that, the evils done and no redress obtainable, there would be no satisfaction to either Dr. Doldy or Ernestine in exposing her.

But Ernestine found a great satisfaction in a strange task which she took upon her that afternoon. Knowing that on this day the power would become theirs to provide for Laura's child, she went to see the lady who was now supporting it. She came away from the interview bewildered, amazed. She had a met a beautiful, elegant, and accomplished woman: a woman, as Lingen had said, able to hold a high place in society. Yet this woman was Yriarte's slave; not only loving his faults, but worshipping his vices. Ernestine was sufficiently astonished at the glimpse she had obtained of a side of human nature which was new to her; yet she had not heard the most extraordinary part of the affair. She did not know that this woman was Yriarte's wife, and would have died rather than reveal the secret, because Yriarte had persuaded her that, though he loved her, and would never desert her, it was absolutely necessary that he must run all risks and marry for money, as (after drawing upon her to an extent only short of ruin) he found it impossible to secure ease in any other way; and neither did Ernestine know that this woman had been using every influence she possessed, and backing up every efforts his connections had been making to effect his acquittal and release.

of this, she had seen and guessed enough to puzzle her and make her walk home in a half dream. She was filled with admiration of this woman's heroism and endurance. What right had she to say that these high qualities were wrongly used? Are not general ideas of right and wrong merely arbitrary? Do not the words mean something totally different, as regards the reality they convey, in different phases of human life?

Her honest mind was perplexing itself with this question, as she stood on the curbstone, waiting for a block of carriages to move on and enable her to cross the road. It happened that she stood very

near

to a cab containing some gentlemen, which stood in the midst of the block. One of them leaned forward and put his head out at the window. The man was ugly-a grin upon his face showed cruel teeth; a leer in his eyes added to the unpleasantness of his expression, yet Ernestine stared into it with wide eyes. A likeness, a familiarity, so startled her that she did not shrink or turn aside from the insolence of his gaze, but seemed unable to remove her eyes from his. One of the other gentlemen suddenly leaned forward, speaking quickly some words which Ernestine did not catch, and, pushing back his companion, drew up the window of the cab. But, just as the window was closing, Ernestine heard the "Deuced fine woman."

words,

Could she be mistaken? She tried to catch another glimpse, but the carriage had driven on and was now getting out of the block.

But she was not mistaken, she felt assured. Every instant's reflection made her the more positive that the man whom she had seen was the same who at one time used to follow her home from the hospital, and had tried to fascinate her with his leer. And Dorothy had told her that this was Yriarte. And Yriarte was supposed to be in prison.

What could it mean? Bewildered and shaken, she hurried home, hoping to find Dr. Doldy. Surely the wedding breakfast would be over now: and he had said that as soon as Sir Percy and his wife left, he should return straight home.

He was not there when she entered. She went and sat in her especial corner in her own room— the corner in which that infatuated lover, Dr. Doldy, had declared her to appear like a picture in a shrine. For he had fulfilled his old dream, and made her room full of the colours which harmonised perfectly with her hair and her face.

He soon came in, going straight to her room, as he always did now (to make certain that she had not run away again, so he told her), and pausing a moment at the door to look at her. Yes, there was no longer an empty window seat, inhabited only by a shadow, and the peculiar darkness that comes when light is suddenly withdrawn-there was love, warmth, and home for him, for there sat his perfect woman-a woman, as he thought, worthy of Shakespeare in her vivid life, her pure honesty, her errors which were born of love.

She looked up at him, her face full of perplexity.

"Arthur," she said gravely, "it is very strange-very unaccount

able-I am afraid you will hardly believe me, but I have seen Yriarte to-day-in the street, in a cab."

"My dear child," responded Dr. Doldy, sitting down comfortably beside her," much learning hath made thee mad."

"There is a large query to the cause, and what are the symptoms?" said she with a smile upon her sweet puzzled face.

"You are dreaming-you don't even know the scoundrel — you never saw him."

"Yes," said Ernestine, colouring faintly, "I know him by sight." "And how, pray? asked Dr. Doldy, still incredulous; "I did my best to prevent your having to meet such a fellow.'

"He used to meet me sometimes on my way from the hospital to Aunt Vavasour's," she said, hesitating a little, "and once took it into his head to follow me home. Dorothy was with me one time afterwards, and told me that he was Mr. Yriarte, and he really is unmistakable."

"Oh!" said Dr. Doldy, wrathfully; "this is what comes of women like you having to walk about the streets. I wish I had the cur here he must needs not only insult my niece, but make eyes at my Ernestine!"

Well," said she, laughing a little at his wrath, "that doesn't matter now, that I see. The great question is, how can he be driving about London a fortnight after he has been sentenced to penal servitude?"

"You must have been mistaken, child," said Dr. Doldy, "the thing is absurd."

"I was not mistaken," said Ernestine positively.

"Stay! what was he wearing? perhaps he was being conveyed from one prison to another? Was there a policeman ?"

"No. And now that you speak of

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Ernestine," said Dr. Doldy, gravely, "you seem to me to be talking very wildly. People cannot play with law. But do you know that you promised to explain to-day some expressions which you once used about Laura? Now, instead of mystifying me any further, come sit down, and explain yourself. I shall begin to think you are going mad when you talk enigmas about my niece, and at the same time declare that you see convicts driving at large in the streets."

