THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mrs. George Papashvily 
 
ONCE AGAIN 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. FORRESTER, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "JUNE," "I HAVE LIVED AND LOVED," " VIVA,* 1 
 "MY LORD AND MY LADY," ETC., ETC. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA! 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 
 1896. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 A YOUNG man and a pretty girl madly in love. The 
 adverb is correct. Love, like anger, is a brief madness. 
 Love, when every question of prudence, of expediency, of 
 consideration for the future, is flung recklessly to the 
 winds, is a disastrous form of madness. 
 
 The man is much madder than the girl, inasmuch as his 
 passion is a thousandfold stronger than hers. She, indeed, 
 pretty, fair, and foolish, without much character, has 
 hitherto been uninfluenced by strong feeling of any kind. 
 Her lover's fire has, however, kindled a certain amount of 
 answering warmth in her breast, and he has succeeded in 
 persuading her that life without him would not be worth 
 living. She is weak ; she is yielding ; she has a little 
 only a little touch of romance, and she is younger than 
 her nineteen years warrant. She has always leaned on 
 a stronger nature. Until she met, just one month ago, 
 the rock which at present offers her its support, she had 
 leaned upon her mother ; but the breast of the stalwart 
 young soldier seemed to suggest a more attractive shelter 
 than the maternal bosom, and, resolutely shutting her 
 eyes to any but the most agreeable and seductive thoughts 
 of the future, Miss Dulcie proposed to herself to repose 
 blissfully and continuously on the impassioned heart of Mr. 
 Roel Trevor for the next five decades. 
 
 The absolutely insuperable obstacle represented by the 
 young gentleman's want of fortune added the necessary 
 fuel to the flames. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon, Dulcie's mother, a thorough woman of the 
 world, with a nature as strong as her daughter's was weak, 
 was not in the very smallest degree likely to be influ- 
 
 1* 5 
 
 036 
 
6 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 enced by any amount of tears and prayers from despairing 
 lovers. She knew, or thought she knew, the exact value 
 of love, so called by rash and inconsiderate youth, and 
 would not have permitted Cupid to unfurl one feather of 
 his wings under her roof unless he brought substantial 
 offerings along with his false and foolish vows. Love, 
 forsooth ! Perjured little wretch ! Source of abiding 
 misery and wretchedness since Time began ! Dulcie had 
 met Mr. Trevor in a country house, where, most unusual 
 to relate, she had been a guest without her mother. After 
 they had danced, ridden, walked, and sung together, the 
 first symptoms of madness discovered themselves : the 
 moment they were parted the disease assumed a serious 
 form. 
 
 One November afternoon, Mr. Trevor, feeling it utterly 
 impossible to remain another twenty-four hours without 
 seeing the only object for which he at present existed, re- 
 solved to take the desperate measure of calling at the 
 house which shrined his angel, and, about the hour when 
 the feminine and modest orgy which is performed each 
 afternoon in the family circle was likely to be in full 
 swing, he knocked at the door of No. Grosvenor Street 
 and prepared to face the dragon who guarded the golden 
 apple he coveted. For Dulcie had represented her mamma 
 to him somewhat in the light of a dragon, knowing as 
 well as she did that lady's opinion on the subject of impe- 
 cunious admirers. Noel, being a straightforward young 
 soldier, had interspersed his vows with lamentations on 
 the limited condition of his finances, and, whilst pleading 
 ardently for her love and her hand, had not scrupled to 
 represent his own unfitness to receive the gift. 
 
 He had fondly imagined that Dulcie would in some 
 manner have paved the way for his visit, have prepared 
 her mother's mind for an approaching suitor ; but he reck- 
 oned without his fair. Dulcie was an arrant coward, very 
 much in awe of her mother, and had only mentioned her 
 meeting with Mr. Trevor in so casual a manner that it 
 had not given Mrs. Yernon the smallest arriere-pensee. 
 But Noel had not been five minutes in her charming 
 drawing-room before that astute lady grasped the state 
 of affairs. Mr. Trevor was in love with her daughter, 
 and, from the slight confusion and excitement in the man- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 7 
 
 nor of her usually placid Dulcie, she divined that his feel- 
 ing was reciprocated. 
 
 As she knew nothing of Mr. Trevor, his connections and 
 affairs, his desirability or the reverse, her behavior to him 
 was tinted by a courteous neutrality : she was very pleas- 
 ant, very civil, but she gave him no opportunity of ex- 
 changing a glance or word alone with Dulcie, and when 
 he took his leave she did not invite him to repeat his 
 visit. He prolonged his call, fraught as it was to him with 
 embarrassment and discomfort, hoping against hope that 
 other guests would come in and divert Mrs. Yernon's at- 
 tention from himself and her daughter, thus giving them 
 a chance of communicating eternal promises of fidelity 
 with their eyes, and perhaps by whispers ; but on this un- 
 fortunate afternoon he was the only visitor, and when he 
 went out from the presence which he had entered with a 
 beating and hopeful heart it was with a confused feeling 
 of having beaten his head against, not a brick wall, but a 
 velvet cushion. 
 
 " Who is this Mr. Trevor, Dulcie ?" inquired her mother, 
 when the door had closed upon their visitor. Her tone 
 was airy and indifferent. 
 
 Dulcie blushed and pretended to arrange the teacups. 
 
 " I do not know, mamma/' she returned, in a confused 
 voice. 
 
 " Is he related to the Trevors ?" 
 
 " I don't think so." 
 
 " Who are his people ?" 
 
 " I I don't think he has any particularly," stumbled 
 Dulcie. " His mother died a year ago, and he has not any 
 father or brothers or sisters." 
 
 " Where does he live ?" 
 
 " I don't think he lives anywhere. He is in the tn, 
 and his regiment is going to India in a month or two." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon involuntarily heaved a slight sigh of re- 
 lief. India is an excellent place for impecunious young 
 soldiers. 
 
 " How did the Fawcetts come to know him ?" she in- 
 quired, with symptoms of waning interest in her tone. 
 
 " I I think he was at school with Charlie." 
 
 "Rather foolish of them to ask him there with two 
 marriageable daughters," observed Mrs. Yernon, looking 
 
8 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 full at poor embarrassed Dulcie, " if, as I gather from what 
 you say, he has no money and no expectations. However, 
 he seems rather a dull young man, so perhaps they do not 
 consider him dangerous." 
 
 The stab penetrated Dulcie's breast, but she gave no 
 sign. She understood well enough what her mother 
 meant ; she knew, as she had known before, that the case 
 was hopeless. Tears came into her eyes, and she turned 
 away to hide them, but Mrs. Yernon read her face as an 
 open page. 
 
 " This," she said to herself, with a sense of irritation, 
 " comes of my being foolish enough to allow her to stay 
 in a house without me. Eeally I should have given 
 Agnes Fawcett credit for a little more discretion than to 
 invite a man of that sort." 
 
 Meantime, Noel was walking in deep dejection to his 
 club. Arrived there, he proceeded to the smoking-room, 
 flung himself into a low chair, and having, like Jupiter, 
 concealed himself in clouds, gave the rein to the most 
 dismal thoughts and imaginings. He conceived a hatred 
 of Mrs. Yernon which that courteous and well-bred lady 
 had certainly done little to merit during their interview : 
 everything assumed a tinge of inky despair : the world 
 was Pandora's box without its one redeeming feature. 
 If he could only write to his beloved one ! But he felt 
 certain that dreadful mother of hers opened her letters. 
 Communicate with her in some way he must and would ; 
 but how ? 
 
 He dined without appetite, and retired again to seek 
 the soothing influence of nicotine, finally deciding to 
 write to Dulcie a letter which, even if it fell, as he fore- 
 saw it would, into the hands of Mrs. Yernon, could not 
 do any serious mischief. He took up his pen, and, after 
 many nibblings at its tail, for he was not very clever at 
 expressing his thoughts on paper, wrote, 
 
 " DEAR Miss YERNON, 
 
 " I am quite ashamed that I have only just remembered 
 the song I promised to get you." (" Of course she'll tum- 
 ble to that," he soliloquized, grinding the pen in his strong 
 young teeth.) " But I shall get it the first thing to-mor- 
 row and send it." (After this Mr. Trevor took at least ten 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 9 
 
 minutes to decide on his next sentence.) " I hope," he ulti- 
 mately continued, " that I shall have the pleasure of seeing 
 you again before I go to India. Do you walk in the Eow 
 sometimes in the morning, or might not we do a play 
 together? 
 
 " Believe me, 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 "NOEL TREVOR." 
 
 " There !" he ejaculated, relieved, " there is nothing in 
 that that the old cat may not see, and Dulcie Jove ! what 
 a sweet, dear name it is ! must answer it. She'll under- 
 stand, of course, little darling, why I've made it so cool 
 and formal." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was rather vexed at the discovery she had 
 made, but did not allow it to trouble her seriously. Her 
 Dulcie was so well brought up, so thoroughly under her 
 control, that she could not imagine her turning restive ; 
 and then, heaven be thanked ! this young man was going 
 to India, and Dulcie would straightway forget all about 
 him. The only thing to do was to prevent their meeting 
 in the mean time. Mrs. Yernon thoroughly considered 
 the question in all its bearings ; whether opposition would 
 be dangerous, whether it would be more prudent to pre- 
 tend to see nothing ; but, on the whole, knowing her own 
 strength and Dulcie's weakness, she concluded the best 
 plan would be to make the girl understand that young 
 Trevor was not to be thought~of for an instant. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was an ambitious woman, and had very 
 different views for her pretty daughter. 
 
 She woke earlier than usual the following morning, as 
 often happens to people when they have vexing thoughts 
 lying in wait at their pillow-heads, and had plenty of 
 time to reflect on the subject in every aspect before her 
 maid came to call her. 
 
 u Bring all the letters to me when the postman comes, 
 Morton," she said, having an intuition that Mr. Trevor 
 would probably employ ^that messenger of love. The 
 result proved the correctness of her suspicions. 
 
 A letter bearing her daughter's name, with the large 
 device of a military club on the flap of the envelope, was 
 handed to her with her own correspondence. 
 
10 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " To Miss Dulcie Vernon" 
 
 she read, in a school-boyish hand. Without hesitation 
 Mrs. Vernon broke the seal, and read the contents of the 
 letter, seeing completely through Mr. Trevor's ruse at 
 the first glance. When she and her daughter met at 
 breakfast, her manner was more than usually kind and af- 
 fectionate. It was not until the conclusion of the sociable 
 little meal that she alluded to the disagreeable subject 
 weighing on her mind. She spoke in a very kind but a 
 very firm voice, so that Dulcie might know there was no 
 appeal from her decision. 
 
 " Dulcie dear," taking up the envelope and pausing 
 for a moment with it in her hand, "this came for you 
 this morning. I do not approve of young men writing 
 to you, and I opened it." 
 
 Dulcie blushed furiously. She was indignant at her 
 precious missive having been tampered with, and she was 
 terribly frightened lest Noel should have given vent to 
 any endearing expressions in it that might draw down the 
 vials of her mother's wrath on their devoted heads. 
 
 She took it from Mrs. Yernon's hand, but was too para- 
 lyzed by her emotions to attempt to open it. 
 
 " Eead it," said her mother, suavely. " You must an- 
 swer it. I shall tell you what to say." And Mrs. Vernon 
 was obliging enough to turn away to the window, in order 
 to mitigate her timorous daughter's confusion. 
 
 Dulcie comprehended her lover's stratagem. There had 
 been no question of his sending her any song, but she un- 
 derstood that it was a device on his part to write to her, 
 and an intimation where he might be addressed. 
 
 Her mother gave her plenty of time to read the note 
 before she returned to the table. 
 
 "I dare say," she remarked, quite affably, "that Mr. 
 Trevor is an excellent young man ; but I do not wish him 
 to entertain any mistaken ideas that might lead to dis- 
 appointment later on : so I will make a little draft of a 
 note, and when the song arrives you shall write it and 
 send it off." 
 
 Dulcie answered not a word. She sat holding the letter 
 and looking at the fire. Mrs. Vernon took this silence as 
 implying complete submission. She had not, indeed, ex- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 11 
 
 pected any resistance from her habitually docile daughter, 
 but then Dulcie had never yet been, or fancied herself, in 
 love. 
 
 Eesolute people with strong wills are very often unpre- 
 pared for the commonest weapon of the weak, deceit. 
 When they command and their victim appears passive, 
 they too often take it for gratfted that their will has tri- 
 umphed and is acquiesced in. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon came up to Dulcie and kissed her, feeling 
 all the benevolence of a generous victor. 
 
 " You know, dear child," she said, " my first object in 
 life is your happiness." 
 
 And with a kind little pressure on Dulcie's shoulder, 
 and scarcely remarking that her embrace was not re- 
 turned, or, if she did, making allowance for the girl's dis- 
 appointment, she went off light-heartedly to her boudoir, 
 to make the draft that was to crush Mr. Trevor's pre- 
 sumptuous hopes. 
 
 A dull feeling of rebellion surged in slow waves over 
 Dulcie's heart. Why was she to submit to her mother's 
 fiat in a matter so all-important to her? She loved Noel ; 
 he loved her : why should their young hearts be blighted 
 for the sake of ambition ? If her mother had outgrown 
 all memories of love and youth (Dulcie took leave to 
 doubt whether there were any such episodes to be re- 
 membered), why was she to be condemned to a life with- 
 out romance? Why should she be sacrificed to vanity 
 and ambition ? She felt sure with smothered resentment 
 that if any horrid old wretch with a title or a great 
 deal of money came forward as a suitor, her mother would 
 be ready to drive her to the altar in spite of herself. 
 Yague thoughts of resistance flitted through the girl's 
 brain, but she had sufficient consciousness of her own 
 weakness to realize that a hand-to-hand combat with her 
 mother would leave her vanquished and weaponless be 
 fore a minute had elapsed. 
 
 She would write the letter that her mother dictated; 
 she would seem to acquiesce ; but, before that, she would 
 write another letter on her own account, explaining to 
 Noel that the one he would receive later was simply sent 
 at her mother's dictation, and was in no way to be taken 
 as the expression of her own sentiments. 
 
12 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon returned, draft in hand, before Dulcie had 
 finished her cogitations. 
 
 " Come, dear, and write it at once : then it will be done 
 with !" said mamma, persuasively. 
 
 And Dulcie, still without a word, followed her mother 
 to the boudoir, and, sitting down at the writing-table, in- 
 di ted the following lines to Mr. Trevor : 
 
 u DEAR MR. TREVOR, 
 
 " I have just received the song. Thank you for sending 
 it. We are not going out in the evening at present, as 
 my mother has a cold, and we do not walk in the Park in 
 the winter. 
 
 " Believe me, yours truly, 
 
 " DULCIE YERNON." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon had thought it quite possible that Dulcie 
 would remonstrate about the extreme coldness and for- 
 mality of the note, and was agreeably surprised to see her 
 copying it without comment. When it was finished and 
 the envelope directed, she lighted a taper and affixed a neat 
 little red seal to it to make quite sure that it should not 
 be tampered with. 
 
 " I must go out this fine morning," remarked Dulcie, her 
 task finished, and her mother responded, cheerfully, 
 
 " Yes, do, my dear. Morton shall go with you. You 
 do not want to start before twelve, I suppose ? It is a 
 quarter to eleven now. Will you not practise your sing- 
 ing a little first ?" 
 
 But Dulcie had something else to do than to practise 
 singing. She retired to her bedroom and wrote another 
 quite a different letter to Mr. Trevor. A certain amount 
 of fear and conscious guilt trembled at her heart. She had 
 never written to a young man before. But the idea had 
 taken firmly hold of her that she had a right to bestow 
 her heart where she chose, and that if she was doing a 
 bold and wrong thing her mother had driven her to it. 
 
 Although her door was locked, her heart palpitated 
 very distinctly as she wrote the words " Dearest Noel," 
 and almost involuntarily she glanced over her shoulder to 
 make sure that no one was standing behind her. Keas- 
 sured, she continued : 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 13 
 
 " Mamma has made me write the most horrid note in 
 answer to yours. Of course I was obliged to do as she 
 told me, but you will understand won't you? that it is 
 not my fault. Wasn't it wretched yesterday not being able 
 to say a word to each other alone ? It hardly ever happens 
 that we do not have three or four people calling in the 
 afternoon. I suppose mamma suspects something, and she 
 thinks of nothing but money and position, and is always 
 saying that love is all nonsense, and that people are sure to 
 be unhappy if they are poor, whereas if they are rich, and 
 get tired of each other, or don't get on, they have other 
 things to fall back upon. Isn't it horrid I She won't let 
 me go near the Park, I know, for fear I should meet you ; 
 but I mean to walk every morning now up Bond Street, 
 through Cavendish Square, and up Portland Place to the 
 Regent's Park, a place I hate, but I shall not hate it if I 
 meet you there. Morton, our maid, always walks out 
 with me, but she is a good old thing, and won't tell of us, 
 I know. Of course you won't come to-day, because you 
 won't get this in time ; but I shall look forward to seeing 
 you to-morrow. Always, dearest Noel, yours, 
 
 " DULCIE. 
 
 "P.S. Write to me and direct the envelope to Mrs. 
 Morton in a feigned hand, and don't write on those enve- 
 lopes with the club crest." 
 
 Dulcie addressed her letter, unlocked her door, and, like 
 a good, obedient daughter, went into the drawing-room 
 and began to practise her scales. 
 
 Meantime, Mrs. Vernon gave strict injunctions to Mor- 
 ton that she was not to walk in Piccadilly or near the 
 Eow with Miss Dulcie. They might go towards the 
 Marble Arch, Oxford Street, or the Kegent's Park. Sho 
 even gave the maid a commission to execute at Marshall 
 and Snelgrove's en route. And, whilst this astute lady 
 made her plans and laid her parallels, she was innocent of 
 the remotest suspicion that her guileless young daughter 
 was similarly employed. 
 
 Morton was a comely and comfortable-looking woman 
 of five-and -forty, of a romantic turn, and with a very un- 
 evenly-balanced mind. All her spare time and a good 
 
 2 
 
14 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 deal of time that she ought not to have spared was de- 
 voted to novel-reading, and many a time her eyes were 
 red from crying over the woes of lovers. She had the 
 leaning towards intrigue that is the natural bent of Abi- 
 gails, and it would have been impossible to find a more 
 imprudent or ill-advised counsellor for a young girl who 
 had not a very sound head. She belonged to that class of 
 people who commit the most serious mischief in the world, 
 those who " don't mean any harm." But she was also 
 of a wavering and irresolute nature, and, though she 
 might be tempted into danger by sentiment, she would 
 not, it is to be feared, have scrupled to scramble out again, 
 leaving her accomplices in the lurch. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 MORTON had attended Dulcie on her visit to Mrs. Faw- 
 cett, and knew, therefore, something about Mr. Trevor 
 and her young lady's predilection for him. He had 
 spoken very pleasantly to her on one or two occasions 
 when they had met on the staircase, and civil words from 
 good-looking young men always produced their full effect 
 on her sympathetic nature. Dulcie had, therefore, no 
 need of preliminary statement or explanation; so, the 
 moment they issued from the portals of the house, she 
 broke the ice. 
 
 " Morton, what a shame of you to take my letter to 
 mamma this morning !" 
 
 "Lor, miss," expostulated Morton, "what was I to do? 
 Your ma told me to bring her all the letters ; and how 
 was I to know anything about it, or that you hadn't 
 asked her to look at yours, as she is earlier than you ?" 
 
 "You might have been sharp enough to guess," said 
 Dulcie, not yet propitiated. 
 
 " Well, miss, but you've never had a letter from a gen- 
 tleman in your life before," protested Morton. 
 
 "All the more reason I should have it brought me 
 when it did come !" retorted Dulcie. " I call it most un- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 15 
 
 kind and unfair of mamma, and I don't see what right 
 she has to open my letters. You remember that nice Mr 
 Trevor at Lowlands, Morton ?" 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 " Well, he called yesterday, and mamma was very stiff 
 and formal with him, and, as ill luck would have it, no 
 one else came in, and I could not get a word alone with 
 him. So then he went off to his club and wrote to me." 
 
 " Lor !" said Morton, again making use of her favorite 
 ejaculation. "And your ma opened it?" 
 
 " Of course there was nothing in it that mamma might 
 not see," observed Dulcie. " He was much too clever for 
 that. He first made an excuse about sending me a song, 
 and asked whether he might not go to a play with us, or 
 if we did not walk in the Bow. Mamma made me write 
 the most horrid letter in answer, but Swear, Morton, 
 you won't tell if I tell you something ?" 
 
 Morton's eyes gleamed with interest and curiosity. 
 
 " I won't tell," she answered, promptly. 
 
 Dulcie drew the letter from her pocket. 
 
 " I have written him another," she said, triumphantly. 
 
 They were close to a pillar-box, and she hurried a step 
 forward and popped it in. Morton gasped. She had 
 never suspected her young lady to be capable of such 
 temerity. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! what would your ma say, if she knew ?" 
 
 " But she won't know, unless you tell her," replied 
 Dulcie; "and you couldn't be such a wretch as that. 
 And, what is more, you are to do something very impor- 
 tant indeed for us." 
 
 " I am ?" said Morton, flattered. 
 
 Dulcie sank her voice to a whisper. 
 
 "He is going to write to me and direct the letters to 
 you." 
 
 Morton looked rather overwhelmed for a moment. But 
 she soon made up her mind to play Nurse to this Borneo 
 and Juliet, and took the utmost interest in the little drama 
 she was to assist at. 
 