"I am positive about Yriarte," said Ernestine. "As to explana. tions," said she, a little wearily, "you had better go to Mr. Lingen." But, all the same, she came and sat beside him. Her pledge of secrecy expired to-day. Laura knew very well that Dr. Doldy's utmost wrath would do her no harm when once Sir Percy and Lady Flaxen had driven off to that mighty Charingcross station, which a great writer was once heard to describe, in a poetic moment, as the gateway of the Continent. Her money was safe; her reputation he would

protect, however angry he might be.

Ernestine felt strangely indisposed to mention Laura's name now that she was at liberty to do So. Her soul revolted from letting her husband understand the labyrinth of small deceits in the midst of which he had so unconsciously moved. She felt, too, that he had been made something of a puppet. The thing was over; she hated to speak of it." Go to Mr. Lingen,' she said; "he will tell you so much better than I can." At the same time she could not help letting enough fall in answer to his questions to make the vein start on his forehead blue and distinct.

"Do you mean that Laura was ashamed of those letters ?-that the man had some hold over hernonsense! It is all of a piece with Yriarte's driving in the streetsyou are dreaming, dear."

"Go to Mr. Lingen," said Ernestine again. "You will soon learn whether the mystery that has been hanging-oh! so black a cloud!— over me, is my own madness or not. I have no wish to tell you anything of this intrigue which has forced itself upon my life against my will. And, as Laura once reminded me, one has no right to gossip of things one may have seen professionally. Keeping secrets and telling them seem to be equally part of a lawyer's business."

"Then I will go to Lingen," exclaimed Dr. Doldy, standing up to go on the instant. Ernestine detained him.

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"Remember," she said, "the condition I made on returning home about Laura's money. I could never bear that a single penny of it should be used in the house in which I live. I will not give Laura the triumph of supposing that I kept her secrets in order to obtain her money. You wished to be satisfied that there was a reason for

this. Ask Mr. Lingen to satisfy you; he will understand. Tell him also that I have been this morning to see about the purpose to which I wish to devote that money. Yes, you are amazed; I have made no promises, for that I could not do; but I have satisfied myself that the

money is needed. Yes, without your knowledge I have taken the means of satisfying myself! I have relied on your chivalrous temperament; you will carry out the plan. Now go, ask Mr. Lingen anything you choose. I am too weary of it all to talk any more."

She sat down again, and throwing back her wandering curls, took a bowl of white flowers into her lap and let her eyes feast on them. She craved the rest of beauty and purity. Her cloud was passing over in reality; but the blackness of it was yet visible.

Dr. Doldy gave her one looksaw the wave of abstraction coming over her face-and decided within himself that he was likely to get more satisfactory explanations from Mr. Lingen. So he went out and left her with her flowers.

THAT same evening in one of the largest hotels in Boulogne two men sat at a small table in the coffee-room drinking.

The windows opened wide upon the harbour; the sweet sea breeze entered and called people out to admire the calm, beautiful night.

But these two men, though they had but that day escaped from foggy London, were not to be attracted by the sea in its mood of sweetness, or the sky with its face full of stars. The beautiful and the picturesque were alike without charm for them. Both were accus

tomed to gravitate to a room exhausted of air and filled with mingled perfume and cigar smoke. They were only chance travelling companions, drawn together by that odd attraction which makes such men invariably find each other amid a crowd. Community of tastes is soon discovered when the tastes are as simple as drinking, gambling, and telling very doubtful stories.

These two newly-made friends over their wine told each other several racy and charming stories, which got them into a delightful state of mirth and good humour. And then, when that form of amusement slackened, one of them -a small, dark man, with teeth that flashed ominously when he laughed produced a new pack of cards from his pocket. His companion, a stout Frenchman, with dirty hands and many rings upon them, welcomed the sight with enthusiasm. In a few moments they were deeply plunged in their new amusement. The stakes became heavier with every fresh game, the excitement more enthralling. The Frenchman lost money rapidly, and grew more furious and suspicious with every fresh deal. They were undisturbed, it was late, the coffee-room was empty. The waiters were standing outside the hotel taking the air and watching for any arrivals from the last Folkestone boat, which was behind its time.

There soon were several arrivals, and then the hotel people were too busy showing bed-rooms and fetching luggage to notice the raised. voices and mingled execrations in French and Spanish in the coffeeroom. The Frenchman's suspicions had come to a climax. He was calling his companion a cheat in every manner which his voluble tongue admitted.

A languid English voice outside

ordered "Dinner, some dry champagne-and be quick."

"In the coffee-room, sir ?" asked the polite landlord, who was а stout Englishman.

The gentleman to whom the languid English voice belonged looked into the coffee-room.

I

"No, in a private room. can't take a lady in there; there are fellahs gambling."

"Gambling, sir! Oh, impossible," exclaimed the landlord ; and, handing the English visitors over to his chattering French wife to be shown upstairs, he hastened to the coffee-room.

There he found a scene worthy of a more artistic appreciation than he could give it. The two men leaning across the table, gesticulating, talking any language which came first French, English, Spanish-or, perhaps, selecting the strongest expressions of all to mingle in one concentrated jargon of oaths, exhibited certain classes of French and Spanish character to perfection.

But the landlord found nothing to admire in the scene. He soon made his voice heard above theirs, and, in a language as mixed as their own, informed them that his was not a gambling house, that they were in a public room, that he would not allow this conduct for an instant. He repeated this so often and so loudly that the two men stopped at last and gave him their attention.

"Very well," cried the Spaniard in shrill and infuriated English; "if we can't do what we choose in this abominable hotel of yours, we'll go to another. Make out the bill, sir, and be careful about it. I know very well what the items should be very well I know. Make out the bills, sir; we'll go the first thing in the morning."