 " You see, he will be going away in a month or two," 
 said Dulcie, judiciously suppressing any mention of serious 
 intentions, " to India." 
 
 " Poor young gentleman !" remarked Morton, patheti- 
 
16 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 cally. " Very likely he'll never come back, or, if he does, 
 he'll be as yaller as a guinea." 
 
 In the evening, as Dulcie sat reading her novel, and Mrs. 
 Vernon gently dozed, the postman's thunder was heard, 
 and an intuition made Dulcie's breast palpitate at the 
 thought that something very precious had found its way 
 into the house through the slit in the door. 
 
 She dared not go in quest of it, but remained on tenter- 
 hooks whilst the butler brought up a couple of letters for 
 her mother, and departed again. Two or three minutes 
 elapsed, then the door opened softly to admit Morton with 
 a suspiciously demure countenance. She came up to Dul- 
 cie, and, under pretext of not disturbing Mrs. Vernon, 
 whispered, 
 
 " I came to ask you, miss, where you would like the 
 bows put on that lace skirt." And then she gave a signifi- 
 cant little nod and pointed to her pocket. 
 
 "I will come and show you," replied Dulcie, rising 
 promptly ; and the conspirators went out together. 
 
 " Oh, you dear, good Morton !" cried Dulcie, in a sup- 
 pressed whisper, as the maid handed her a substantial 
 letter addressed to Mrs. Morton. 
 
 " I've lighted your candles," said the maid, and pro 
 ceeded down-stairs to resume her supper, without any 
 further allusion to dress or bows. 
 
 And Dulcie, locking herself in her room, read her first 
 love-letter with an ecstasy which I need not perhaps pause 
 to describe. Suffice it to say that the missive was not 
 original, and that the word " darling" did not recur more 
 than twelve times. 
 
 No uneasy prescience of evil, no misgiving of any sort 
 or kind, visited Mrs. Vernon as she dozed delightfully in 
 her luxurious chair. Could she but have guessed that a 
 few yards above her head her lovely daughter's breast was 
 palpitating over the impassioned sentences of her young 
 adorer, or shall we say, as mamma would have said, " the 
 idiotic rhodomontade of a penniless young fool" ? 
 
 Noel expressed his intention of wearing out the pave- 
 ment (or the soles of his boots) in Portland Place await- 
 ing his beloved. He had always hitherto thought it a 
 singularly dull street, but now, henceforth and forever, it 
 would be the most heavenly spot on earth, etc., etc. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 17 
 
 Strange, Dulcie reflected, how les beaux esprits se rencon- 
 trent. She, too, had always thought Portland Place so 
 dull ; but now ! ! ! 
 
 As in this world there is always an alloy to bliss, Dulcie, 
 her first raptures over, began to be tormented by fears 
 about the weather. The climate of our dear old England 
 is not reliable, especially in the month of November. Sup- 
 pose it should rain in torrents the next morning, or that 
 the new-found El Dorado, Portland Place, should be en- 
 veloped in a yellow fog. Weather would not keep Dulcio 
 from her lover, but it might deter her mother from giving 
 consent to the accustomed morning walk. Still, there was 
 the letter, which in itself was sufficient aliment for love to 
 feed on for at least a week, and, whenever the weather did 
 give her a chance, Noel would of a certainty be found at 
 their try sting-place : had he not sworn it ! 
 
 With light heart and step as though she trod on air, 
 Dulcie returned to the drawing-room,~naughty Dulcie ! 
 looking as innocent as Miss Puss who has had a sur- 
 reptitious lap at the cream-jug. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was awake by this time, and engaged in 
 reading " What the World says." 
 
 "By the way," she remarked, presently, looking up, 
 " did not I hear you and Morton talking about your dress ? 
 What have you decided?" 
 
 Dulcie turned aside to blush. The first steps along the 
 path of deceit are not smooth to the novice. She hesitated 
 and stammered a little, and was terrified lest her mother 
 should remark her confusion. 
 
 " It it is not quite quite settled," she replied. " We 
 think we shall be able to judge better by daylight." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon, having just arrived at a paragraph that 
 interested her, did not remark Dulcie's embarrassment. 
 After a considerable pause, she asked another question. 
 
 " Did the song come, after all ?" 
 
 " Yes, mamma." 
 
 " And you sent off the note ?" 
 
 " Yes, mamma." 
 
 " What is the song ?" 
 
 Dulcie hesitated. 
 
 " ' Golden Love,' " she said, reluctantly. 
 
 " But you have it ! Let me look !" 
 b 2* 
 
18 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Dulcie brought it. 
 
 " And set for a contralto !" remarked Mrs. Yernon. 
 
 But she put it down without further comment. Of 
 course she had known all along that it was only a ruse on 
 the young man's part. But he must be rather a silly 
 young man. 
 
 After all, the fates were propitious. The following 
 morning was bright, and even sunshiny as sunshine goes 
 in London in November. Full of glee, Dulcie set forth, 
 accompanied by Morton, on whom something of her own 
 excitement was reflected. 
 
 " If your mamma was to find it out !" she said, half-way 
 up Bond Street, in rather a Cassandra-like voice; but 
 Dulcie pooh-poohed the idea in a light-hearted way. 
 
 In Cavendish Square the impatient Eomeo was pacing. 
 It was a sight to see how those two comely young coun- 
 tenances were transfigured and glorified as they simulta- 
 neously caught sight of each other. The romantic Mor- 
 ton heaved a sigh which halted between sympathy and 
 envy. She loitered a little behind ; but Dulcie had suffi- 
 cient sense of the proprieties to know what a bad effect 
 this would have should they by any unlucky chance be 
 seen, and summoned her attendant promptly to her side. 
 The first few moments of natural gene over, the maid was 
 of no more account as an auditor to Noel and Dulcie than 
 the wall to Pyramus and Thisbe, only that, mercifully, 
 they were both on the right side of her. 
 
 And Morton, pretending to look the other way, was 
 listening with the deepest interest, and heard every word 
 that passed. Indeed, there was nothing which any one 
 except a mamma with ambitious views for her daughter 
 might not have heard ; for Dulcie was a modest, well- 
 brought-up young lady, and Noel was animated by the 
 most honest if ardent love, and looked up to his idol with 
 the reverence that a nice-minded young fellow always en- 
 tertains for the girl he loves, as long as she allows him. 
 
 Every day for a whole week Phoebus smiled his wintry, 
 far-off smile on this happy pair: their hearts supplied the 
 warmth he lacked. Then for three days he hid himself, 
 and the town was veiled in a hideous black fog, and ono 
 side of Portland Place could not see the other side, and 
 Mrs. Yernon would not hear of Dulcie going out. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 19 
 
 Morton made a martyr of herself in a good cause, and 
 caught a severe cold by going to meet Mr. Trevor in her 
 young lady's place, and Noel, generous like most impecu- 
 nious youths, made her a present ill proportioned to his 
 means. 
 
 It was at this juncture, when he had reached the highest 
 point of love-madness, that a friend of his arrived in 
 London en route for the Cape, a friend not possessed of 
 the highest principles or animated by very nice or delicate 
 scruples. 
 
 For three days Noel had not set eyes on his darling 
 (by the way, this delightful term of endearment is get- 
 ling sadly hackneyed by frequent use in the ballads of 
 the day). He was burning to talk about her, after the 
 manner of his kind when in love, and he pounced on this 
 " pal" as a drowning man would have pounced on a plank, 
 and poured his love and woes, with joy unspeakable, into 
 the ears which seemed to listen kindly. 
 
 He was only interrupted by a few pertinent questions. 
 
 " Has the girl got any stuff?" was the first. 
 
 Noel was shocked at the coarse brutality of the ques- 
 tion. He was far too much in love not to think " stuff" 
 a hinderance rather than otherwise to the charms of his 
 adored one. 
 
 " I don't know or care," he replied. 
 
 " But has she ?" persisted the other. 
 
 Noel dared not offend his friend, and made answer, 
 
 " I suppose she will have. She is an only child, and 
 her mother appears to be very well off." 
 
 " Eun away with her," said the friend, tersely. 
 
 Noel's eyes brightened. 
 
 "'I wish to heaven I could!" he exclaimed. "But" 
 relapsing into despondency " there's no Gretna Green." 
 
 " There's the registry office, which is a good deal 
 handier." 
 
 Noel contemplated his friend with a mixture of awe 
 and admiration. 
 
 " Nothing simpler. You've only got to swear that she 
 is of age and has no parents, and to give notice a fort- 
 night or so beforehand." 
 
 " But could not one be had up for perjury ?" gasped 
 Noel. 
 
%() ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " The registrar won't bother his head. And, once it is 
 done, it can't be undone, you know." 
 
 " But she looks so young.'' 
 
 " She can put on a thick veil," said Mephistopheles. 
 
 Poor Faust, though his intentions were strictly honor- 
 able, felt as though he was being incited to the blackest 
 of crimes. But the temptation was overwhelming. 
 
 Dulcie to be his I Dulcie to go out to India with him I 
 Oh, rapture! 
 
 His friend was, as has been said, unscrupulous. He 
 had a liking for Noel, and thought he was helping him to 
 a good thing. Seeing the impression he had made, he 
 continued his persuasions as warmly as though he had 
 some personal object to gain by Noel's elopement. And 
 Noel, after the first shock of horror, took very kindly to 
 the idea; and, though lying and deceit were extremely 
 repugnant to his honest young mind, he looked leniently 
 on his tempter's argument that " all is fair in love and 
 war." 
 
 The following morning a brisk wind arose and dispersed 
 the fog, and, with a high-beating heart, Noel flew to the 
 rendezvous, where Dulcie was even before him. 
 
 Noel was divided between rapture and timidity, for he 
 held Dulcie in that awe and reverence which a right- 
 minded young man feels for a girl in whose purity and 
 modesty he has a devout belief, and he trembled lest she 
 should turn indignantly upon him when he broached the 
 daring scheme that his friend had suggested. Not that 
 he was going to shelter himself behind that friend : it 
 would not do to let Dulcie guess for a moment that he 
 had discussed her with any living soul. Haltingly, tim- 
 orously, he approached his subject, and presently, encour- 
 aged by a gleam of intelligence in Dulcie's eyes and the 
 smile en her pretty lips, he plunged boldly, fervently, 
 ardently, into his appeal, and, with an eloquence of which 
 he had not suspected himself capable, implored, urged, 
 entreated. 
 
 The romance and daring of the idea commended them- 
 selves to Dulcie. Having begun the downward course of 
 deceiving her mother, she gathered daily fresh impetus 
 hi her descent, and was almost prepared to clear the re- 
 maining obstacles at a bound. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 21 
 
 Though she did not straightway consent, she lent an 
 evidently willing ear to her lover's suggestions, and prom- 
 ised to think over what he had said. When Noel parted 
 from her, he seemed to tread on air; in his imagination 
 this priceless pearl was his already, and he bestirred him- 
 self to consider all the arrangements that it would be ne- 
 cessary for him to make in view of this ardently-desired 
 union with his beloved. Naturally, the first thought 
 which assailed him was the absolute necessity of ready 
 money. He had only one hundred and fifty pounds a 
 year besides his pay, and to forestall that would, he knew, 
 be madness. His mother had left him a few diamonds and 
 some plate. He had been fond of her, and it cost him a 
 severe pang to think of parting with these things, which 
 she had set great value on; but it was his only alter- 
 native. 
 
 It was rather fortunate for him that he took his friend, 
 Captain Black, into confidence on this subject also. 
 
 " I'll see to it for you, if you like," he said. " I'm a 
 very good hand at a bargain, and I expect you are a pre- 
 cious bad one, and these jewellers are the most confounded 
 thieves." 
 
 Noel gratefully accepted this offer of service, got the 
 plate-chest and jewel-box from his banker's, and intrusted 
 them to his friend. He was exceedingly pleased when 
 Black the same evening presented him with bank-notes 
 to the amount of two hundred and five pounds. True, 
 the things had probably cost three times that amount, 
 but, as every one knows who has the smallest experience 
 on the subject, buying is one thing and selling another. 
 And it is perfectly certain that had Noel gone bargaining 
 himself the result would have been far less satisfactory. 
 He immediately proceeded to expend the odd fiver in a 
 present to his friend, and next day handed over the greater 
 portion of the remaining two hundred to his banker's safe 
 keeping. Then he went joyously to the tryst with his 
 beloved. They walked to the inner circle of the Eegent's 
 Park, and, as no one else was visible, Morton fell back 
 several paces. 
 
 " My darling," said Noel, with eyes and voice full of 
 feeling, " I hope you will never regret trusting your dear 
 self to me. You know that I am a poor man. The one 
 
22 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 thought which troubles me is that you may miss the com- 
 forts and luxury to which you have been accustomed. 
 You know I should not consider the whole world good 
 enough for you, my angel," cried the ardent lover: "it is 
 an awful blow to me to think you will have to give up so 
 much for my sake." 
 
 But Dulcie, with a bright smile, reassured him. 
 
 " Indeed," she pleaded, prettily, " I do not care at all 
 about money. Mamma has talked and insisted so much 
 upon it that I hate the very idea of marrying a rich man. 
 I am not worldly, as she is, and all the people I have been 
 introduced to who were good matches have been horrid, 
 stupid, uninteresting creatures." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Noel, with a pang, " that it will be a 
 dreadful blow to your poor mother losing you." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say she won't like it," assented Dulcie, 
 rather unfeelingly. " But, if she only studies her own 
 ambition and not my happiness, I don't see why I should 
 consider her so much." 
 
 This argument comforted Noel. 
 
 After one or two more interviews, Dulcie consented to the 
 marriage at the registry office. Captain Black was arch- 
 conspirator, aider, and abettor. 
 
 " The old woman will be in a deuce of a rage at first, of 
 course," he said, consolingly, " but if she's clever she'll prob- 
 ably end by saying, ' Bless you, my children !' and making 
 the best of it. After that she will no doubt * fork out/ 
 which is the great point." 
 
 If it had not been for this Mephistopheles always at 
 hand, I am not sure that Noel would have carried the 
 matter through to the end, so stoutly did his conscience 
 combat the proceeding. But Black argued and advised as 
 though he had some personal object to gain by the mar- 
 riage. His motive, however, was simply that of a self- 
 willed and resolute person who, when he takes up a mat- 
 ter and gives advice, feels his amour-propre concerned in its 
 being acted upon. 
 
 Dulcie, like many placid and amiable people without 
 much character, was extremely tenacious and obstinate. 
 She had taken it into her head to feel aggrieved and re- 
 sentful against her mother. No pang of remorse visited 
 her on the subject of the grief she was about to bring on 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 23 
 
 Mrs. Yernon : she told herself that it was entirely her 
 mother's fault for not allowing her to see and love the 
 man of her choice. She would not be sacrificed to any 
 one's ambition. 
 
 Morton was the one to be flurried and anxious. She 
 foresaw terrible consequences for herself: she would no 
 doubt be discharged without a character when the denoue- 
 ment occurred, and her complicity with it was discovered. 
 Still, she could not see any possible way out of it, having 
 ejone so far. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE wedding-day arrived. Things seldom happen in 
 the manner which we anticipate, and Dulcie, who, like 
 most young maidens, had occasionally thought of herself 
 as the heroine of such a ceremonial, had pictured the event 
 as taking place at St. George's with some pomp, a bevy 
 of bridesmaids and troops of wedding guests. But she felt 
 no regret on the morning of her marriage-day at the ab- 
 sence of these conventional circumstances ; indeed, the 
 flavor lent by strategy and secrecy was more agreeably 
 stimulating and exciting than mere commonplace prepara- 
 tions would have been. 
 
 Having thoroughly assured herself by appeal to Noel 
 that marriage in a registry office was as legal and binding 
 as though it were performed in Westminster Abbey by an 
 archbishop, she troubled herself no more about the mat- 
 ter, and, indeed, congratulated herself that there was no 
 fuss and trouble to be gone through. Perhaps a shadow 
 of regret stole into her heart at being compelled to forego 
 the trousseau-buying, and it occurred to her that it was 
 hardly fair she should be done out of wedding-presents, of 
 which many were owing to her in return for her own and 
 her mother's gifts on similar occasions; but she reflected 
 that people who had consciences could just as well send 
 their contributions after the event as before. 
 
 No obstacle intervened to prevent her being at the place 
 of rendezvous, where Noel, as eager and gallant a young 
 bridegroom as wintry sun ever shone upon, received her 
 
24 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 in a seventh heaven of bliss. The short, unimpressive 
 ceremony was gone through, and, hey presto ! Miss Dulcie 
 Yernon was Mrs. Noel Trevor. 
 
 They had thought it expedient to put the sea between 
 themselves and Mrs. Yernon for a few days, and immedi- 
 ately stepped into a hansom and ordered the man to drive 
 to Noel's rooms to pick up his luggage. Morton had the 
 night before taken a small trunk containing some portion 
 of her young lady's wardrobe to the railway-station, to be 
 left till called for. Everything seemed to favor the run- 
 away couple. Noel wildly, Dulcie placidly, happy, were 
 beaming smiles upon each other, when, lo ! Nemesis over- 
 took them. 
 
 They were turning a corner rather smartly, when down 
 went the horse on the greasy wood pavement, and both 
 were flung forward; but Noel, throwing his arm round 
 Dulcie, soon put her back in her place, tenderly reassuring 
 her. Meantime, the horse made two violent efforts to re- 
 cover himself, and, having gained his feet, was trotting 
 off again, when Noel, hearing an exclamation from the 
 driver, looked up. 
 
 " Good God !" he cried, " he has slipped his bridle !" and 
 on the impulse of the moment, thinking only of Dulcie's 
 safety, he made a dash out of the cab to get to the ani- 
 mal's head. His heel caught the edge of the platform, 
 and he was dashed violently on the pavement. The horse 
 quickened his pace, the driver shouted for some one to 
 stop him. Dulcie saw two or three men run forward, felt 
 a sudden collision against the wheel of another vehicle, 
 was again flung forward, and then she remembered noth- 
 ing more. 
 
 When she came to her senses, she found herself in a 
 rather dingy parlor, with two strange men standing over 
 her. Her first emotion was a dull surprise ; then, as some 
 recollection of the events of the morning stole across her, 
 she was seized with terror. 
 
 " Where am I ? What has happened ?" she asked of the 
 elder of the two men, a kindly, rather pompous-looking 
 individual. 
 
 " You are in good hands, ma'am," he replied, reassur- 
 ingly. 
 
 It was the first time Dulcie had ever been addressed as 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 25 
 
 " ma'am." The color mounted to her cheek, and she won- 
 dered how this man could possibly know she was married. 
 For the moment, she did not remark that her gloves had 
 been removed, letting the wedding-ring tell its tale. 
 
 "Your hansom was stopped just in front here, quite 
 providential, one may say." 
 
 " And where ?" gasped Dulcie, " where ?" 
 
 " Ah ! the poor gentleman, you mean. He is at St. 
 George's Hospital before now." 
 
 Is he dead ?" 
 
 Dulcie turned ashy pale, and looked as though she 
 would faint again. 
 
 "No, no, no!" replied the chemist. "I hope not. He 
 has got a severe blow on the head, and I dare say won't 
 be conscious for some time. I expect he has concussion 
 of the brain ; but there ! he's in the best place he can be, 
 and everything that can be done for him, will." 
 
 Dulcie closed her eyes for a minute or two to think. 
 She was a coward by nature, quite unfitted to stand 
 alone. When she gave up relying on her mother, she had 
 taken Noel as her support ; but now, with him lying in- 
 sensible at the hospital, what should she do? To whom 
 could she turn ? She shrank from going to St. George's, 
 under the circumstances, and proclaiming herself his wife. 
 No ; there was only one thing to be done. She must go 
 back home. They could not unmarry her now, and even 
 her mother's anger was not so terrible to her as being 
 thrown alone upon the world. Besides, she had only a 
 sovereign in her purse. 
 
 The "chemist, fearing a return of her fainting-fit, was 
 again applying restoratives ; but Dulcie was perfectly 
 conscious now, and her supreme anxiety was to get away. 
 
 She opened her eyes. 
 
 " Thank you very much," she said. " I am quite well 
 now. I should like to go home and and see about send- 
 ing to the hospital about my brother. What" hesita- 
 ting, and putting her hand in her pocket "what am I in 
 your debt ?" 
 
 "Nothing; nothing at all," returned the chemist, em- 
 phatically. " I am very pleased, ma'am, to have been of 
 service. Perhaps you will allow me to see you home, as 
 you seem a little shaky still ?" 
 
 B 
 
26 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " No, thank you very much," returned Dulcie, hurriedly. 
 " I am quite, quite well now." 
 
 "Shall I send for a cab? Best have a four-wheeler, I 
 think, ma'am." 
 
 " Oh, yes ; thank you." And the assistant was de- 
 spatched to stop one. 
 
 "Thank you very, very much," she said, when the 
 master put her into the cab ; and he replied, 
 
 "Not at all; not at all, ma'am. Don't speak of it. 
 Where shall I tell him ?" 
 
 A sudden instinct prompted Dulcie not to give her own 
 address, and she mentioned a number in Brook Street, 
 and, alighting there, hastened home on foot. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was looking out of the window, alarmed 
 at her daughter's unaccountable absence. She ran to the 
 door and admitted her. 
 
 " Why, Dulcie " she began, sharply ; then, at sight of 
 her daughter's white face, bent bonnet, and disarranged 
 dress, she paused, aghast. 
 
 The conflicting emotions, anguish about Noel, and fear 
 of her mother were too much for Dulcie. She had only 
 time to totter into the dining-room, where she fainted 
 again. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon took her in her arms, dragged her to the 
 sofa, and was about in her terror to summon assistance, 
 when she caught sight of Dulcie's hand with the signifi- 
 cant emblem upon it. She felt as though turned to stone ; 
 then, stooping, she drew it from the unresisting hand, 
 slipped it into her pocket, and rang the bell violently. 
 .Running to the door, she bade the butler bring water, and 
 call Morton to come at once with smelling-salts. 
 
 Morton came, shaking like a leaf. The moment Mrs. 
 Yernon glanced at her, she saw that the woman looked 
 guilty and frightened, and guessed that she knew of the 
 dreadful catastrophe. But the butler was in the room. 
 He volunteered to fetch the doctor ; but Mrs. Yernon was 
 too much afraid of what Dulcie might reveal on return- 
 ing to consciousness to risk the presence of a third per- 
 son. 
 
 Dulcie was not long in recovering her senses this time, 
 and as soon as she did so fell into violent hysterics. She 
 encouraged them, as they staved off explanations for the 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 27 
 
 time. Mrs. Yernon had sent Morton out of the room the 
 instant Dulcie showed signs of life. 
 
 u What has happened to you, Dulcie ?" she asked, again 
 and again ; but Dulcie only moaned, and sobbed, and 
 turned her head away, refusing to answer. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was at her wits' end. All sorts of fearful 
 possibilities chased each other through her brain. The 
 suspense was more than she could bear. She left Dulcie 
 sobbing and gasping in the dining-room, and summoned 
 Morton to her boudoir. 
 
 " Now," she said, in her coldest, sternest manner, which 
 was indeed very awe-inspiring, " what does all this mean ?" 
 
 If her manner had been less severe, Morton would prob- 
 ably have fallen at her feet and confessed ; now she was 
 too much frightened to say a word, and, fearing some 
 dreadful disgrace for herself, some vengeance on the part 
 of her mistress, declared and protested her ignorance. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was not deceived for a moment ; but she 
 had a cool head and plenty of common sense. It was of 
 vital importance, she felt, to keep this dreadful affair 
 secret: if she turned Morton out of doors, as she felt 
 inclined to do, everything would come out at once, and 
 there would be an esclandre, a thing that Mrs. Yernon 
 dreaded even more than smallpox. So, finding nothing 
 was to be got out of her maid, she left her, and returned 
 to her daughter, who at once recommenced the sobs and 
 cries which she had suspended during her mothers ab- 
 sence. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon changed her tactics. She asked no more 
 questions, but, sitting down beside the couch, bathed 
 Dulcie's forehead with eau-de-cologne, and endeavored to 
 possess her soul in patience. The girl would have to be 
 coaxed, that was evident; though her mamma would 
 have infinitely preferred to box her ears and assail her 
 with bitter words. 
 
 It was past luncheon-time, and the butler came in, and 
 with a mysterious and sympathetic air he had lived 
 some time in the family asked whether it should not be 
 served. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon assented. 
 
 " Do not let James come in," she said. 
 
 James was the footman. 
 
28 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 In kind tones, Dulcie's mother begged her to eat, or at 
 all events to drink some wine ; but Dulcie obstinately 
 shook her head and continued, like Hezekiah, to turn her 
 face to the wall. Her anxiety about Noel increased every 
 moment ; she could not forget seeing him hurled to the 
 ground ; a terror seized her that he was dead. How was 
 she to find out ? She longed to see Morton and implore 
 her to run to the hospital for news. 
 
 " I will go up-stairs," she said, presently, rising slowly 
 from the sofa. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was really shocked to see how white and 
 ill she looked. 
 
 " I will go with you, my dear," she said, putting her 
 daughter's hand through her arm. 
 
 When they reached Dulcie's room, the girl asked that 
 Morton might be sent to her. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon thought best to comply with this request, 
 and retired to her own room, which adjoined her daugh- 
 ter's. Nothing could be more repugnant to this lady's 
 proud nature than eavesdropping ; but on this occasion, 
 overpowered by anxiety, she crept near the door that 
 communicated between the two rooms and listened in- 
 tently, in the hope of getting some clue from the conver- 
 sation of her daughter and Morton. It was soon evident 
 from their smothered voices that they had taken this con- 
 tingency into consideration : only a word here and thero 
 was audible: it was by the tone of their voices alone that 
 the distracted mother could gain any hint as to what was 
 passing. Morton's betrayed fear, anxiety, curiosity, Dul- 
 cie's despair : her sobs had begun again. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was racked with apprehension : she must 
 find out what had happened ; and she presently set her- 
 self to think, with what calmness she might, over the best 
 means of wresting this dreadful secret from one of the 
 pair. She saw now that she had made a mistake in fright- 
 ening Morton : she must try gentler tactics. 
 
 Descending to her boudoir, she rang and desired that 
 her maid might be sent to her. She commanded her face 
 and voice with a supreme effort, and when Morton came 
 in looking frightened though obstinate, she was quite 
 taken aback by the gentleness of her lady's voice and 
 manner. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 29 
 
 " Morton," began Mrs. Vernon, " I am very much dis- 
 tressed to see Miss Dulcie in this agitated state. Of course 
 I am aware that you are to a certain extent in her confi- 
 dence, and I must put it to your good feeling whether it 
 is right that I, her mother, should be kept in suspense and 
 in ignorance of what has happened to her." 
 
 Morton subsided into helpless tears : this tone of appeal 
 from her haughty lady affected her visibly. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon saw her advantage, and pressed it 
 
 " You have been with me for some years now," she con- 
 tinued, more gently still. " You know how entirely de- 
 voted I am to Miss Dulcie, and you surely cannot be so 
 heartless as to let me go on suffering this dreadful anxiety 
 about her. What is all this mystery ?" 
 
 Morton sobbed. She was emotional : every word Mrs. 
 Yernon uttered pierced her like a stab. She was begin- 
 ning to be conscious of the terrible enormity she had com- 
 mitted, especially now that this affair, which she had 
 thought so romantic, had culminated in such a terrible 
 catastrophe. Her superstitious mind saw a "judgment" 
 in it. With the proneness of her order to look at the 
 darkest side, she felt sure the poor young gentleman was 
 killed. 
 
 Dulcie had implored her to go to the hospital and make 
 inquiries, but she was afraid to do this. Of the two dread- 
 ful alternatives, she almost preferred to confess her par- 
 ticipation in Dulcie's guilt to Dulcie's mother than to have 
 the terrible secret, with perhaps its dreadful consequences, 
 on her mind. At worst by confessing she could lose her 
 place, and she was shrewd enough to see that Mrs. Yer- 
 non could not refuse to give her^a character without be- 
 traying matters which she would not care to have dis- 
 closed. 
 
 So, amidst many tears and sighs and groans, she related 
 the story in outline, ending with the death (of which she 
 was quite certain) of the poor young gentleman. Mrs. 
 Yernon was absolutely paralyzed by the recital. She felt 
 as though her senses had been stunned by a violent blow. 
 Dulcie, her good, obedient daughter, without, as she had 
 imagined, any will of her own, Dulcie to have taken a 
 Btep of which scarcely one girl in a thousand would have 
 been capable ! She had never protested her love, never re- 
 
30 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 belled for one moment against her mother's fiat that she 
 was not to see Noel any more, but had simply walked out 
 of the house and married him ! 
 
 Kepressing, with an almost superhuman effort, her 
 wrath against Morton, she said, in an unnaturally quiet 
 voice, 
 
 "You had better go back to Miss Dulcie, and remain 
 with her. I will have inquiries made about at the hos- 
 pital. I suppose it is unnecessary to caution you against 
 allowing a word of this to be known in the house. If if 
 Mr. Trevor is killed, perhaps nothing ever need be 
 known." 
 
 Morton retired, hardly able to believe that no worse 
 thing had befallen her. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon, left alone, leaned back in her chair, closed 
 her eyes, and gave herself over to meditation. All her 
 fondest hopes destroyed, her ambition crushed ! And 
 what dreadful disgrace might not come upon her! If this 
 man died, there would probably be an inquest. The whole 
 thing would be published in the papers. Her daughter's 
 name would be dragged through the mire. Suddenly it 
 occurred to her that the marriage might not be legal, after 
 all. Dulcie was a ward in chancery. She resolved to go 
 at once to her lawyer, who was an old and trusted friend 
 and a bachelor. Hastily she put on her bonnet. The 
 brougham, which she had ordered for three o'clock, must 
 have been at the door some time. 
 
 Mr. Benson, her solicitor, had chambers within ten min- 
 utes' drive of Grosvenor Street. She was fortunate enough 
 to find him at home and alone, and was ushered immedi- 
 ately into his presence. 
 
 " Mr. Benson," she said, the instant the door closed upon 
 the clerk, "I am in dreadful trouble." 
 
 Mr. Benson had never seen his handsome, distinguished 
 client so agitated. He entertained a great regard for her, 
 she was such a sensible woman, with such an excellent 
 head, such sound judgment. She never took up his time 
 when he was busy with chattering about irrelevant mat- 
 ter, as most ladies are in the habit of doing, but always 
 kept to the point, knew what she wanted, and said it in 
 a few words. In society she was quite different: ex- 
 tremely agreeable and conversational, gave excellent din- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 31 
 
 ners and undeniable wine. She was one of Mr. Benson's 
 favorite clients, and he was sincerely concerned to see her 
 in trouble, although in his professional capacity he was 
 not given to being demonstrative. 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear it," he said, handing her to a 
 chair, "very sorry indeed." Then, seating himself, he 
 prepared to listen. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon's habitual self-control wavered ; her voice 
 trembled ; there were even tears in her eyes, so terrible 
 and crushing was the blow that had fallen upon her. 
 During the recital, which was of an astounding nature to 
 Mr. Benson, he was compelled now and then to ejaculate, 
 " Dear me ! dear me !" as a relief to his feelings. He had 
 known Dulcie from a child, thought of her as a child 
 still, a good, obedient, well-brought-up, pretty child, 
 thoroughly under her mother's control, and without a 
 will of her own. He offered up a little mental thanks- 
 giving that he had neither wife nor daughter to bring 
 misfortune and anxiety upon him. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon, having given a rapid outline of her dread- 
 ful case, attacked the all-absorbing point of interest. 
 
 " Surely," she cried, "this marriage cannot be legal. 
 Dulcie, being a ward in chancery, cannot be married 
 without the Lord Chancellor's permission. And she is 
 not of age. The man must have told all sorts of deliber- 
 ate falsehoods to get the registrar to marry them." 
 
 Mr. Benson looked thoughtful and gloomy. 
 
 " Surely," cried Mrs. Yernon, with increased agitation, 
 " I have heard of a man being imprisoned for marrying a 
 ward in chancery !" 
 
 " I am afraid," remarked Mr. Benson, despondingly, 
 " that once the ceremony has been performed it cannot be 
 annulled. You see, the responsibility of the court of 
 chancery regards the property, not the person, of its 
 wards. I believe all the court can do under the circum- 
 stances is to summon the husband to appear before it, 
 and to insist upon the property being settled in a manner 
 which it approves." 
 
 " But if," cried poor Mrs. Yernon, nearly distracted 
 "if the man has told all sorts of lies to the registrar!" 
 
 " On that point I am not absolutely certain, but I will 
 make inquiries at once. You say, however, that the 
 
32 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 young man has sustained serious, perhaps mortal, in- 
 juries. In that case " 
 
 Mr. Benson paused. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was afraid to speak her thoughts aloud. 
 
 " It is important that inquiry should be made as to his 
 state," suggested Mr. Benson. 
 
 " Yes," "she assented, " but how ? I cannot send. I am 
 only too anxious, if possible, to avoid being in any way 
 brought into this dreadful business. He may" (dropping 
 her voice) ; ' die without recovering consciousness." 
 
 " But he has friends, relatives, I suppose ? Do you not 
 think he will have taken some one into his confidence ? 
 Who were the witnesses ?" 
 
 " My maid and the registrar's clerk, I believe." 
 
 "Your maid! Dear me! dear me! that respectable 
 person I have seen with you ! I fear there are no longer 
 any trustworthy servants left." 
 
 " No, indeed," replied Mrs. Yernon, with pardonable 
 bitterness. 
 
 u I think," pursued Mr. Benson, after a lengthy pause, 
 " the best way will be for me to call at the hospital my- 
 self and inquire after the young man. I shall simply 
 allow them to imagine that I was a by-stander at the 
 time of the accident, and call to make inquiries out of 
 sympathy." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you," cried Mrs. Yernon, eagerly. 
 " And you will let me know ?" 
 
 " I will come round to your house afterwards, as though 
 for a friendly call." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon drove away with the load at her heart as 
 heavy as when she arrived. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 SOME two hours later, Mr. Benson was ushered into Mrs. 
 Yernon's boudoir. He had called at the hospital, had seen 
 the house-surgeon, and learned that Mr. Trevor was still 
 insensible, and that no opinion could be given at present 
 whether he would recover or not. A note-book contain- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 33 
 
 ing several bank-notes and cards with his name and the 
 address of a military club had been found upon him. The 
 hall-porter of the club had been communicated with, and 
 three or four gentlemen had been down to ask after Mr. 
 Trevor. The cabman stated that he took up the gentle- 
 man and a lady near the top of Berkeley Square, and was 
 driving to Duke Street, when the collision occurred. The 
 lady, Mr. Benson was informed, had not been heard of: it 
 was believed that she had been assisted into a shop. If 
 she was a friend or relative, it was supposed she would 
 have sent to make inquiries ; but Mr. Benson's interlocutor 
 intimated, with a significant smile, that it was improbable 
 she would be heard of any more. 
 
 " So much the better!" groaned Mrs. Yernon. "Let 
 them think anything, anything rather than the dreadful 
 truth ! I have determined," she went on, " to leave Eng- 
 land for the present. If this frightful affair should come 
 out, I shall never hold up my head again." 
 
 " But, my dear lady," replied Mr. Benson, shaking his 
 head, "it is impossible to conjecture what may happen, 
 and I think you should certainly be on the spot. If 
 if " hesitating, " Mr. Trevor should recover, and the mar- 
 riage is a legal one, there is no question that " 
 
 " If," repeated Mrs. Yernon, with energy, " such a mis- 
 fortune should happen, I will at all events have things 
 done decently and in order. I shall insist on a formal en- 
 gagement, and on the marriage taking place in church. 
 And then," with a burst of anger she found it impossible 
 to restrain, " they may go where they please, and I shall 
 wash my hands of them forever." 
 
 Mr. Benson did not expostulate : he thought his client's 
 irritation was very natural indeed under the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 " Well, well, we must hope for the best !" he remarked, 
 soothingly ; but whether the best meant Noel's death, he 
 scarcely knew himself. 
 
 " To-morrow morning I will go to the registry office, 
 and see whether the proper formalities were gone through, 
 and if due notice was given : if not, we may be able to 
 question the legality of the marriage. Probably the 
 young man was in too great a hurry to ask for the cer- 
 tificate, as it was certainly not found upon him. I will 
 
34 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 make every possible inquiry, and should strongly advise 
 you to elicit as much information as possible from your 
 daughter and the maid. I will also call again at St. 
 George's and make inquiry for the patient ; or perhaps 
 my better plan will be to ask at his club. You may rely 
 upon my sending you the earliest information on both 
 points." 
 
 Then Mr. Benson took his leave. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon had all the evening before her to reflect 
 in. Dulcie remained in her room, with Morton in attend- 
 ance. Mrs. Vernon felt the greatest repugnance to seeing 
 her daughter, against whom she was deeply angered. 
 She divined that all the obstinacy of Dulcie's nature was 
 aroused. She was conscious that the betrayal of her own 
 feelings would be unwise, and yet it was impossible to 
 treat the girl with any show of affection or sympathy. 
 Of the latter, indeed, she did not feel a particle, and sim- 
 ply regarded the accident as a judgment on an undutiful 
 and headstrong child. The one vital point was whether 
 the marriage was legal or not, and for that knowledge she 
 would have to wait, at all events, until the morrow. Angry 
 as she was with Morton, much as she would have liked to 
 punish her, she was aware that she was more likely to 
 learn what she wanted from her than from Dulcie, and 
 thought it better to make her the medium of communica- 
 tion between herself and her daughter. And, besides, 
 knowing how people of her class are prone to exaggerate, 
 and thinking exaggeration might be useful in this case, 
 she saw the expediency of letting a good deal of what she 
 had to say to Dulcie filter through the maid. 
 
 When Morton came to assist her in dressing, she re- 
 marked, in a quiet but very impressive voice, 
 
 u I am not at present going to say anything about tho 
 manner in which you have betrayed my confidence. You 
 have helped Miss Dulcie into a very serious predicament, 
 the consequences of which it is impossible to foresee." 
 
 Morton's tears began to fall. 
 
 u You may," continued Mrs. Yernon, severely, " havo 
 been the means of ruining her whole life." (The tears be- 
 gan to rain.) " She is a young girl quite ignorant of the 
 world. Without you she could never have carried out 
 this wild and foolish project." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 55 
 
 Hero Morton required the support of the wardrobe, 
 whilst she rubbed her eyes and nose to a crimson hue. 
 
 " The accident," pursued Mrs. Yernon, solemnly, " seems 
 nothing less than a judgment ; and it is more than likely 
 this young man will pay the penalty of his life for his 
 wickedness." 
 
 Sobs. 
 
 u He is still unconscious : he may not live the night 
 through. In any case, the ceremony performed to-day is 
 illegal, as he made false representations. As Miss Dulcie 
 is a ward in chancery, the consent of the court is required 
 before she can marry. Any one marrying a ward in chan- 
 cery without the Lord Chancellor's consent is liable to im- 
 prisonment. You can tell Miss Dulcie all this, and what 
 a very narrow escape she has had. I think it better not 
 to see her again myself to-night. If," as Morton still 
 sobbed hysterically, " you wish to atone for the dreadful 
 injury you have already done both to her and to me, you 
 will do all you can to prevent any suspicion of what has 
 occurred getting abroad. Above all, beware of going to 
 the hospital or helping to communicate with Mr. Trevor 
 should he recover, which is more than doubtful, or you 
 may be had up before the Lord Chancellor for aiding a 
 conspiracy, and may find yourself in a very serious posi- 
 tion." 
 
 This last suggestion nearly terrified Morton into a fit, 
 as it was intended to do. 
 
 She went back to Dulcie, and poured such a terrible 
 story into her ears that the girl, who was a thorough 
 coward, felt her grief for Noel almost swallowed up by 
 her fears for herself, and no longer tried to prevail on 
 Morton to go to the hospital as she had previously done. 
 Indeed, Morton affirmed her belief that poor Mr. Trevor 
 was a corpse already, and wrung her hands, bewailing 
 her own weakness and wickedness in ever having allowed 
 herself to be persuaded to assist in such a course of deceit 
 and treachery. 
 
 " Why didn't you tell me, Miss Dulcie," she said (in the 
 afternoon she had called her " ma'am," but, now that she 
 no longer regarded the marriage as valid, she returned to 
 her usual mode of address), " why didn't you tell me 
 that you were a ward in chancery, and that we might all 
 
36 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 be locked up in prison for this ? I call it cruel of you, 
 and me who has my bread to earn, and could never get a 
 place again once I'd been in jail !" 
 
 " I never knew it mattered," stammered Dulcie. 
 
 " But you knew you was not twenty-one, miss," said 
 Morton, " and you should not have allowed Mr. Trevor to 
 go telling a pack of lies about you. And, though I don't 
 like to think it of him, and he perhaps lying dead this 
 minute, he may have known all the time it wasn't lawful, 
 and may have enticed you into it so that he might back 
 out again if he wanted to. I am sure you ought to go 
 on your knees and thank the Almighty for that accident, 
 or goodness knows what you might have come to! I'm 
 sure the only wonder is your ma hasn't put me and my 
 boxes outside the door before this !" 
 
 Dulcie was dumb with misery. To have lost the sym- 
 pathy and co-operation of Morton was almost the severest 
 blow of all. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon would indeed have had reason to congrat- 
 ulate herself on her diplomacy could she have witnessed 
 the scene that was taking place overhead. She was ter- 
 ribly perplexed and distressed: the most poignant fear 
 of all was lest this disgraceful story should get abroad, 
 and, in spite of Mr. Benson's opinion, she resolved to quit 
 the country for the time being, even if she were com- 
 pelled to return to it. On the one hand, she pictured the 
 horrors of an inquest ; on the other, Noel recovered, 
 coming to claim his wife. Yes, the only thing for it was 
 flight: she would go down to Dover the following after- 
 noon, and proceed next day to Paris, leaving her address 
 with Mr. Benson only. But lest he should dissuade her 
 from her intention, she determined not to communicate it 
 to him until after it had become an accomplished fact. 
 
 When Morton appeared to assist her in undressing, she 
 put a few more questions to her. Had any one in the 
 house the smallest suspicion of Miss Dulcie's meeting 
 with Mr. Trevor ? No, Morton declared eagerly that not 
 a soul knew of his existence as far as she was aware. 
 What explanation had been given of Miss Dulcie's con- 
 dition on her return home in the morning? Morton re- 
 plied that she had told them down-stairs that, having 
 some important work to finish, she had left Miss Dulcie 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 37 
 
 to do her shopping alone ; that her young lady had got 
 into a hansom to come home, that the horse had fallen 
 down and she been thrown out, and that Mrs. Yernon 
 was very angry at her having been about the streets 
 alone. This was plausible enough, and Mrs. Yemen's 
 mind was relieved. 
 
 " I intend, if possible," she informed Morton, " to leave 
 London to-morrow afternoon. You can be putting things 
 together ; but on no account tell Miss Dulcie to-night." 
 
 Morton obeyed. She was really relieved at the idea of 
 going away, so frightened was she lest she should be 
 summoned before the Lord Chancellor, whom she vaguely 
 thought of as a terrible being. Had Dulcie shown a bold 
 front, and been strong and determined, she might have 
 retained her influence over Morton ; but in an emergency 
 weakness despises weakness and is apt to turn to the 
 strong, and Morton went over to the side of her mistress 
 in the hope of securing her own safety. 
 
 Dulcie had not the smallest anchor of hope to cling to. 
 Noel was lost to her ; worse thought still, Noel had be- 
 trayed her. If he were killed, she had made up her mind 
 in the afternoon to wear widow's weeds for him ; but now, 
 if she was not his lawful wife, where should she hide her 
 head from this disgrace should the story of it get about ? 
 She was in a truly pitiable state of mind, a wofully pliant 
 condition, ready to be moulded as her mother chose if she 
 would only screen and defend her. 
 
 Dulcie, having little common sense, being utterly igno- 
 rant of the world and exceedingly weak of character, was, 
 when left to herself in a difficulty, like chaff before the 
 wind. She was very pretty, and she was amiable by nature, 
 quite fitted to take her part in the world with a strong 
 protector at her back, but as helpless alone as a ship with- 
 out a rudder. Noel's ardor and strength of will made her 
 fancy herself strong for the time ; now she was stranded 
 on rocks, flung hither and thither at the mercy of the 
 waves. 
 
 The next morning Mrs. Yernon had a letter from her 
 lawyer. Mr. Trevor remained insensible. The marriage 
 was legal and binding. She at once decided upon flight, 
 and wrote to Mr. Benson telling him her plans. 
 
 " I shall keep you informed where I am," she wrote, 
 
 4 
 
38 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 "but I do not intend to let my servants have my address: 
 therefore I shall ask you occasionally to forward my letters 
 when I write for them. It is, of course, unpleasant to 
 awaken suspicions and to behave mysteriously, but for the 
 present I have only one object, which is to prevent Mr. 
 Trevor following us." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon's butler had been some few years in her 
 service. She summoned him, and informed him of her in- 
 tended departure. Her tone and manner were so natural 
 that the man, although he had a shrewd suspicion that 
 there was something at the bottom of this sudden journey 
 more than met the eye, had nothing to confirm it. 
 
 "I have made up my mind in a great hurry, Haynes," 
 said his lady, affably. " I am tired of this fog and smoke, 
 and want to get to a pleasanter climate. I cannot give 
 you any address at present, as I shall perhaps only stay a 
 night in Paris, but will let you know as soon as possible 
 where to forward my letters. We shall most likely re- 
 turn very soon : be prepared to hear that we are on our 
 way back at any moment." 
 
 Mrs. Vernori saw Dulcie for the first time that day when 
 she got into the brougham which was to take them to the 
 railway-station. She was very pale, and looked utterly 
 wretched, but her mother, instead of compassionating her, 
 felt nothing but deep and bitter anger against her. Not 
 a word was exchanged between them. Dulcie was fright- 
 ened as well as sullen, and Mrs. Yernon had come to the 
 conclusion that the best and safest plan would be to avoid 
 all mention of this dreadful matter for the present. She 
 did really and honestly hope that Noel would die, and so 
 free her from the most terrible dilemma that ever hap- 
 pened to an unfortunate woman. It was not a very cheer- 
 ful prospect to think of having for her only society a 
 companion who felt for her and for whom she felt a smoth- 
 ered hostility ; and she resolved to hasten at once to the 
 south of France, where she would meet old friends, or 
 make new acquaintances, and not be thrown entirely upon 
 her disobedient daughter for companionship. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon disliked the continent, and was fond of 
 London, particularly fond of her home. She liked her 
 own comfort, her regular mode of life, the pleasant society 
 amidst which she moved. Well off, the mother of a pretty 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 39 
 
 marriageable daughter who had a fortune of her own, 
 her position had been a very agreeable one; but now 
 shame, disgrace, bitter disappointment, had overtaken 
 her, and she felt oppressed and worried to such a degree 
 that she could scarcely contemplate the future with calm- 
 ness. 
 
 It happens occasionally, by a merciful dispensation, that 
 when things are looking their blackest some consoling in- 
 cident brings a break in our despair ; and now a simple 
 though very fortunate occurrence came as a perfect god- 
 send to Mrs. Vernon. She and Dulcie had taken their 
 places in the Dover train. Presently the door of the car- 
 riage opened, and two more ladies were admitted, one 
 quite young, but very sickly and delicate-looking. She 
 was helped in by an older lady and a maid, who busied 
 themselves with wraps and cushions in making the invalid 
 comfortable. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon at once recognized in the mother, as she 
 evidently was, a once intimate friend and schoolfellow, of 
 whom, however, she had seen nothing for years. For 
 the moment, this lady was far too much occupied with the 
 invalid to remark the other occupants of the carriage, and 
 it was only just as the train was about to start that her 
 eyes met those of Mrs. Vernon, and a sudden light of rec- 
 ognition and inquiry dawned in them. Then very cordial 
 greetings were interchanged. The daughters were pre- 
 sented, arid Mrs. Vernon, to her unspeakable relief, was 
 no longer tete-d-tete with Dulcie. 
 
 " We are on our way to Nice," said Mrs. Chester. 
 <: To-night we sleep at the ' Lord Warden/ to-morrow go 
 on to Paris, and then by stages to the end of our journey, 
 as my little girl" affectionately "cannot bear much 
 fatigue." 
 
 Mrs. Vernon at once decided that she would make her 
 movements agree with theirs. Not only had she a liking 
 for her old friend, but she felt it would be everything, 
 both for herself and Dulcie, not to be thrown much upon 
 each other's society in their present mood. 
 
 u My son will join us to-night," added Mrs. Chester. 
 "Dear fellow! it is so good of him to leave his hunting, 
 and he dislikes going abroad so much j but he knew we 
 should be nervous travelling without a gentleman, and 
 
40 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 agreed quite willingly to take us and fetch us home again. 
 We cannot get on without him : can we, Lilah ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ;" and the small, wan face of the invalid 
 lighted up. 
 
 " You have only one son, I think," asked Mrs. Yernon. 
 
 " One son and one daughter. And this, I believe," 
 with a kind look at Dulcie, u is your only treasure?" 
 
 " My only one," replied Mrs. Yernon, trying hard to put 
 a little motherly warmth into her words and her glance at 
 J)ulcie. Dulcie, too, essayed a feebly responsive smile. 
 
 All the way to Dover the two elder ladies chatted 
 together, becoming deeply interested in their reminis- 
 cences of by-gone days. The meeting gave genuine pleas- 
 ure to both. Before they reached their destination they 
 had agreed that the journey to the south should be taken 
 in each other's company. 
 
 Dulcie was amiable, and had pretty manners. She was 
 kind to the little invalid, and helped to make her more 
 comfortable; and Lilah, who was very much attracted by 
 good looks, took a great fancy to her. 
 
 The party dined together in Mrs. Chester's sitting-room, 
 and about nine o'clock Sir John arrived. He had succeeded 
 his grandfather in the baronetcy, his father having died 
 only one month earlier. 
 
 He was not a little surprised to find four ladies instead 
 of two ; but it was evidently an agreeable surprise. And 
 when his mother hastened to tell him that they were all 
 going to travel south together, he expressed frank satis- 
 faction. Dulcie was very pretty. He liked pretty girls. 
 She had a pleasing manner, and he was wont to pronounce 
 manner " half the battle." 
 
 For his own part, he was a tall, broad-shouldered young 
 fellow, whom it would have been impossible to mistake for 
 anything but an Englishman, with blue eyes, remarkably 
 good teeth, and the frankest, pleasantest smile imaginable. 
 
 When the party retired, after cordial good-night greet- 
 ings, three at least out of the five congratulated them- 
 selves on the fortuitous meeting. Mrs. Chester thought 
 it would be so nice for her dear boy to have a pretty girl 
 to beguile him, and reflected how pleasant Mrs. Yernon's 
 companionship would be for herself; Mrs. Yernon had a 
 load taken from her breast on being relieved from a pain- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 41 
 
 ful and prolonged tete-a-tete with her daughter ; Sir John 
 was delighted at the prospect of travelling with pretty 
 Dulcie. Dulcie herself was too wretched to indulge in 
 any pleasant anticipations, although she was thankful not 
 to be left alone with her mother. Lilah, who was in- 
 clined to be exacting and jealous, was half afraid that she 
 would not receive her due share of attention from her 
 adored brother. Morton's satisfaction was unbounded. 
 Instead of travelling alone, she would have the society of 
 tho lady's-maid and footman, and this agreeable knowl- 
 edge materially assisted her to return to her usual cheerful 
 frame of mind. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN spite of this piece of good fortune, Mrs. Vernon's feel- 
 ings were far from enviable. Her daughter was really 
 married, married to a worthless adventurer, as she chose 
 to consider poor Noel. Worldly and ambitious, she had 
 determined that Dulcie should make a good marriage, and 
 with this in view had rejoiced at her good looks and had 
 made the most of her in every way. She should marry a 
 man of wealth, position, perhaps of title. Why not? She 
 was exceptionally pretty ; she had money of her own : she 
 might marry any one. And now this fair fabric of hopes 
 had fallen like a house of cards, dissolved in mist like a 
 castle in Spain. And the child on whom she had placed 
 all her hopes had not only disappointed her, but had dis- 
 graced her in the most heartless and cruel manner. 
 
 It seemed inconceivable, when she remembered Dulcie's 
 yielding disposition. She had never shown any will of 
 her own, had never, at all events, attempted to combat 
 her mother's : how, in so short a time, had a man gained 
 sufficient influence over her to cause her to act in a man- 
 ner totally opposed to her natural weakness and timidity ? 
 Then Mrs. Yernon thought with a pang of Sir John Ches- 
 ter. He was not, perhaps, so great a match as she had 
 imagined for Dulcie; but compared with Noel Trevor he 
 was a splendid alliance. And here these young people 
 
 4* 
 
42 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 would be thrown together with exceptional opportunities. 
 It was easy to see that Sir John already admired Duleie, 
 and he was so good-looking and pleasant that a girl could 
 not fail to like and be attracted by him. It even crossed 
 Mrs. Yernon's mind that should Sir John fall in love with 
 Dulcie the position might become extremely embarrassing. 
 She had told Morton distinctly that the marriage was null 
 and void. Morton had of course repeated this to Dulcie, 
 and Dulcie, unable to communicate with ISToel, and with- 
 out the means of discovering anything for herself, was 
 tolerably certain to take it for granted that she was free. 
 Well, the man might die, and Mrs. Yernon most sincerely 
 hoped he would. 
 
 The next day was fine: the sun shone, the sea was 
 calm. Sir John's attention was at first entirely taken up 
 by his little invalid sister ; his strong arms carried her on 
 board the boat, he placed her with all a woman's gentle- 
 ness in the most comfortable position, and saw that she 
 had everything she could possibly want. A deck-cabin 
 had been engaged for her, but she preferred to lie out in 
 the fresh air. Her mother, the maid, and the footman 
 hovered about, but it was her brother who did everything 
 for her and to whom she looked to supply her every want. 
 Her eyes watched him jealously when, having devoted 
 himself to her comfort and said many gay and cheery 
 words to her, he went and sat down by Dulcie. 
 
 Poor Dulcie ! her brain was in a whirl. She had never 
 yet been abroad. As she watched the sunlit cliffs lessen- 
 ing in the distance, she told herself that she was leaving 
 all she loved behind, leaving Noel dying, perhaps dead. 
 A superstitious terror crossed her that this was a judg- 
 ment upon her for having disobeyed her mother : almost 
 for the first time, the enormity of the wrong she had com- 
 mitted dawned upon her. She and Noel were to have gone 
 to Paris together, and now he was lying in a hospital and 
 she was on her way to Paris with her mother. If only 
 that awful doubt of him could be set at rest ! if she could 
 be assured that he had not deceived her willingly, know- 
 ingly ! if there were any one she could turn to for coun- 
 sel, in whom she could confide ! It was a relief to her at 
 first that her mother made no reference to the subject; 
 she had dreaded her anger unspeakably, her severe re- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 43 
 
 criminations ; but now she felt this horrible uncertainty 
 to be almost worse. 
 
 Sir John noticed how pale she was, and that her eyes 
 shone with tears, but he only thought that she was pos- 
 sibly suffering from physical qualms, knowing what deli- 
 cate creatures women were, and that, though there was 
 no motion in the boat worth speaking of, it was possible 
 she was feeling, or fancying she felt, unwell. So he en- 
 gaged for a time in conversation with Mrs. Yernon, who 
 exerted her very considerable powers of pleasing for his 
 benefit, and only returned to Dulcie when they were near- 
 ing Calais. She was better by this time ; the fresh air 
 had braced her nerves ; his face was pleasant to look upon, 
 his cheery voice was inspiriting, and she was able to smile 
 at him, and to respond to his remarks with something of 
 her usual manner. For Dulcie, if weak in character arid 
 not to be classed among clever people, was by no means 
 deficient in intelligence, and had, as a rule, a very fair 
 amount of small-talk at her command. And during the 
 journey to Paris she was not insensible of the advantage 
 of having a young, well-looking man of the party, anxious 
 to please her and thoughtful for her comfort. He was 
 bright, active, alert, saw to everything, and did not for a 
 moment lose his good temper on one or two of those crit- 
 ical occasions when a travelling Englishman is prone to 
 show the cloven foot. His first care was always for Lilah ; 
 and after her the other ladies came in for his attentions 
 and good offices. 
 
 Lilah was tired out when they arrived in Paris, and had 
 to be put to bed at once : the rest of the party dined to- 
 gether in the restaurant of the hotel. After dinner, Mrs. 
 Chester went up to Lilah, and Sir John suggested, if Mrs. 
 and Miss Yernon were not tired, he would take them out 
 to have a look at the shops. Both were glad enough to 
 accept his proposal : each has a horror of being left alone 
 with the other. Mrs. Yernon was afraid of a point-blank 
 question from Dulcie which she would be compelled to 
 answer truthfully. Dulcie feared her mother's reproaches. 
 Sir John's company was a godsend to both. 
 
 The night was clear, and not cold for the time of year. 
 The lights, the gay shops, the entire change of scene, and, 
 last not least, the young man's cheeriness and vivacity, 
 
44 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 all helped to put them more at their ease and to dispel 
 the dreadful gloom which oppressed their hearts. 
 
 When Dulcie retired for the night, and referred, in 
 Morton's presence, to the late terrible event, the maid 
 showed herself the reverse of sympathetic, and said, with 
 some shortness, that the best thing her young lady could 
 possibly do was to forget all about that foolish affair, and 
 to thank Providence things had happened as they did, or 
 what a position she might have been in now ! For Mor- 
 ton, turncoat that she was, had already dismissed Noel 
 from her thoughts and affections, and had begun to con- 
 sider Sir John as a much more appropriate suitor for 
 Dulcie. So she discouraged all mention of Noel, and was 
 not in the least moved by Dulcie's tears and reproaches. 
 
 The next day Lilah was unable to leave her room. 
 Fatigue had brought on one of the severe headaches she 
 was subject to, and she remained in a darkened room, 
 watched over alternately by her mother and the maid, 
 and was only able to bear her adored brother's presence 
 for a moment, when he was admitted to kiss and press 
 her thin little hand without speaking. He was therefore 
 at liberty to escort Mrs. Vernon and her daughter shop- 
 ping ; insisted on giving them luncheon at u Yoisin's ;" 
 drove afterwards with them in the Bois, and took them 
 to the theatre in the evening. Mrs. Vernon, who knew 
 French thoroughly, did all the talking that was required 
 in that language, and explained the play to Sir John, who 
 was as ignorant of French, and as shy of speaking it, as 
 most young Britons. He came to the conclusion that she 
 was one of the most delightful women he had ever met 
 in his life, and divided his attentions almost equally be- 
 tween her and Dulcie, whom he thought "a dear, nice, 
 modest little girl I" 
 
 Golden opinions were flying about all round. When 
 Mrs. Yernon reflected on the situation and on possibilities, 
 she was almost driven to despair. She saw in Sir John a 
 probable suitor for Dulcie. In her dreams, perhaps, she 
 had thought of a son-in-law of higher rank and larger 
 fortune ; but this charming young fellow, this devoted 
 Bon and brother, would have had small difficulty in ob- 
 taining her consent. He would most likely, with all the 
 opportunities that would be given him, fall in love with 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 45 
 
 Dulcie and wish to marry her, and Dulcie, perish the 
 thought ! Dulcie was a married woman already, and that 
 fatal symbol of her folly lay in the drawer of Mrs. Yer- 
 non's dressing-case. 
 
 A dreadful sense of uneasiness stole over her as she 
 remembered how she had given Morton to understand 
 that the marriage was illegal. Dulcie no doubt consid- 
 ered herself free ; and suppose she, forgetting her grief 
 and Noel Trevor in time, should come back to look with 
 iavorable eyes on Sir John ! Oh, if that wretch would 
 only die ! The afternoon of her arrival in Paris, Mrs. 
 Yernon had telegraphed to Mr. Benson, and the second 
 morning following she received a letter from him. 
 
 " Mr. Trevor," he wrote, " still lies in the same critical 
 condition. I think you were a little precipitate in leaving 
 England, and I must remind you that you ought to have 
 apprised the court of chancery of the marriage of Miss 
 Yernon ; also that before taking her out of the country it 
 was necessary to obtain the sanction of the court to your 
 doing so." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon heeded this not at all. She was out of 
 England, thank God ! and out of England she would re- 
 main. Dulcie having worked upon Morton's feelings with 
 extreme difficulty, the maid ventured to ask her mistress 
 whether Mr. Trevor still lived. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon paused a moment before replying, then 
 said, in her cold, awe-inspiring voice, 
 
 " Mr. Trevor remains in the same condition. If he 
 should die, I will tell you ; but do not mention the subject 
 to me again." Then, as an after-thought, u If he does not 
 die, he may be an idiot for the rest of his life." 
 
 Morton made the very most of this suggestion, and 
 drew a lively picture to Dulcie of the horror of having an 
 imbecile husband, and of her good fortune in not really 
 being his wife. The idea took very forcible possession of 
 Dulcie, and made her thoughts of Noel full of terror and 
 distress, instead of the love and sj r mpathy which had char- 
 acterized them hitherto. She welcomed anything that 
 distracted her from these dreadful reflections, and laughed 
 and talked to Sir John with a gayety which he little sus- 
 pected was forced. It did not, however, deceive her 
 mother. 
 
46 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Mrs. Chester was delighted that her dear son should be 
 so well amused. Like all good women, she was a match- 
 maker, and, although she had everything to lose and 
 nothing to gain by his marriage, she was quite prepared, 
 when his choice fell on some nice, good girl, to say, " Bless 
 you, my children !" and vacate the home to which she was 
 so fondly attached. And Dulcie, so pretty, gentle, well 
 brought-up, seemed a daughter-in-law eminently to be de- 
 sired. In their school-days she had always looked up to 
 Margaret Lockwood as a superior being, to be admired 
 and respected: a girl brought up under such a mother 
 could not fail to be full of virtue and merit. 
 
 Sir John himself, though not shy, but, on the contrary, 
 much inclined for women's society, had never, so far as 
 she knew, been seriously in love or proposed for the hand 
 of any woman. There was no little episode in his life of 
 which she and most other people were ignorant. 
 
 At one-and-twenty he had for the first arid only time 
 in his life fallen desperately in love. It was during the 
 first season he spent in London, when his mother was 
 living quietly at home in the country and knew no more 
 of his doings than he was pleased to tell her. Sir John 
 was a thoroughly honorable, good-hearted young fellow, 
 and, as his fortune would have it, the siren who fascinated 
 him was a married woman. She was handsome, clever, 
 and several years older than himself. For some little 
 time she played with him and his heart as she would, and 
 the condition of his mind halted between ecstasy and 
 misery. With his strong sense of honor, it was intoler- 
 able to him to sit at the table and take the hand of a man 
 whom in his heart he was betraying, and he had a terrible 
 time with his conscience. And, as it does not often hap- 
 pen when the blood is in its heyday and the siren smiles, 
 conscience got the better of passion. Jack (by which 
 name he was known to all his intimates), having fought 
 a valiant fight and being sorely wounded in the encounter, 
 took the only refuge of a brave man in such warfare, and 
 fled. He went to America for three months, spent the 
 winter down at home hunting vigorously, and took good 
 care to avoid the society which had been so dangerously 
 dear to him. And from that time until now, though he 
 had liked and admired several women, he had never felt 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 47 
 
 that the society of one was absolutely necessary to him ; 
 and, knowing how severe a trial it would be to his mother, 
 and far more to his little sick sister, to leave the Hall, he 
 never encouraged himself to think seriously of bringing 
 a new mistress to take the reins of government. He was 
 still free and heart-whole ; but any day might change 
 this happy condition and deliver him over bound and cap- 
 tive to the charms of some fair maiden. 
 
 Two or three days passed. Lilah was pretty well 
 again. Her sharp, jealous eyes saw with intense dissatis- 
 faction the pleasant familiar terms on which her brother 
 and Dulcie stood, and terrible forebodings haunted her. 
 She was silent and irritable ; no one could please her. 
 Poor little girl ! she had so few pleasures ; her lot seemed 
 so hard to her. Never to be able to do anything like any 
 one else 1 The idea of not being first with her idolized 
 brother was unendurable, and the possibility of leaving 
 that home which was the dearest spot of earth to her 
 increased her melancholy and irritability fourfold. 
 
 " Why did you ask those people to join us ?" she said 
 petulantly to her mother. 
 
 Mrs. Chester returned soothingly that she thought it 
 would be so nice for all of them to have pleasant compan- 
 ions. But Lilah answered with irritation that it was not 
 at all nice,-* that they took Johnnie away from her, and 
 that most likely they would do all they could to catch 
 him, and that she and her mother would be turned out 
 of their dear, darling home, and then perhaps she (her 
 mother) would be pleased with what she had done ! And 
 poor Lilah began to cry bitterly, and Mrs. Chester was at 
 her wits' end to pacify her. Lilah was even irritable to 
 her brother; but he was so kind and forbearing that it 
 was impossible to remain angry with him: she therefore 
 contented herself by increasing her exactions fourfold and 
 insisting on his company at ail times and seasons. 
 
 Not selfish, as many men are in their youth and strength, 
 he was so pitying and tender towards her frailness ^and 
 weakness that many a time he yielded to her exactions 
 with the kindest grace in the world when he would fain 
 have been doing something else. And he was rewarded 
 by the clasp of that poor little thin hand, the look of 
 adoration and gratitude in the eloquent eyes of the suffer- 
 
48 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 ing girl when he sat beside her couch, or took her driving, 
 or unhesitatingly obeyed some rather imperious and per- 
 haps inconvenient behest. 
 
 " Poor little girl !" he said tenderly to himself, " she 
 might have been the strong and I the weak and sickly 
 one !" He never forgot his father's words, spoken shortly 
 before he died : 
 
 'Always be good to the women, Jack! Be kind to 
 them : don't be selfish ; don't do things as if they were a 
 bore and a trouble. Young fellows are apt to think too 
 much about themselves and their own pleasures. Don't 
 you be like that, my boy. Be good to your mother, who 
 is the most unselfish woman alive, and be kind to poor 
 little Lilah, who has a sorrowful time in store for her, 
 even at the best ! If in another world we can look down 
 on this, think, my boy, that I shall be watching you, and 
 blessing you if you are kind to them." 
 
 And Jack, who loved his father dearly, never forgot 
 those words, though he had such a good heart that even 
 without them it is very likely he would not have failed 
 in duty or kindness towards these weak women who de- 
 pended upon him. 
 
 After three days in Paris, Lilah was well enough to 
 continue the journey. Their next halting-place was 
 Lyons, where they stayed one night only. Lilah detested 
 travelling, and was anxious to get to her journey's end. 
 But she was so fatigued when they reached Marseilles 
 that two nights and a day had to be spent there in order 
 to recruit her strength. 
 
 Dulcie was charmed with the bright town of Marseilles, 
 and here, as Mrs. Yernon was not very well, she and Jack 
 were thrown a good deal in each other's company. He 
 walked and drove with her to see all the objects of in- 
 terest, and her even spirits and natural brightness par- 
 tially returned to her, and she began to forget her misery 
 and to look once more upon the bright side of life. The 
 events of a few days before she came to regard as a night- 
 mare. She was beginning to feel indignant against Noel, 
 who she now taught herself to believe had laid a trap for 
 her. Morton was careful to foster any thoughts unfavor- 
 able to the poor fellow in her young lady's mind ; and 
 Dulcie shuddered with horror as Morton dwelt on his 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 49 
 
 possible idiotcy, and related her own experience of an 
 imbecile young man, a member of a family in which she 
 had once lived. All Dulcie now hoped was that she would 
 never see or hear of Noel again. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon's frame of mind was anything but pleasant. 
 Her tactics had been almost too successful, and she began 
 to 1hink, not without horror, of the terrible position in 
 which her daughter might find herself if she should come 
 to be attached to Sir John Chester. Marry him she cer- 
 tainly could not whilst her husband lived, and even should 
 he die it would, she feared, be necessary that the dreadful 
 story should be confessed. 
 
 And it was not one that a lover, especially an honorable, 
 straightforward young fellow, would like very much to 
 hear ! And, besides, Mrs. Yernon had a terrible intuition 
 that Noel would not die. What should she do and say if 
 some day Dulcie came blushing and smiling to tell her 
 that Sir John had proposed, and that she had accepted 
 him? 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was greatly tempted to wish that Dulcie 
 had never been born, or that she had succumbed to the 
 attack of scarlet fever which had nearly cost her her life 
 when a child. 
 
 Her heart sank as she watched Sir John's manner to 
 Dulcie, and the favor with which Dulcie seemed to regard 
 him in return ; nor was she reassured by the affectionate 
 interest Mrs. Chester displayed in her daughter. She 
 read plainly what was in that guileless lady's mind, and 
 it caused her to groan in spirit. Meantime, she heard 
 from Mr. Benson that young Trevor was alive, and would 
 probably live, but that he showed no signs of mental 
 consciousness. 
 
 " If things go much further," said the distracted mother 
 to herself, "I must let Dulcie know the horrid truth.' 1 
 Then suddenly a thought struck her. " Reine is at 
 Cannes. I will get her to come to us. Perhaps Sir John 
 will fall in love with her." 
 
 c d 6 
 
50 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE morning after their arrival at Nice was perfect. 
 The waves dancing in the sunshine were blue as the vault 
 of heaven which they reflected ; the sun was brilliant as a 
 June sun in England; everywhere children offered roses 
 and orange-blossoms, bright anemones, and great violets 
 for sale. Sir John escorted the ladies into the town in 
 quest of gay-lined cotton umbrellas to protect their com- 
 plexions from the too ardent gaze of Phoebus. Once 
 there, they lingered to look at the corals, the laces, the 
 tempting crystallized fruits, and other wares, and after- 
 wards sat and sunned themselves on the Promenade. 
 
 "To think of this being December!" said Dulcie. "I 
 wonder every one does not come away from the cold and 
 the horrid fogs in England." 
 
 " It is delicious," responded Sir John ; but in his heart 
 he thought of dull gray mornings in his own land which 
 were more exhilarating and spirit-stirring to him than all 
 this glamour of sunshine. Still, he was well content for 
 the present to be where he was. 
 
 " We shall have to go over to Monte Carlo and try our 
 luck," he proceeded, turning to Mrs. Vernon. "When 
 shall it be? to-morrow?" 
 
 " To-morrow," responded Mrs. Vernon, " my niece Mrs. 
 Chandos is coming over from Cannes to spend a couple of 
 days with us : so I must be here to receive her. But that 
 is no reason why you should not go ; and perhaps you will 
 take us another day." 
 
 " Oh, we must all make our debut together !" he laughed. 
 " I am not a gambler. I shall lose my five pounds and 
 then come away ; but it would bore me to go alone. I 
 only care for the outing, and an outing without pleasant 
 company isn't worth having." 
 
 " I shall like to introduce you to my niece," said Mrs. 
 Vernon. " She is a very interesting person, clever arid 
 original." 
 
 " I shall be charmed," he replied ; but mentally he 
 opined that a clever and original woman would be a bore 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 51 
 
 and a wet blanket, and, stealing a glance at Dulcie, he 
 thought how infinitely preferable was a pretty little girl 
 like this with not brains enough to make a man feel like 
 a fool beside her. 
 
 " She is a poetess, too," Mrs. Yernon continued, adding 
 to his disrelish of her picture by every word. "Her 
 po^nis have been a good deal talked about, very much 
 praised and very much abused, which is a certain proof 
 that they are above mediocrity." 
 
 " I shall be horribly afraid of her," returned Sir John. 
 "Does she wear spectacles and affect the divided skirt?" 
 
 " Oh," chimed in Dulcie, " Eeine is very pretty and 
 dresses beautifully." 
 
 " I do not think the words ' very pretty' describe her 
 accurately," said Mrs. Yernon. " She has a face full of 
 charm and intelligence, and, if she likes you and lays her- 
 self out to be pleasant to you, you will probably think her 
 more than pretty." 
 
 But Sir John did not feel drawn to the lady in question, 
 and had a presentiment, as trustworthy as most presenti- 
 ments are, that he should not like her. He was even 
 minded to go off to Monaco alone on purpose to avoid her. 
 
 In the afternoon they went to the Casino and listened 
 to the band, dined at the table d'hote, and spent the even- 
 ing with Lilah in the sitting-room, each vying with the 
 other in attentions to the little invalid. 
 
 It was at luncheon the following day that Sir John saw 
 Eeine Chandos for the first time. One glance showed him 
 that the impression he had formed of her in his mind was 
 totally incorrect ; in ten minutes he had forgotten that she 
 was clever and a blue-stocking, and thought her one of the 
 most fascinating creatures he had ever seen. She was not 
 beautiful, no ! that was not the word that expressed her: 
 he felt as if he wanted an even better one. Her features 
 were small and delicate, she had eyes like brown velvet, 
 her hair was dark with a dash of chestnut in it, her hands 
 were exquisitely delicate. She smiled at the young man, 
 whose good looks and frank, pleasant manner pleased her, 
 and she talked to him in a gay strain that had nothing to 
 remind him of poetess or strong-minded woman. For 
 Reine was the most impressionable of her sex, and liked 
 or disliked almost at a glance. 
 
52 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Sir John pleased her. With swift intuition she saw in 
 him a suitable husband for Dulcie, and was prepared to 
 extend a cordial welcome to him as a member of the family. 
 As for him, he found the greatest difficulty in taking his 
 eyes from her face, and Mrs. Yernon was quick to recog- 
 nize that the mental wish she had formed was quite likely 
 to be fulfilled. Any maternal jealousy that, under other 
 circumstances, might have been awakened in her breast 
 was laid now by the thought of the painful complications 
 that would occur should Sir John have any serious ideas 
 about Dulcie. 
 
 It had been arranged that Mrs. Chester, Lilah, and her 
 brother should go for a drive that afternoon to Yillefranche, 
 and Dulcie had been invited to accompany them. Mrs. 
 Yernon and Eeine were to follow in one of the delightful 
 little pony-carriages which abound at Nice. Their young 
 charioteer drove from : the small seat at the back, and, as 
 he did not understand a word of English, the two ladies 
 were able to converse with absolute freedom. 
 
 For the last few days Mrs. Yernon had deliberated 
 whether Eeine should be informed of the terrible event : 
 she was perfectly trustworthy, and had plenty of common 
 sense, but still the mother shrank from putting any one 
 in possession of this miserable secret, though it weighed 
 so intolerably upon her that she felt that to share it would 
 be the greatest relief. 
 
 They were driving along at a smart pace, and, at a curve 
 in the road, came in sight of the rest of the party, whose 
 carriage preceded theirs. 
 
 " I think, Aunt Margaret," said Eeine, gayly, " that this 
 looks very promising. Sir John seems an extremely nice 
 young fellow, and will make you an excellent son-in-law." 
 
 As Mrs. Yernon made no reply, Eeine turned to look at 
 her, and was surprised at the gloom and despondency ex- 
 pressed on her features. 
 
 " Why, auntie, do you not approve of him?" she asked, 
 in a tone of surprise. 
 
 " I approve of him entirely," rejoined Mrs. Yernon, 
 < but but " 
 
 " Is he poor?" asked Eeine, jumping at once to the only 
 possible obstacle she could imagine. 
 
 Again Mrs. Yernon was silent for a moment, and looked 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 53 
 
 away at the blue waves sparkling so merrily in the sun- 
 shine. Should she or should she not tell Eeine, was the 
 question which for the moment absorbed her. 
 
 Eeine was silent and waited. She conjectured some- 
 thing of the doubt that was passing in Mrs. Vernon's 
 mind, and forbore to influence her decision by pressing a 
 question. She affected to be engrossed by the scene 
 around her. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon knew that silence is golden, that it is best 
 not to confide a secret that tells against us, even to a sin- 
 cere friend, so many unforeseen things may come in to 
 change friendship to coldness, distrust, rivalry; yet for 
 once this strong-minded self-contained woman felt a woful 
 need of sympathy, of help. And she really trusted Eeine : 
 she had been a true friend to Eeine in her time of trial, 
 and Eeine had a grateful nature. 
 
 At last Mrs. Yernon spoke. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " I am in dreadful trouble. I believe 
 that I should be wiser to keep it to myself, and yet the 
 burden of it is almost too much for me to bear alone. You 
 are the only living being with whom I would trust this 
 horrid secret, and before I do so I must have your sacred 
 promise that you will never breathe a word of it to any 
 one, that you will behave as though you were in entire 
 ignorance of it." 
 
 Eeine laid a sympathetic hand on her companion's. 
 
 " Dear auntie," she said, " you may safely trust me. I 
 am so grieved to think you are in trouble." 
 
 " Promise 1" repeated Mrs. Yernon, with a show of ner- 
 vous excitement quite unusual to her. 
 
 " I promise you faithfully and truly," answered Eeine, 
 in a low, clear voice, looking into her aunt's eyes with a 
 gaze which spoke absolute truth and sincerity. 
 
 " 1 can scarcely bring my mind to speak the words," 
 uttered Mrs. Yernon, moving uneasily : " you will think I 
 have taken leave of my senses. Can you believe," with 
 increasing irritation, " that wretched girl has made a clan- 
 destine marriage with an adventurer?" 
 
 Eeine forgot the sea, the sunshine, the flowering trees 
 and shrubs, which had up to this moment delighted her 
 senses, and a look of horror that was absolutely tragic 
 crept into her eyes. 
 
 5* 
 
54 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " Dulcie !" she stammered, almost inaudibly. 
 
 " Yes," cried her aunt, " Dulcie, Dulcie, who one 
 thought had no will or idea of her own. Nor had she," 
 with rising indignation: "the man found out, of course, 
 that she had money, and worked on her feelings, and, I 
 suppose, pretended to adore her, and so, one morning, 
 without my knowing even that she was keeping up an 
 acquaintance with him, she walked out of the house and 
 was married at the registry office." 
 
 For a moment Eeine was speechless ; then she said, 
 
 " But some one must have helped her ! some one must 
 have connived at it ! Dulcie is the last girl in the world 
 to plot and arrange such an affair for herself." 
 
 "Of course the man managed everything, and Dulcie 
 had some one to aid and abet her also, the valuable Mor- 
 ton." 
 
 " Morton !" echoed Eeine. " But she is here with you!" 
 
 " Yes," replied her aunt, bitterly. " You may easily 
 conjecture that, if I could, I would have turned her out 
 of the house on the spot without a character ; but I had 
 only one idea, and that was to keep the wretched affair a 
 secret. If I had wreaked my anger on her, she would 
 have blazoned the story abroad in revenge, and I had 
 great hopes the wretched man would die. And, after all, 
 she has been useful in a way. I have never breathed one 
 word to Dulcie on the subject, but I have given her to 
 understand, through Morton, that the marriage is illegal." 
 
 "But," interrupted Eeine, "how did you get her away 
 from him, and why do you say you hoped he might 
 die?" 
 
 Mrs. Vernon told her the strange story of the accident. 
 Eeine listened in wonderment that absolutely deprived ner 
 of speech. When the story came to an end, she had only 
 one question to ask. 
 
 " But are you sure the marriage is legal ? I thought a 
 ward in chancery could not marry without the consent 
 of the court." 
 
 " So I thought ; but Mr. Benson explained to me that 
 it is the property and not the person of the ward with 
 which the court concerns itself. The only comfort is that 
 he will not be able to touch her money : they will see 
 that it is settled upon herself." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 55 
 
 Then Eeine, with a woman's instinct, inquired about 
 Mr. Trevor's appearance ; but Mrs. Yernon was far too 
 prejudiced to give a fair account of him. 
 
 " A most ordinary young man/' she said, " with nothing 
 to say for himself." 
 
 " But," cried Eeine, " the thing which baffles me is that 
 Dulcie, after such a strange and terrible experience, 
 should seem quite herself, quite unchanged !" 
 
 " Dulcie," said her mother, bitterly, " has no more feel- 
 ing than that rock. Do you suppose a girl with a particle 
 of heart could have acted to a devoted mother with such 
 ruthless disregard of what she would suffer as Duicie did 
 in leaving me? One can scarcely expect, then, when 
 things went wrong with her lover and caused shame and 
 discomfort to herself, that she would retain any serious 
 regard for him. Besides, mercifully, she is under the 
 impression that he had entrapped her into a false mar- 
 riage." 
 
 u Aunt Margaret," said Eeine, very earnestly, " I think 
 she ought to know the truth. Suppose that she and Sir 
 John fall in love with each other: it will be a terrible 
 predicament for every one." 
 
 " 1 will not tell her at present," answered Mrs. Yernon, 
 firmly. "What guarantee have I that she would not 
 suddenly take it into her head to run away from me and 
 go back to him, or write to him to come to her?" 
 
 " But, if he recovers, you cannot prevent him from 
 claiming her!" 
 
 " I am determined," replied Mrs. Yernon, " that in any 
 case this marriage at the registry office shall remain a 
 secret. A regular engagement shall be gone through. I 
 shall pretend" with a groan " to give my consent, and 
 there shall be a decent and proper ceremony'in church. 
 Oh, Eeine !" with tears in her eyes, a very unusual 
 symptom of weakness with her, " this has nearly broken 
 my heart !" 
 
 Eeine was the most sympathetic woman in the world. 
 She cried, too, for pity of her aunt's grief, and used every 
 effort to console and comfort her. When, a few min- 
 utes later, the carriage with the rest of the party turned 
 and passed them on its way back, and Dulcie smiled and 
 waved her hand to her cousin, Eeine returned the gesture 
 
56 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 gayly ; then she leaned back, and marvelled how it was 
 possible for a woman to be so heartless j but a moment 
 later she murmured to herself, 
 
 "How fortunate, oh, how fortunate for her! Happy 
 girl!" 
 
 That evening the whole party dined at the table d'hote. 
 Lilah persisted that she was not tired, and was so eager 
 to dine with the others that her wish was not opposed. 
 Sir John sat between her and Dulcie; the three other 
 ladies had seats immediately opposite. The young man 
 chatted away to Lilah and 'Dulcie, but his eyes wandered 
 frequently to Eeine. She was more than pretty, he 
 thought. She looked so high-bred. Her hands, he re- 
 marked, were marvellously delicate and well shaped. To 
 meet her eyes and see her smile gave him a sensation of 
 delight. Now and then he said a few words to her, and 
 she responded with the charming grace she always used 
 to those who pleased her. 
 
 There were people going about the world who averred 
 that Mrs. Chandos was a proud, haughty, disagreeable 
 woman, who gave herself great airs which, considering 
 her unfortunate position, were quite unwarranted. On 
 the other hand, those to whom she accorded her friend- 
 ship and sympathy praised and belauded her in a manner 
 almost savoring of extravagance. Sir John seemed likely 
 to rank among the latter class. 
 
 " What a tremendous mistake I made," he said, in a 
 low voice full of satisfaction, to Dulcie, " when I imagined 
 your cousin to be a blue-stocking and strong-minded ! 
 8he is one of the most charming women I ever met." 
 
 "Eeine is very nice," replied Dulcie; but the words 
 seemed extremely tame and unsatisfactory to her auditor. 
 
 " Where can I get her books ?" he continued. " I don't 
 care for poetry, as a rule, but I am sure I should like 
 hers." 
 
 " I think Tauchnitz has published them," Dulcie an- 
 swered ; " but you had better not talk to Eeine about 
 them. Nothing annoys her so much as for any one to 
 allude to her writings." 
 
 " Eeally !" exclaimed Sir John. " It seems to me I 
 should be so awfully proud if I were an author, I should 
 want to publish the fact on the house-top. By the way," 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 57 
 
 trying to assume an indifferent tone and coloring slightly, 
 " is there a Mr. Chandos ?" 
 
 Dulcie caught the contagion of his blush fourfold, and 
 looked exceedingly uneasy and embarrassed. 
 
 " No," she stammered ; " at least " 
 
 But Sir John hastened to change the subject, shocked 
 at having asked an indiscreet question. 
 
 Then he relapsed into silence, and sat wondering what 
 
 her strange answer could mean. "No; at least " 
 
 Surely there must either be a husband or not. Could it 
 be possible that 
 
 A feeling of disquietude stole across him. Presently he 
 raised his glance to Reine's face, and something in the ex- 
 pression of her eyes gave him a horrible suspicion that 
 she knew what he was thinking about, knew what he 
 had asked Dulcie. He felt miserable and ashamed of him- 
 self; he dropped his eyes, and thought that he should not 
 dare to raise them again ; then, suddenly, her sweet voice 
 struck gayly on his ear : she was asking if he had been to 
 Monte Carlo yet. 
 
 " No," he answered, eagerly ; " but we were talking of 
 going to-morrow. Will you not come too ?" 
 
 She hesitated a moment before answering. 
 
 " If, whilst you are all in the gambling-room, you will 
 leave me outside to enjoy the lovely view, I will go," she 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, I am not at all keen about gambling," he exclaimed, 
 eagerly, thinking how infinitely he would prefer to stroll 
 about the grounds with her. " I shall go in for ten min- 
 utes and try my luck and lose my money, and then I shall 
 breathe the fresh air and look at the scenery, and I hope 
 you won't think my company a bore." 
 
 " I am sure I shall not," replied Eeine, graciously. 
 
 " Then it's a bargain," cried the young man, with 
 sparkling eyes. 
 
 " You and Dulcie are going, of course ?" said Reine, 
 turning to her aunt, and Mrs. Vernon assented. 
 
 " Can I not go too ?" pleaded Lilah, with tears in her 
 eyes, looking eagerly at her brother. 
 
 " Of course you shall go, little one, if you are up to it," 
 he answered, kindly ; but Mrs. Chester gave him a warn- 
 ing shake of the head. 
 
58 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 The next morning poor Lilah was in no condition to 
 think of any kind of gayety : the exertions of the day 
 before had brought on one of her severe headaches. Sir 
 John could only just creep in on tiptoe and whisper to her 
 that the very first day she was well enough he would take 
 her over, and that he would bring her back a " fairing" 
 this evening ; and in return she feebly pressed his hand, 
 unable even to speak. 
 
 Mrs. Chester remained with the invalid, indeed, the 
 excellent lady had a secret horror of the wicked Monte 
 Carlo, and Sir John escorted the other three ladies in a 
 very proud and pleased frame of mind. He did not, how- 
 ever, forget his poor little sister, and on the way said to 
 Eeine, in a tone very much subdued from its natural 
 blitheness, 
 
 " Is it not strange how in this world some people suffer 
 so dreadfully without any fault of their own? Look at 
 poor, dear little Lilah, nearly always in pain. She is as 
 good as gold, and wouldn't hurt a fly ! And here am I, a 
 great hulking fellow who does not know what an ache or 
 a pain means !" 
 
 " I do not suppose you would hurt a fly either," replied 
 Eeine, smiling at him with a benevolent, almost a mater- 
 nal, smile ; and indeed she felt as though he were a nice, 
 frank Eton boy and she a middle-aged woman. 
 
 He looked at her as if he did not quite understand. He 
 liked her to smile at him, but he did not like her to treat 
 him as though he were a mere lad. 
 
 Eeine changed her tone. 
 
 " It is very sad for her, poor child," she said. " But, 
 oh ! how many sad things there are in the world !" And 
 she drew such a deep, deep sigh that a wave of pity swept 
 over Jack's sensitive heart, and he felt that she herself 
 had some dreadful trouble of which she was thinking. 
 Her eyes wore a far-off look, and for the moment she 
 seemed to have forgotten his existence. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 59 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 WHEN they arrived at Monte Carlo, Mrs. Vernon and 
 Dulcie, escorted by Sir John, made their way to the Casino. 
 Heine insisted on remaining in the gardens, and was proof 
 against all entreaties to accompany them inside the build- 
 ing. 
 
 " I do not like to see poor human nature in its most de- 
 based form," she said, smiling. " It is bad enough at its 
 best." 
 
 The words impressed Sir John painfully. He did not 
 like to hear pessimistic views from such charming lips. 
 But he smiled, and answered, 
 
 u I hope you won't see any very serious change for the 
 worse in us when we come out." 
 
 " I hope not," she returned, in the same vein ; and, with 
 a little gesture of farewell, she turned and left them as 
 they entered the Casino, and went into the gardens to a 
 spot whence she could see the glittering sea and the sun- 
 shine flooding the red rocks. 
 
 Her thoughts travelled away from herself, and were cen- 
 tred upon Dulcie and the shipwreck she had made of her 
 life. Heine, in spite of a certain amount of cynicism and 
 disbelief which suffering had infused into her mind, was 
 rather prone to credit what she was told, and had accepted 
 Mrs. Vernon's version of the story and description oi Noel 
 without allowing for her aunt's prejudice. She took it for 
 granted that Dulcie's husband was the needy adventurer 
 represented ; and she thought sorrowfully of the fate 
 which awaited her poor unstable cousin. 
 
 She had always been fond of Dulcie, who was so fair 
 and soft and pretty, so yielding and docile. This black 
 sheep, this good-for-nothing fortune-hunter, would, no 
 doubt, oppress and ill treat her, unless, for pecuniary rea- 
 sons, he found it advisable to behave to her with some 
 show of consideration. Why were women always com- 
 pelled to suffer through their best affections ? But then 
 a sudden thought pulled Heine up sharply. Could Dul- 
 oie's phlegmatic nature be made to suffer very acutely ? 
 
60 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 It was only about ten days since she had been torn from 
 the man whom it was to be presumed she loved, or thought 
 she loved, and yet she was smiling, amused, and evidently 
 capable of taking considerable interest in what was going 
 on around her. And, for all she knew, he might be lying 
 dead. 
 
 And now, with the extraordinary irony in which Fate 
 delights, she was thrown into the society of Sir John 
 Chester, one of the nicest, pleasantest-mannered, kindest- 
 hearted young men imaginable, Eeine said to herself. His 
 face was an open book : only to see his kind, tender ways 
 to his poor little sister stamped him at once the good fel- 
 low he was. What a smooth, fair-sailing voyage might 
 Dulcie's life have been with such a helmsman! Should 
 we ever in the future know why things happen with such 
 cruel perversity ? 
 
 Her reflections were broken in upon by hurrying feet 
 and laughing voices. 
 
 " We have found you at last," said Sir John, in the gay- 
 est accents. " Have we been gone too long ?" 
 
 Eeine was more considerate than to reply that she 
 thought it could be scarcely ten minutes since they 
 parted. 
 
 All three faces were smiling and good-humored.. 
 
 " We have broken the bank," laughed Sir John, opening 
 his hand and exhibiting a rouleau of gold, and the two 
 ladies followed his example and showed each a smaller 
 one. "We have won thirty pounds between us," con- 
 tinued the young man, gayly. " I had the most extraor- 
 dinary run of luck. I played first for myself and then 
 for the ladies, and, by Jove ! I believe if we had not stopped 
 I should have gone on winning." 
 
 " Then you were very wise to come away," returned 
 Eeine, with a smile. " If you were to win too much, it 
 would give you a taste of gambling, and you might not 
 be able to tear yourself away until you had lost every 
 shilling you possess." 
 
 Still that same kind, patronizing tone, as if he were an 
 Eton boy ! It would have vexed him, if he had not been 
 too good-tempered and too full of admiration for her to 
 allow himself to be ruffled. 
 
 "Let us go and have lunch, shall we?" he proposed: 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 61 
 
 and the ladies assented. Sir John went on a little in ad- 
 vance and ordered an elaborate dejeuner, and bought a 
 beautiful spray of flowers for each of his guests. 
 
 " It would only bore you to carry bouquets about," he 
 explained to them, " so I chose these." 
 
 Heine had many moods : to-day she was in one of her 
 brightest. She talked with vivacity, was amused and 
 pleased by everything, and Sir John was lost in admira- 
 tion of all she said and did. Mrs. Yernon observed this, 
 and was by no means ill pleased. Were he to fall in love 
 with Dulcie, what a terrible dilemma she would be placed 
 in! Unless but no ! if Noel had been going to die, he 
 would have died before this, and Mr. Benson would have 
 informed her of the fact by telegram. 
 
 Dulcie was pleased and complacent : all she wanted was 
 to forget Noel, against whom she felt a dull sense of anger. 
 Sir John was kind, and she liked him, but she had no de- 
 sire for the present that either he or any other man should 
 fall in love with her. 
 
 Luncheon was scarcely begun when Sir John, uttering 
 an exclamation, started up and hastened to greet a man 
 who entered. A hearty slap on the shoulder, a vigorous 
 hand-shake, followed by a slight colloquy, and then Sir 
 John returned to his party beaming with smiles and 
 bringing his friend in tow. 
 
 " My cousin, Alwyne Temple," he said. They all bowed, 
 and Eeine remarked, 
 
 " I think we met in Home." 
 
 Mr. Temple came round and took her hand with more 
 politeness than cordiality. 
 
 He was a remarkably handsome young man, tall, well 
 made, with clear-cut features, rather dark than fair, well 
 dressed, and in every way calculated to attract observa- 
 tion. His manner, however, precluded all idea that he 
 had any desire to be observed : it was perfectly quiet, 
 self-possessed, and self-reliant. 
 
 Sir John bade the waiter lay another cover, and the 
 man put the chair and serviette between the two younger 
 ladies, with a nice and sympathetic consideration of pos- 
 sible affinities. 
 
 Sir John plied his cousin with questions, and it was not 
 until these had been responded to, and luncheon had made 
 
 9 
 
62 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 considerable progress, that he remarked a decrease in 
 Eeine's vivacity. Alwyne's eyes were constantly turned 
 upon Dulcie, and his conversation, when not given to his 
 cousin, was entirely devoted to her. 
 
 It then occurred to Sir John that Alwyne's presence 
 had not contributed to the general cheeriness, but rather 
 the reverse. Before his arrival, Eeine had been the life 
 of the party ; now she said very little, and her eyes no 
 longer continued to meet his as they had done. And he 
 came to the conclusion that this made all the difference 
 to his pleasure. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Yernon proposed that she, with Eeino 
 and Dulcie, should leave the gentlemen to smoke and 
 have a chat whilst they looked at the shops and strolled 
 in the Casino gardens. But the two young men showed 
 no disposition to be left, and begged that they might be 
 allowed to be of the party. Sir John made his way 
 quickly to Heine's side. 
 
 u I want you to help me choose a present for Lilah," 
 he said, " and some flowers as well." 
 
 So they turned their steps to the florist's at the Grand 
 Hotel, and Eeine selected an exquisite basket of the 
 choicest blossoms to be sent to meet them at the train. 
 Then they went into a jeweller's and bought a gold 
 bangle for the little invalid. The young man was dying 
 to present a souvenir to his companion, but instinct told 
 him that it would not be accepted, and he had a mortal 
 awe of displeasing her. 
 
 When they emerged from the shop, the others were 
 nowhere to be seen. This delighted Sir John, and Eeine 
 was far too much a woman of the world to feel, or affect, 
 the smallest embarrassment at the circumstance. 
 
 " I suppose they are tired of waiting, and have gone 
 on to the gardens," she said. " We must look for them." 
 
 And, side by side, they strolled in the sunshine, one of 
 them unreasonably happy, the other placidly content. 
 
 Eeine led the way to a spot commanding one of tho 
 loveliest views, just beyond the Trente-et-Quarante room. 
 The golden roof and spires of the Casino and its gilded 
 parapets glowed with dazzling brilliance against the won- 
 derful blue of the sky, and the Moorish arabesques orna- 
 menting the roulette-rooms rose, fairy-like, from the 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 63 
 
 groups of palms, cacti, and aloes planted with a cunning 
 eye to effect. And below and around were rocks and 
 wooded ravines, banks of exquisite flowers, glimpses of 
 coast, sea, and sky giving an indescribable effect of gor- 
 geous coloring which dazzled the senses, and yet, like all 
 nature's handiwork, was harmonious in its richness and 
 beauty. 
 
 Both stood and gazed in silence. Sir John felt as though 
 a new era had opened in his life. He was susceptible to 
 the beauties of nature, but to-day these were enhanced a 
 thousandfold by the charm of the woman at whose side he 
 stood. It was as if the sunshine that flooded the scene 
 had penetrated his heart and was glowing and burning 
 there. But, glancing at Keine, he felt that her thoughts 
 were far, far away from him, and that the sun was not 
 shining in her heart. He longed to read her thoughts ; 
 but he had not the smallest clew to help him. 
 
 Presently she moved on without speaking, and he, afraid 
 to break the spell, followed her in silence. She took her 
 way to the first terrace; there she paused and looked 
 round. 
 
 " I do not see a sign of them," she remarked. " Let us 
 sit here and wait. If they do not come, we will go 
 and look for them at the music. It is lovely here, is it 
 not?" she added, after a moment, with a little sigh of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " It is heavenly," answered the young fellow, radiantly ; 
 but, as his eyes were fixed on his companion's face, it 
 would seem as though his remark had more reference to 
 that than to view or garden. 
 
 Then again, for the space of some seconds, Eeine seemed 
 to have lost herself in memory, for her eyes wore the far- 
 off look which Jack had already observed, and a wistful 
 expression crossed the face he thought so infinitely charm- 
 ing. He did not venture to break in upon her reflections. 
 She came back from dream-land presently, and, turning, 
 smiled at him. 
 
 " I was a long way off," she said, as though answering 
 his thoughts. " I have a trick of taking flights from the 
 present. It is not at all well-mannered of me." 
 
 He would have protested, but she stopped him. 
 
 "So," she remarked, "Mr. Temple is your cousin? He 
 
64 ONCti AGAIN. 
 
 is very good-looking. As a rule, I have a strong leaning 
 to good looks." 
 
 Jack, in his honest heart, felt something almost akin to 
 a twinge of jealousy. But he said, cordially, 
 
 " Oh, yes, he is a handsome chap : women generally like 
 him." 
 
 " I have an idea," pursued Reine, in a reflective tone, 
 " that he does not like me." 
 
 " Not like you !" echoed Jack, in the sort of tone which 
 he might have used had some one brought forward the 
 proposition that the world was square. 
 
 " No," said Reine. " But that," she went on, " is not so 
 much on account of anything I have done or left undone 
 as because the lady to whom he was devoted when we 
 met in Rome detested me, and probably gave him a bad 
 impression of me." 
 
 " Why did she detest you ?" cried Jack. " Was she 
 jealous of you?" 
 
 u There was nothing to be jealous of," returned Reine, 
 serenely. " She did not even know me." 
 
 " Then how could she have spoken against you to him ?" 
 
 " Don't you know," said Reine, lightly, " that the people 
 who take our characters away are always those who do 
 not know us ? The lady had, I believe, made some little 
 overture to being acquainted with me, but, to tell you the 
 truth," and again Reine looked out seaward, and that 
 melancholy expression deepened in her face, " I do not 
 care to make new acquaintances. I like to have a few 
 friends, real friends, in whom I believe, who believe in 
 me ; and beyond that," with a little gesture of her hand, 
 "social intercourse is well enough just to pass the time, 
 but it is void, hollow, a sham." 
 
 Would she ever let him be her friend ? Jack wondered, 
 eagerly ; yet he did not dare put his thoughts into words. 
 She had relapsed into silence, and presently he ventured 
 to say something which had been on his mind all day. 
 
 "Do you know, Mrs. Chandos," he began, with diffi- 
 dence, "I hope you won't mind my saying so, but I want 
 awfully to read your books*" 
 
 Reine put her finger to her lips. " Hush !" she replied : 
 "that is a forbidden subject. I do not pose as a poetess, 
 and I detest any one to speak to me about my books." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 65 
 
 Seeing how discomfited he looked, she continued, in a 
 lighter vein, 
 
 " Besides, I am quite sure poetry is not in your line." 
 
 Jack was far too truthful to deny this impeachment, 
 but he answered, with fervor, 
 
 " I should like anything that you wrote." 
 
 She gave him a glance which was almost malicious. 
 
 " Do you like what is immoral and atheistic ?" she in- 
 quired. 
 
 Jack's face was a study. Wonder, doubt, misery, in- 
 dignation, all played their part in it. 
 
 " That is what the critics, or at least some of them, call 
 my verses. They are indelicate : they give evidence of 
 being written by a person to whom faith and modesty are 
 but meaningless words, and the only thing they have to 
 recommend them is a certain swing and rhythm probably 
 caught from careful and protracted study of Swinburne." 
 
 Eeine kept her eyes on Jack's face, but it was turned 
 from her : she saw the red color rise in it and his hand 
 involuntarily clinch round his stick. Her own face had 
 flushed : she chose to repeat the hard things that had 
 been written of her; but though she affected to despise 
 criticism, this one sentence had always been as a dart 
 thrust through her breast. For she was a modest, deli- 
 cate, refined woman, and the lines she had written, if they 
 breathed of passion, as indeed they did, were absolutely 
 free from any taint of coarseness. Coarseness is often 
 enough in the mind of the reader, even as " beauty is in 
 the eye of the beholder." 
 
 Jack was so full of pain and misery that he wanted a 
 victim. 
 
 " Tell me," he cried, turning to her with flashing eyes, 
 " who said that, and I will kick him, no matter who he is!" 
 
 Eeine laughed : the vehemence of his championship did 
 her good. 
 
 " And suppose," she said, archly, " it was a woman." 
 
 Jack's face fell: the suggestion was like a douche of 
 cold water on his ardor. 
 
 " Was it ?" he asked, ruefully. 
 
 "I do not know. Never mind. Let us change the 
 subject. Shall we go and listen to the music?" 
 
 She rose as she spoke. Jack was not so blithe now ; 
 6* 
 
66 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 the scene was not the same to him that it had been ten 
 minutes ago. Eeine, seeing the change in him, felt sorry 
 for what she had said, and exerted herself to talk freely 
 and to remove the painful impression from his mind. 
 And she succeeded soon enough. 
 
 Jack remarked without displeasure that his companion 
 excited a good deal of observation of a respectful kind. 
 Her dress and demeanor were those of a well-bred woman, 
 a woman of taste ; her voice was low, her manner full of 
 repose. But she was remarkably elegant, and her slight 
 figure was graceful in the extreme. Eeine was dressed 
 entirely in black, with a sheen and glint of jet over rich 
 silk : the only color about her was a tiny bright-hued 
 bird in her bonnet. She carried in her hand a large black 
 parasol bordered with flounces of fine lace and embroid- 
 ered cunningly with a little bird which exactly matched 
 the one in her bonnet. 
 
 They entered the concert-room and seated themselves. 
 A moment later the orchestra commenced the dreamy pre- 
 lude of one of the favorite valses of the day. The first 
 lingering notes were followed by a joyous burst of soul- 
 stirring melody that made the blood tingle in Jack's veins 
 and filled his heart with a great desire to put his arm 
 round Keine and glide away with her to that enchanting 
 region where real lovers of dancing with sympathetic 
 partners find themselves once and again. He turned 
 eagerly to whisper his wish to her, but her eyes were 
 closed, and presently, as he gazed at her delicate face, a 
 tear forced itself from under her broad eyelids. 
 
 A choking sensation rose in Jack's throat ; a feeling of 
 sympathy, of strong desire to console her, mingled with 
 the passion stirred by the music. Never had so intense 
 a sentiment moved him since the days when he fancied 
 himself madly in love. He knew by instinct that this 
 feeling was infinitely more exalted, more worthy, than 
 that. Then a tormenting curiosity overwhelmed him to 
 know Beine's story. Had she a husband ? Great heaven ! 
 he thought, if she had, he would never get over the 
 knowledge. But what on earth had her cousin meant by 
 that evasive answer to his question ? 
 
 Once more the music swelled into a joyful pa3an, then 
 languished and died away in a wail of violins. Then he 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 67 
 
 turned again to his companion, who was in the act of 
 removing her handkerchief from her eyes. They wore a 
 lovely humid look, a look full of sadness, but, as they met 
 his, she forced a smile. 
 
 " Will you think me capricious," she whispered, " if I 
 wish to go out again ? Sometimes music is more than I 
 can bear. That was lovely, but but " 
 
 " I know, I know," said Jack, in a tone of whose ten- 
 derness he was not aware. "Music does put strange 
 thoughts into one's head sometimes." 
 
 She looked at him with more interest than she had yet 
 felt. She had not given him credit for being sympathetic 
 or having a soul for music. 
 
 " I think all nice people care for music," she said, and 
 her words set his heart beating with pleasure. 
 
 At the door they came upon the rest of their party. 
 
 " My dear Eeine, we meet at last !" exclaimed her aunt. 
 " This is a terrible place for losing people : we really ought 
 not to have left you in the jeweller's, but we strolled a 
 little farther on, and I suppose that is how we missed 
 you." 
 
 " All's well that ends well," returned Eeine, gayly. 
 " And now we must be careful not to divide again." 
 
 Jack's heart sank at these words : he wanted to have 
 her to himself: this last hour had been so heavenly. And 
 to-morrow she was to return to Cannes, and he would still 
 be at Nice, and, oh ! how dull and altered the place would 
 seem ! 
 
 Alwyne Temple was devoting himself to Dulcie, to 
 whom it was evident he was greatly attracted. Jack 
 saw this, and, always ready to be good-natured, suggested 
 that his cousin should return to Kice with them to dine 
 and sleep. 
 
 Alwyne assented readily. He would be charmed. He 
 had only come over here for a couple of days : in reality 
 he was staying with his sister at Cannes, but had found it 
 rather slow there. 
 
 A sudden thrill of joy shot through Jack's breast. If 
 his cousin Belle Pierpoint was at Cannes, he would havo 
 an excellent pretext for going over there. He and Belle 
 had always been the best of friends. 
 
 The day at Monte Carlo had been a thorough success 
 
38 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon pronounced, as the train bore them back to 
 Nice. 
 
 "And," said Jack diffidently to Eeine, "have you at 
 least I hope you have not been bored ?" 
 
 " I have spent a very pleasant day," she answered, 
 looking kindly at him. 
 
 CHAPTER YIIL 
 
 AFTER dinner, Sir John and his cousin strolled out to- 
 gether for a smoke and a chat. Alwyne was very full of 
 Dulcie, the nicest, prettiest, most charming girl he had 
 met for ages. 
 
 " Tremendous luck for you, Jack, travelling with her, 
 stopping in the same hotel with her, and having such 
 opportunities," he said. 
 
 "She is very nice indeed," Jack assented, without 
 warmth, wondering how any man could have eyes for 
 Dulcie when Reine was present. But he thanked heaven 
 that such a case was possible and had even happened. 
 
 He was burning to know something of Mrs. Chandos, 
 but was deterred from asking questions of Alwyne first 
 by shyness and secondly by an intuition that his cousin 
 was prejudiced against her. He felt that he would want 
 to kill any man who breathed a word in her disfavor. 
 People sometimes fall in love insensibly, but Jack's eyes 
 were wide open, and he could not pretend to give any 
 other word to the feeling which Reine had that day 
 inspired in him than love. Alwyne himself opened .he 
 subject. 
 
 " I must say there is not much resemblance between 
 the cousins," he remarked. " I never saw two women 
 more unlike in every way than Miss Yernon and Mrs. 
 Chandos." 
 
 " You knew Mrs. Chandos in Rome ?" said Jack, inter- 
 rogatively. 
 
 " Yery slightly. I heard a good deal about her, but it 
 doesn't amuse me to run after ladies who give themselves 
 airs." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 69 
 
 Jack flushed, but the night concealed it from his cousin. 
 He tried to speak indifferently. 
 
 " I have seen no sign of Mrs. Chandos giving herself 
 airs." 
 
 " She may not to you," returned Alwyne ; " indeed, I 
 remarked she was uncommonly civil to you ; but she is as 
 capricious as a cat. I expect she had her head rather 
 turned in Eome, so that very few people were good 
 enough for her. She pretends not to care for society, 
 puts on cynical airs, doesn't, I'm told, believe in anything, 
 and writes improper poetry : so she has got a reputation 
 for being original, and a few fools run after her." 
 
 " What do you mean by improper poetry ?" asked Jack, 
 in a smothered voice, repressing a desire to take his cousin 
 by the throat. 
 
 " Oh," said Alwyne, lightly, " it does not shock me, but 
 I must say some of the verses are rather warm. The 
 best part of it is that she is as cold as ice herself, and, I 
 believe, hates men. She had rather a bad time with her 
 husband." 
 
 Her husband ! Jack's heart gave a bound. At last he 
 was to know. 
 
 " Has she a husband ?" he asked. 
 
 " No : she got rid of him." 
 
 " Do you mean that she is divorced ?" 
 
 " I do mean that. He was rather a scamp, drank, I 
 believe, and committed other atrocities ; so after about a 
 year she had enough of him and got a divorce. He had 
 lots of money, but she would not have a halfpenny of it, 
 and took her own name again. I daresay she led him 
 rather a life : she looks as if she could. I expect author- 
 esses are not very pleasant people to live with : I shouldn't 
 care for one, I know. Now, look at that pretty Miss Ver- 
 rion. I'll be bound she couldn't write a line of poetry to 
 save her life; but I am sure she'd make a deuced nice 
 little wife." 
 
 Jack had heard enough too much by this time. He 
 felt an odd sensation in his throat ; an angry pain gnawed 
 at his chest. With strange abruptness, he started off into 
 an entirely new topic. Alwyne observed nothing. The 
 darkness had hidden the changing expression of Jack's 
 features from him, and he had been too much absorbed in 
 
70 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 himself all day to remark how much attracted his cousin 
 was by Mrs. Chandos. Even now, his ideas being fixed 
 on one subject, he did not notice Jack's irrelevant remark. 
 
 " People say that it is Henry Bertram who has done 
 Mrs. Chandos all the mischief," he continued ; and Jack, 
 like the moth that has made an effort to get away from 
 the light but is again drawn towards it, was forced to ask 
 who Henry Bertram was. 
 
 " You must have met him," answered Alwyne. " He 
 goes everywhere, is a very good fellow, and extremely 
 popular ; but he believes in nothing, and has done his best 
 to pervert Mrs. Chandos. At all events, she is devoted to 
 him, and he to her. When he is of the party, she seldom 
 takes notice of any one else." 
 
 " Is she going to marry him?" asked poor Jack, with a 
 dreadful sinking at his heart. 
 
 " Good Lord, no ! Bertram wouldn't marry to save his 
 soul, though, by the way," laughing, " as he does not 
 believe in souls or their being saved, that's not very ap- 
 propriate. Oh, no : there's nothing of that sort. They 
 are purely platonic ; and he is old enough to be her father. 
 They are both clever, I suppose, and fancy themselves 
 and each other, and think it fine not to believe in God." 
 
 Jack felt that he could not bear any more of this. He 
 knew that Alwyne's speech was generally colored by ex- 
 aggeration and a certain amount of malice, if he did not 
 like the person of whom he spoke. But every word he 
 said about Mrs. Chandos hurt his auditor more and more, 
 and Jack suggested a return to the hotel. 
 
 They found Mrs. Chester and Dulcie in the sitting-room. 
 Lilah had gone to bed. The two other ladies had retired 
 for a confidential chat. Sir John talked to his mother, 
 and Alwyne devoted himself to Dulcie. Presently he sug- 
 gested showing her some photographs, and went to his 
 room in quest of them. On his return, he laid them on 
 the table, and, approaching his cousin, put a small book 
 into his hand. 
 
 " There, Jack," he said, with a meaning smile, " is some- 
 thing that will interest you." 
 
 Jack glanced at the title-page, and read, " Yerses from 
 the South ;" then, with an instinctive desire to conceal the 
 book from his mother, he thrust it into his pocket. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 71 
 
 Mrs. Chester remarked the action, but said nothing. 
 She was far from being a woman of the world, yet she was 
 discreet in the way of not asking questions. 
 
 Jack had only one idea now, to get away by himself 
 and read this precious volume, to assure himself that Mrs. 
 Chandos had been foully maligned. His mother saw that 
 ho was distrait, and half fancied him to be ruffled by 
 Alwyne's taking possession of Dulcie. It was too bad of 
 Alwyne, she thought, but he was always selfish and in- 
 sisted on drawing the attention of every woman to him- 
 self. He was such a butterfly, there was no fear of his 
 standing seriously in his cousin's way ; but he ought to 
 have seen how matters stood, the excellent lady reflected, 
 and not have interfered with dear Johnnie. 
 
 For she really contemplated the possibility of having 
 Dulcie for a daughter-in-law, and the idea commended 
 itself to her. Dulcie was so amiable, so pretty, and so 
 ladylike; all her ideas seemed so thoroughly proper, 
 modest, and correct. It was not yet ten o'clock, so Jack 
 could scarcely make a pretext of going to bed ; but he was 
 presently inspired by the idea that he wanted to look at 
 one of the papers in the reading-room, and started off as 
 though he only intended to be absent for a lew minutes. 
 But, once outside the door, he rushed to his room, lighted 
 his candles, flung himself into a chair, and, trembling with 
 eagerness and other emotions which he did not pause to 
 analyze, devoured the pages. 
 
 That night was one which he would never forget if he 
 lived to be a hundred. Until then it seemed to him as if 
 he had never felt, never suffered. A thousand ideas and 
 instincts were developed in him which had lain dormant 
 before ; his mind, generally so calm and unruffled, was 
 torn by strange speculations; his even pulses throbbed 
 with fever; love, jealousy, doubt, disappointment, fear, 
 revolt, all struggled and fought and tore his heart with 
 relentless fingers. 
 
 He thought the verses beautiful ; there was a rhythm, a 
 cadence in them that struck softly on his senses ; and yet, 
 as he read, he wished, how he wished ! that she had not 
 written them. The current of passion underlying them 
 smote him with jealous pangs : if she could write thus of 
 love, it was because she had known and felt it. Who was 
 
72 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 the man, he wondered, bitterly, who had wrung these pas* 
 sionate verses from her ? He would have given his life, 
 he thought, if she had penned them to him, for him alone, 
 to be seen by no other eyes than his. But that she should 
 have written them for some other man, and then have 
 given them to the vulgar world to read and make mock 
 of, to turn their delicacy into grossness, to utter coarse 
 innuendoes about them, seemed incomprehensible to him, 
 jarred unspeakably on his finer perceptions. There was 
 another thing which hurt him almost as much. He was 
 not religious, he was far from being a goody-goody young 
 man, but he had been brought up among religious influ- 
 ences, and it had never once entered his honest heart to 
 doubt God, or heaven, or hell, or any other of the faiths 
 of Christianity. 
 
 Through all the verses there breathed a spirit of intense 
 melancholy, of utter hopelessness. Men were puppets of 
 some cruel force, struggling, suffering without aim, with- 
 out guidance, grasping after happiness which ever eluded 
 them, mocked at by fate, and trodden back into earth with 
 the dust and leaves of by-gone years. 
 
 There was no indication of any trust in Divine love or 
 goodness ; and this proof that the woman he loved be- 
 lieved, as Alwyne had said, in nothing, hurt Jack cruelly. 
 He thought with smothered hatred of the man who had 
 taken the most precious of all gifts a woman can have, 
 faith, from her; he clinched his fist involuntarily, as 
 though her evil genius were within reach of a blow. 
 
 It was two o'clock in the morning, and still Jack sat 
 there with his soul distraught and full of misery. He 
 loved this woman, and he did not want to love her ; per- 
 sonally she was all that was sweet, fair, and gracious in 
 his eyes, but his heart and mind could not approve of her. 
 Yet he was madly anxious to hear what she herself had to 
 say about these things : he did not want to judge her even 
 by what she had written. But it was scarcely likely she 
 would deign to give any explanation to him, whom she 
 only seemed to regard with the patronizing kindness of a 
 woman of the world for an overgrown boy. 
 
 He went to bed, slept for a few hours, and woke early. 
 The thoughts of the night before came back painfully to 
 him, and he rose and went for a walk. It was a lovely 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 73 
 
 morning, but he felt for once incapable of enjoying the air 
 and exercise that were usually so stimulating to his vig- 
 orous health. Of course he had but one idea, a mad 
 longing to see Mrs. Chandos again, to look at her by the 
 light of this new and painful revelation, and to know 
 whether he would care less for her now. 
 
 He breakfasted with his mother and Alwyne in their 
 si tting-room. 
 
 " Halloo, Jack !" cried his cousin, as they met : " what 
 the deuce became of you last night ? I hunted about for 
 you all over the place." 
 
 " I went to bed," replied Jack. 
 
 " I say, old chap, you were not annoyed at my talking 
 to Miss Dulcie, were you? I wouldn't trespass for the 
 world on your property, you know." 
 
 Jack saw that his mother was regarding him with some 
 eagerness, as if she too suspected that he had been annoyed 
 by Alwyne's monopolizing the young lady. 
 
 " Not in the very least !" he replied, in a tone whose 
 heartiness was calculated to remove doubt from both 
 minds. " She is a very nice, pretty girl, and you shall 
 both have my blessing if it is of any use to you." 
 
 Mrs. Chester felt a twinge of disappointment. 
 
 " I hope, my dear Alwyne," she said, a little stiffly, 
 " that you will not make your attentions to Miss Yernon 
 too marked. You know her mother and I were at school 
 together." 
 
 Alwyne laughed gayly. 
 
 " My dearest aunt," he replied, " I assure you the daugh- 
 ter of your school-friend shall be respected. But now," 
 coaxingly, and his manners were extremely seductive 
 when he wished them to be so, " why should we not 
 make up a party and go for a delightful drive ? We can 
 have two carriages, and Jack and I will go with Mrs, 
 Chandos and her cousin, and you and Mrs. Yernon and 
 Lilah in the other." 
 
 Alwyne seldom troubled his head to consider Lilah's 
 feelings, and she detested him cordially in consequence 
 and never lost an opportunity of being spiteful to him. 
 
 But Jack did not forget her, although Alwyne's proposal 
 seemed delightful to him. 
 
 " Poor little Lilah !" he said : " we must think of her. 
 
74 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 She had a bad time yesterday, and will, I dare say, want a 
 voice in arranging matters to-day." 
 
 Alwyne's look intimated plainly, " Confound Lilah !" 
 but he could not give verbal utterance to the sentiment. 
 He had been a spoiled child all his life, and abhorred con- 
 tradiction. 
 
 Jack, seeing and interpreting his look, said, good-humor 
 edly, 
 
 " Never mind, old chap ; we will see that you are paired 
 off with Miss Dulcie. Have you any idea, mother, what 
 the other ladies are going to do to-day ?" 
 
 " I rather fancy," Mrs. Chester replied, " that Mrs. Chan- 
 dos returns to Cannes this afternoon." And, as a swift 
 change, a look of blank disappointment, crossed her son's 
 face, a sudden and unpleasing idea took possession of her 
 mind. 
 
 She hoped from the bottom of her heart that her dear 
 son was not going to allow himself to be drawn away by 
 the fascinations of this dangerous woman. For Alwyne, 
 after Dulcie left them the previous evening, had given his 
 aunt a little biographical sketch of Keine, even more 
 highly colored and less favorable than the one which he 
 had presented to Jack. 
 
 Mrs. Chester was, like many excellent women, narrow- 
 minded. She was extremely religious, and thought of 
 doubters and sceptics as miserable castaways directly 
 under the Divine ban. A male unbeliever was a shocking 
 spectacle, but there were no words adequate to describe 
 her horror of a woman without religion. In her eyes, 
 too, a divorced woman was a social pariah : if a woman 
 was unfortunate enough to have a bad husband, she must 
 suffer her sad fate in silence and with resignation, seeking 
 comfort in prayer and good works. Mrs. Chester was 
 kind-hearted, very reticent of giving an unfavorable judg- 
 ment upon any one, but her convictions were remarkably 
 strong. She had only seen Mrs. Chandos for a few min- 
 utes, and had admired her genuinely and been struck by 
 the charm of her manner ; but after Alwyne's revelation 
 she had felt strongly that the less she and her family 
 were brought in contact with Eeine, the better. She was 
 almost disposed to blame Mrs. Yernon for having intro- 
 duced her to them. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 75 
 
 When she saw the look of pain and disappointment on 
 her son's face at the announcement of Mrs. Chandos's 
 departure, it gave her a shock as though the knowledge 
 of a misfortune had come suddenly upon her. The next 
 moment she felt distinctly glad that temptation was to be 
 removed from her dear son. Mrs. Chandos would leave 
 Nice. John would forget her and resume his attentions 
 to Dulcie. Alwyne, she hoped, would also go back either 
 to Cannes or Monte Carlo, and their pleasant little party 
 would be restored to its original composition. Sir John 
 had at present given no intimation of any intention to 
 return to England, though, when they started, it was 
 supposed that as soon as he had seen them comfortably 
 settled at Nice he was to return to his hunting, hitherto 
 the first object of his life. 
 
 The door opened, and a waiter brought in a note from 
 Mrs. Vernon. She wrote that her party would take ad- 
 vantage of the lovely weather to sit out on the Prom- 
 enade : would Mrs. Chester and Lilah join them there ? 
 If not, she hoped they would all meet at lunch, when they 
 might make some arrangements for the afternoon. 
 
 " It will do Lilah good to go out in her chair," said Sir 
 John, rising with alacrity. " I will go and ask her what 
 she thinks about it." He returned to say that Lilah was 
 most anxious to be out, and Mrs. Chester wrote a line to 
 Mrs. Yernon proposing that they should all meet on the 
 Promenade in an hour's time. 
 
 Lilah had made her brother promise to devote him- 
 self to her this morning, to sit and walk by her chair ; 
 and, however irksome Jack found this promise to make 
 and keep, he had not the heart to refuse or evade it. 
 
 " Come on," said Alwyne to him ; " I see them out 
 there ;" but his cousin, repressing the eagerness he felt, 
 merely answered, 
 
 " All right : you join them. I must wait for Lilah." 
 
 So Alwyne went, and Jack paced the room in an agony 
 of impatience until Lilah made her appearance. When 
 she was settled in her chair they started for the Prom- 
 enade, and presently came upon the rest of the party 
 seated on a bench, Alwyne evidently bent on making 
 himself agreeable to Dulcie, whilst her mother and Eeine 
 were deep in conversation. As the chair drew up in front 
 
76 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 of them, they all rose and greeted Lilah, who received 
 their attentions with great affability. She liked to be the 
 centre of attraction, and her wan little face lit up with 
 smiles. Eeine spoke very sweetly and kindly to her, 
 told her they had missed her at Monte Carlo the day be- 
 fore, described the place to her, and said that her brother 
 must certainly take her to spend a day there. She pro- 
 posed to walk on a little way with Lilah in her chair, and 
 the invalid was delighted. So they moved forward, Jack 
 on one side, Eeine on the other, he usually silent, but 
 drinking in every tone of the gracious voice which, as he 
 thought, dropped pearls and diamonds ; feeling every 
 moment that his doubts about her were vanishing like a 
 morning mist before the sunshine, and that she was the 
 sweetest, most lovable woman upon God's earth. It filled 
 him with joy to see how Lilah took to her, Lilah who 
 was so prone to show jealous dislike of any one whom he 
 seemed to admire. But her sharp eyes had not yet dis- 
 covered his attraction to Eeine, her fixed idea for the mo- 
 ment being that Dulcie was the object of his attentions 
 and thoughts. 
 
 Lilah talked quite confidentially to Eeine; spoke of her 
 own sufferings and privations, with tears in her eyes ; of 
 the hardship of being different from other people and un- 
 able to enjoy life as they enjoyed it. And Eeine replied in 
 her sympathetic voice that it was indeed hard, most hard, 
 but that some day, perhaps, Lilah would outgrow her ail- 
 ments ; and she called to mind a wonderful cure that had 
 been effected by some German baths in a similar case. 
 
 Lilah's eyes brightened. 
 
 " Oh," she exclaimed, " if I could only be well, I should 
 be so happy !" 
 
 " But," said Eeine, " do you find that every one is 
 happy just because they are free from aches and pains?" 
 
 " If they are not, they ought to be," returned Lilah, 
 peremptorily. " I don't pity any one who is strong, and 
 sleeps well, and never has a headache." 
 
 " What about heart-aches ?" said Eeine, with a sad little 
 smile. 
 
 " Oh, those are easily got over," returned Lilah, with the 
 flippancy of a person speaking of a disorder which he 
 has never experienced. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 77 
 
 " At all events, this lovely day ought to cure every 
 ache," said Eeine, brightly. " It seems impossible to real- 
 ize that we are so near Christmas." 
 
 Jack, though comparatively happy at being in the com- 
 pany of Mrs. Chandos, had the natural longing of a man 
 who loves a woman to be alone with her; but Fate only 
 granted him this opportunity for a very few minutes. 
 His mind was full of questions that he desired to ask her, 
 and he was keenly anxious to know when and where he 
 was likely to see her again. 
 
 " I am so awfully sorry that you are going away," he 
 said to her, taking advantage of the very first moment 
 when they were out of ear-shot of the rest of the party. 
 
 " Thank you : you are very kind," replied Eeine, lightly. 
 
 Her tone hurt him : it was as though she declined to 
 take seriously the words that were so seriously meant. 
 
 " I wanted so much," Jack went on, humbly, " to have 
 talked to you, to have asked you about about a lot of 
 things about your book which I read last night." 
 
 " Oh," said Eeine, in a voice that held a slight accent 
 of mockery, " have you really been reading some of my 
 verses ? f hope they have not shocked you." 
 
 " I think they are beautiful," he said, and then stopped 
 short. 
 
 " But !" she said, raising her eyes to him and smiling. 
 "I distinctly detect a but in your voice." 
 
 Jack hesitated. The color deepened in his face. He 
 ardently desired to speak, but some emotion chained his 
 tongue. His very silence confirmed her suggestion. 
 
 " You are shocked. You do not approve of them," said 
 Eeine, a faint pink illumining her own cheek. " I am a 
 thought-reader. You cannot deceive me." 
 
 There was a touch of disdain in her tone and heart, a 
 slight feeling of resentment that this young fellow whom 
 she had passively tolerated as an admirer should presume 
 to constitute himself a judge. 
 
 " Why do you take such a bad view of life ?" burst out 
 Jack, impetuously. " "Why do you write as if there were 
 no good in anything ? as if the world was a miserable 
 place, and there was nothing to look to in the future ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I write according to my experience and con- 
 victions," she returned, with some coldness. 
 
 7* 
 
78 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 "No," cried Jack, "that cannot be. I will not believe 
 it is natural to you. Some one else has given you morbid 
 thoughts. Why should you have such ideas, you who 
 are beautiful, and whom every one loves ?" 
 
 " Including your cousin ?" she asked, in a mocking 
 voice. 
 
 u I do not think his opinion matters much," replied 
 Jack, committing a breach of tact in permitting her to 
 see that her surmise was correct. 
 
 Unreasonable as it was, Eeine was nettled by his ad- 
 mission. She thought a score of hard things about her- 
 self, but she did not like to have it proved that any one 
 thought ill of her. 
 
 " After all," she said, coldly, " I do not think that either 
 he or you can be in a position to judge of the actions, 
 thoughts, or feelings of a person comparatively unknown 
 to you. Every one who chooses to buy my books is, of 
 course, at liberty to form his opinion of them, and find 
 what fault he chooses with them ; but he is not at liberty 
 to discuss them with me or to take me to task for the 
 sentiments expressed in them." 
 
 " Oh," stammered Jack, utterly abashed and miserable, 
 " you do not think I would be such a presumptuous ass as 
 to " 
 
 But here they arrived at the hotel door, at which 
 Alwyne was standing. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 JACK did not go in to lunch, but wandered about mis- 
 erably alone. He had offended the woman he would have 
 given anything he possessed to please, and he told himself 
 that he was one of those fools who rush in where angels 
 fear to tread, and that he had been guilty of an unpardon- 
 able impertinence which she would probably never over- 
 look. He might never see her again : in an hour she was 
 going back to Cannes: probably if they ever met in 
 future she would ignore him. Poor Jack, as he flung 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 79 
 
 himself on a bench and surveyed the scene that seemed 
 so glorious only an hour ago, was in a mood much more 
 suited to comprehend Mrs. Chandos's pessimistic views 
 than he would then have thought possible. The present 
 was melancholy and the future blank. It was a dreadful 
 thing that, in the midst of a life which seemed full, com- 
 plete, bright, one should be liable to have its whole 
 pleasing tenor changed by the introduction of one fresh 
 element. A man is happy and contented, thoroughly 
 satisfied with his surroundings ; he accidentally meets a 
 woman, and forty-eight hours later she is the pivot on 
 which his every thought and action turns ; her presence 
 and her smiles constitute Paradise, her absence and her 
 frowns plunge him into misery. Yet every other incident 
 of life is unchanged. Jack, in his normal condition, 
 thought hunting the panacea for all ills; but at this 
 moment, when he told himself that he had better get 
 back to it, the thought, so far from stimulating his fancy, 
 made him feel profoundly dejected, and the sport he had 
 so ardently loved seemed a very poor exchange for look- 
 ing into the eyes of Eeine Chandos on the shores of the 
 blue Mediterranean. 
 
 Gradually one overpowering idea took possession of 
 him : he could not part with her under the ban of her 
 displeasure; he must have one smile, one kind word, from 
 her, or life would be intolerable. Wending his way into 
 the town, he selected a small basket and had it filled with 
 the choicest white flowers ; elsewhere he purchased a box 
 of bonbons, and proceeded to the railway station to await 
 her arrival. Fortune favored him so far that Mrs. Chan- 
 dos came attended only by her maid, and with no rela- 
 tions or friends to see her off. 
 
 Heine's heart was kind, and she was not capricious : she 
 di j not love to give pain to those who cared for her for 
 the sake of accentuating her triumph. She saw, by the 
 mingled humility and eagerness of Jack's manner, that he 
 was wearing sackcloth for his offence and was dying to 
 propitiate her. After all, poor boy, his crime had been a 
 small one, and prompted not by impertinence, but by a 
 too great interest in her which she regretted : so she 
 smiled very kindly upon him, accepted his offerings, and 
 seemed quite to have forgotten that he had displeased her. 
 
80 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 For all that he dared not venture to ask if he might 
 call on her at Cannes when he went over to see his cousin, 
 eo desperately afraid was he lest she should refuse consent 
 or show him that a visit would be unwelcome. But as he 
 went back to the hotel with a lightened heart he up- 
 braided himself for his cowardice, and resolved that go he 
 would, whatever the result might be. 
 
 He was not sorry to find that the rest of the party were 
 out driving. His mother left word for him the direction 
 which they had taken, but he had no mind to join them, 
 and preferred to saunter about with his own thoughts for 
 company. 
 
 At dinner he devoted his conversation entirely to Mrs. 
 Yernon. That astute lady perfectly understood the object 
 of his attentions, and willingly led the conversation to 
 Eeine, of whom she spoke in eulogistic and affectionate 
 terms. She was so clever, so much admired ; it was un- 
 fortunate that her domestic experiences should have em- 
 bittered her life and thoughts, but no shadow of blame 
 attached to her. Mrs. Vernon did not enter into particu- 
 lars about Eeine's married life, and Jack was far too well 
 mannered to betray any curiosity upon the subject, though 
 it was the one which of all others most interested him. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon saw with pleasure how much attracted he 
 was to her niece : it relieved her of the embarrassment 
 which she feared in case his fancy had lighted upon Dul- 
 cie. Alwyne was paying her much more attention than 
 Sir John had ever done, and Dulcie accepted it without 
 any symptom of awkwardness or displeasure; but this 
 caused little trouble to Mrs. Yernon, as, in case of Mr. 
 Temple courting his dismissal by overtures of a too pointed 
 character, it would not be likely to lead to any diminution 
 of friendship between the Yernon and Chester families. 
 Indeed, Mrs. Yernon saw plainly enough that Mrs. Chester 
 inwardly resented Alwyne's interference with her son. 
 
 Under other circumstances, Dulcie's mother would have 
 been pleased by Mr. Temple's attentions, for she was 
 aware that he was rich and that his position was undeni- 
 able. When she reflected on the dreadful bar which lay 
 between Dulcie and social advancement, a smothered fury 
 took possession of her. The wretch who stood between 
 her and fortune still lingered much in the same state, and, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 81 
 
 now that he had survived so long, it seemed improbable 
 that he would die. When Mrs. Yernon looked at her 
 daughter's pretty smiling face and remembered this ap- 
 palling fact, she almost hated her. It was not as if the 
 girl had been led away by strong passion : she was inca- 
 pable of feeling it : why, already it was evident that she 
 had almost forgotten the man for whom she had idiotically 
 ruined her life. 
 
 After dinner all the party adjourned for a time to Mrs. 
 Chester's spacious sitting-room, which had windows over- 
 looking the sea. Lilah was full of Mrs. Chandos, and 
 talked of little else. 
 
 " Is she not elegant and lovely ?" she asked her brother ; 
 " and does she not dress beautifully ? Oh, Johnnie, I am 
 dying to read her books. You must get them for me." 
 
 The first part of her remark had been delightful to Jack. 
 He was sitting beside her with her hand in his, and he 
 had almost involuntarily given it a little squeeze, but at 
 her last words he as involuntarily unclasped it. A pain- 
 ful feeling contracted his heart. He knew that he loved, 
 admired, respected Heine more than he had ever done any 
 woman in his life, and yet he was distinctly conscious that 
 he should not like Lilah to read her poetry. He was 
 silent : it almost seemed as if he had not heard her. 
 
 " Johnnie," she said, sharply, " do you hear me ? What 
 are you thinking of?" 
 
 " Well, my dear," he said, trying to smile, and looking 
 as he felt, very awkward, " Mrs. Chandos's poetry is very 
 clever, but it is very sad, and I think you ought to read 
 something more cheerful." 
 
 " I like sad books," cried Lilah, impetuously : " they ap- 
 peal to me much more than the others. I am sure," bit- 
 terly, " my life is sad enough, and it does me good to think 
 that other people are miserable too, sometimes, even 
 though they don't seem to have any cause. And so," 
 gazing suddenly upon him, "you have read them, have 
 you ? I thought you hated poetry ?" 
 
 " I have seen one book," he said, evasively. 
 
 " Oh, Johnnie, have you got it ? Do, like a dear, fetch 
 it for me." 
 
 " It is not proper reading for a little girl like you," in- 
 terposed Alwyne, who was fond of teasing her; and then 
 
82 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 he suddenly turned very red, remembering the presence of 
 Mrs. Yernon and Dulcie. 
 
 Lilah at once grasped at the opportunity for retaliation. 
 
 " I think it is very rude of you to say Mrs. Chandos's 
 book is improper before her aunt and cousin," she cried, 
 sharply. 
 
 "I only said for a little girl," returned Alwyne, recover- 
 ing himself: "for every one else it is delightful." 
 
 " I am not a little girl," retorted Lilah : " I am twenty- 
 one. Oh, Johnnie," again turning to her brother, " do do 
 go and fetch it for me, there's a good boy." 
 
 Sir John was on the rack, but here his mother inter- 
 posed. 
 
 " You know, Lilah dear, it is not good for you to read 
 at night. It excites you and makes your head ache. Wait 
 until to-morrow." 
 
 " Oh, very well," returned Lilah, pettishly. " Of course 
 I can never have anything I want. But I am quite sure," 
 with a vindictive glance at Alwyne, " that Mrs. Chandos 
 never wrote anything that any one might not read." 
 
 " Have you read your cousin's poetry ?" Alwyne whis- 
 pered to Dulcie. 
 
 " No," she answered ; "I do not care for poetry, and 
 mamma said it was very clever, but that it was not alto- 
 gether suitable for girls." 
 
 " She was quite right," returned Alwyne, with some 
 warmth. His morals were by no means of a high order, 
 and most of his time was spent in the society of ladies 
 who would not have been likely to take any additional 
 hurt from what they read ; but with his admiration for 
 Dulcie had come a revulsion in Alwyne's sentiments to- 
 wards women, and he was as much attracted now to what 
 he had been used to call a bread-and-butter miss as he had 
 before been repelled by the genus. 
 
 When, later, he and Jack were smoking their cigars to- 
 gether on the Promenade, he went into a rhapsody on the 
 subject of modesty and innocence. 
 
 Jack could not help laughing. 
 
 " My dear old chap," he said, " you have changed your 
 tune with a vengeance since we last discussed the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 But Alwyne insisted that he had always admired virtue 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 83 
 
 in the main, though he might have amused himself with 
 those who could not lay much claim to the attribute. 
 
 " And if/' he proceeded, " I had any idea of marrying, 
 which I have not, I cannot imagine anything more delight- 
 ful than to marry a girl like Dulcie Vernon." 
 
 " Why not marry her ?" suggested Jack. 
 
 " Now, there is a girl," proceeded Alwyne, with enthu- 
 siasm, " thoroughly well brought up, as innocent as a daisy, 
 who has not, I'll swear, a wrong thought in her dear little 
 head, and who would be as incapable of deceiving one as 
 as an angel." 
 
 Jack concurred heartily in his cousin's praise of Dulcie, 
 and again suggested that he should take this ideal young 
 lady to wife. 
 
 " I don't want to marry," returned Alwyne ; " I have 
 always set my face against it ; but, if I did, I can only say 
 I never saw a girl I could better fancy." 
 
 " Where is Belle staying at Cannes ?" inquired Jack, 
 changing the subject with some abruptness. 
 
 " Oh," said Alwyne, turning towards him with a short 
 laugh, a the flame and the moth, eh?" 
 
 a What do you mean?" exclaimed Jack, with a touch 
 of anger in his tone. 
 
 " I mean, my dear old chap," replied Alwyne, very de- 
 cidedly, " that you want to know Belle's address with a 
 view to going over to Cannes, and that you want to go 
 to Cannes not to see Belle but to see Mrs. Chandos. Now, 
 if you will take the advice of one who knows, you will 
 leave that lady quite alone. You will only make yourself 
 miserable and won't do any good. She don't care for men : 
 she will be civil to you for a little time, and the moment 
 she sees you mean business she will turn round upon you 
 and wish you good-morning. It has happened to scores 
 of fellows." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you for your kind infor- 
 mation," returned Jack, with extreme stiffness. " And 
 now perhaps you will answer my question about Belle." 
 
 " Don't get angry, Jack," said his cousin. " I only told 
 you the perfect truth to save you from future bother." 
 
 " I don't see what right you or any one else has to give 
 advice on a subject which you merely take a shot at, 
 and a very bad shot, too." 
 
84 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " We shall see," returned Alwyne, dryly. " Meantime, 
 Belle is staying at the Hotel de la Plage until she gets 
 into the villa she has taken." 
 
 " I shall go over and see her to-morrow," announced 
 Jack, in a resolute tone, intended to forbid further remon- 
 strance. " Shall I give her any message for you ?" 
 
 " Yes : say I shall be over there in a day or two ; though, 
 to tell the truth, I am in no hurry to leave this place at 
 present. That dear little girl has become necessary to 
 my existence. There is such a delightful shy look in 
 those sweet blue eyes of hers, I could lay my life she's 
 never been in love. Fancy, Jack, the delight of being a 
 
 firl's first love, of making her heart really beat for the 
 rst -time, of reading her dawning feelings in her inno- 
 cent tell-tale eyes." 
 
 " Alwyne," said Jack, seriously, " you have no right to 
 talk like that, or to attempt to win the girl's love, if you 
 do not really intend anything. Please remember that I 
 introduced you to her, and that she and her mother be- 
 long to my mother's party." 
 
 " Don't be afraid ! I shall not forget anything," re- 
 turned Alwyne, lightly. 
 
 But Jack's scruples were not satisfied. 
 
 " It would be a blackguard thing," he continued, " to 
 draw a girl on in the way you spoke of just now, and then 
 to leave her and say you meant nothing." 
 
 " I don't see any sign of Miss Dulcie's feelings being en- 
 gaged at present. And don't alarm yourself: I am not in 
 the habit of doing ' blackguard things.' " 
 
 Here they were joined by a friend, and the conversation 
 came to an end. 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast, Jack announced his 
 intention of going to Cannes. 
 
 His mother looked up quickly, with a gleam of distress 
 in her eyes ; but Lilah, instead of combating the idea, as 
 she was prone to do any suggestion which was to take him 
 from her side, said she thought he was quite right, and 
 that he must give her love to dear Belle, and beg her to 
 come over and spend a day with them very soon. The 
 fact was that Lilah would rather have done and suffered 
 anything than that her dear brother should marry, and 
 she had been in a terrible fright lest he should seriously 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 85 
 
 take a fancy to Dulcie. Anything, therefore, that re- 
 moved him from the orbit of her society was welcome to 
 the jealous little sister. 
 
 Jack esteemed himself most fortunate to encounter so 
 little opposition, and it was with a joyous heart that ho 
 took the train for Cannes. 
 
 When he was ushered into Mrs. Pierpoint's sitting- 
 room, that lady uttered a cry of mingled wonder and 
 pleasure. 
 
 " My dear Jack," she exclaimed, " this is one of the 
 greatest surprises of my life. What in the name of good 
 fortune brings you here ? Why, what a holiday the foxes 
 must be having!" 
 
 She gave her cheek to his cousinly salute, and he availed 
 himself cordially of her generosity. 
 
 " Why, Belle," he exclaimed, the content of his soul not 
 being due alone to the sight of his favorite cousin, " how 
 well and how pretty you look ! And how stout you are 
 getting !" 
 
 " Jack," she replied, " you are a dear boy, but you never 
 had a grain of tact. Why remind me at your very first 
 word of the only sorrow of my life ! Stout, too ! the 
 coarsest, most revolting expression you could have chosen. 
 As if I was a green-groceress, or the landlady of a public 
 house." 
 
 " My dear," cried Jack, " I meant it as a compliment, on 
 my word of honor : it becomes you immensely." 
 
 " And it is for this," pursued Mrs. Pierpoint, tragically, 
 " that I have taken to eating biscuits, which I hate, and 
 have left off champagne and sweets, which I love. How- 
 ever, now you have stabbed me to the heart, proceed, and 
 tell me what brings you here." 
 
 " I came to bring my mother and Lilah over. They are 
 at Nice. We thought it might do poor little Lilah good, 
 and the day before yesterday we met Alwyne at Monte 
 Carlo, and he told us you were here." 
 
 " Is that horrid Mrs. Cunningham there ?" asked Belle, 
 with a tone of lively concern. 
 
 " I don't think so," said Jack. " I did not see Alwyne 
 speak to any lady there ; and he returned to Nice with us, 
 and is there now." 
 
 " Eeally ? Why, what is he doing at Nice ?" 
 
 8 
 
86 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " Just at present," replied Jack, " he is making himself 
 very agreeable to a young lady of our party, and has dis- 
 covered that he much prefers girls to married women." 
 
 " You don't say so !" cried Belle. " Who is she ? and is 
 he really serious ? I do wish he would marry some nice 
 girl and settle down. He has an unfortunate knack of 
 always taking up with the most objectionable women. 
 Tell me quick, Jack, who is she ?" 
 
 " Miss Vernon, Miss Dulcie Yernon. Her mother and 
 mine were at school together, and had not seen each other 
 for years, till, oddly enough, they met in the railway-car- 
 riage going to Dover; and we have been together ever 
 since." 
 
 " What is she like ? Is she nice ? Is she pretty ? Will 
 she do ?" 
 
 " She is everything that can be desired," laughed Jack. 
 " My only fear is that he will pay her too much attention, 
 and not mean anything." 
 
 "Oh," cried Belle, "I must go over and inspect her. 
 The one thing in the world that I want is to see that boy 
 nicely married. I live in perpetual fear of some dreadful 
 thing happening to him, and of his being obliged to marry 
 some horrid woman or other who will pretend he has 
 compromised her." 
 
 " I bring a special message, imploring you to come over 
 and spend the day with us. When shall it be? To- 
 morrow ?" 
 
 "Yes: to-morrow will suit me beautifully." 
 
 Jack was delighted at the turn things had taken. His 
 visit seemed the most natural thing in the world. 
 
 " But, Jack," exclaimed his cousin, with a searching 
 glance, "if she is so very desirable, and you have been 
 travelling with her, and are still stopping on and leaving 
 your beloved fox, how is it that your young affections 
 have not become entangled ?" 
 
 " Oh," answered Jack, lightly, " you know, Belle, that 
 I am not at all inflammable." 
 
 Belle looked at him shrewdly. 
 
 " When you are kindled, I expect you will get very 
 much burned indeed. That is always the way with you 
 uninflammable people." 
 
 Deep down in his heart, Jack suspected that his cousin's 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 87 
 
 words were true, but he put on an air of unconcern, and 
 said, 
 
 " I am safe enough, my dear." 
 
 " At present," she answered, laughing. 
 
 Then, little knowing how oracular were her words, 
 
 " But who can tell what a day may .bring forth ? A 
 heart is lost all in a moment, just like one's dressing-case 
 on a journey. But to go back to Alwyne. Vernoii 
 Yernon what Yernon ?" 
 
 " There is a relation of theirs staying here," said Jack, 
 so desperately afraid of his face betraying him that ho 
 walked to the window and pretended to be looking at 
 some object outside, " a cousin, a Mrs. Chandos." 
 
 u Mrs. Chandos !" cried Belle : " you don't say so ! How 
 very curious !" 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 MRS. PIERPOINT asked Jack a dozen questions about 
 Mrs. Chandos, and before he had answered half of them 
 his secret was in her possession. But she was too clever 
 to let him be aware of her discovery, and good-naturedly 
 talked away on the subject which interested him so 
 vitally in the most natural way in the world. She did 
 not even wait for his interrogatories, but proceeded to tell 
 him all that he most wanted to know, and to delight him 
 and increase his affection by singing the praises of the 
 lady of his love. 
 
 " She is perfectly charming," Mrs. Pierpoint declared ; 
 " so clever, so graceful, so original ; every one wants to 
 know her. But she is very retiring, and so people are ill- 
 natured and declare that she is proud and conceited ; but 
 I am sure she is nothing of the sort. My belief is that 
 she is morbid on the subject of her position as a divorced 
 woman ; but every one knows that not a shadow of blame 
 attaches to her." 
 
 "Is her husband alive?" Jack ventured to ask. 
 
 " He is drinking himself to death as fast as he can." 
 answered Mrs. Pierpoint. " I do not quite know the real 
 story, but I believe that he drank before his marriage 
 
88 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 (and that her father knew it), but, as he was desperately 
 in love with her, he gave it up for a time and broke out 
 again very soon after their marriage. She was horrified, 
 and did not attempt to conceal her disgust for him ; then he 
 struck her, and she left him. After that, he behaved in a 
 manner which made it a very simple matter for her to get 
 a divorce." 
 
 Jack was not in the least aware that his hands were 
 clinched like a vice round his stick, and that his eyes 
 were fixed with startling intensity on his cousin's face ; 
 and Mrs. Pierpoint was kind enough not to seem to notice 
 the strangeness of his behavior. She turned carelessly to 
 her work-basket and took out a piece of knitting. 
 
 " What wretches some men are !" she said, with a light 
 laugh : " it is no wonder she hates all the species." 
 
 " No wonder, indeed," echoed Jack, with a long-drawn 
 sigh. " But does she ?" eagerly. 
 
 " So I am told. The feeling is not reciprocal: men 
 admire her immensely." 
 
 " I don't see how they can help it," said Jack, inno- 
 cently. " Does she live alone?" 
 
 " No ; she is never quite alone. She hates solitude, and 
 she has two or three devoted friends between whom she 
 divides her time. She is well off since her father's death, 
 and a woman who has money need never be friendless. 
 Just now she is staying with Mrs. Herbert ; they have 
 taken a villa together. Mrs. Herbert is a clever, agree- 
 able woman, dreadfully delicate, and they bemoan life to- 
 gether in great luxury and comfort. By the way, Jack, 
 suppose we go and call on them after lunch. What do 
 you say ?" 
 
 Jack tried not to show his eagerness, but it displayed 
 itself in an increased show of affection for his cousin. 
 During luncheon he was so assiduous in his attentions to 
 her that she said, with a malicious smile, 
 
 " My dear boy, I have a dreadful suspicion that you are 
 either falling in love with me or are about to. Now, 
 please don't, because I have always gone in for the 
 strictest propriety since my marriage, and I would not 
 give Algy a moment's uneasiness for the world." 
 
 Jack laughed gayly. 
 
 u Algy is" the luckiest man in the world," he said, "and. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 89 
 
 if I were not your cousin, heaven knows but what I 
 might fall a victim to your charms. But up to this time 
 I haven't passed the cousinly boundary, have I, Belle? 
 You know cousins are- allowed great latitude." 
 
 u I thought it best to remind you in time," she replied, 
 demurely. 
 
 Jack was in a seventh heaven at the thought of the 
 coming visit. What did he hope or expect from it ? He 
 could not have told; it was a feeling of intense joy such 
 as comes to a child who hears suddenly in the midst of its 
 lesson that it is to have a holiday. Only one anxiety 
 troubled him, the fear lest Mrs. Chandos should not be 
 at home. When, on reaching the villa, that fear was dis- 
 pelled, and they were being ushered through the palm- 
 lined hall to the salon, his heart beat high, his blue eyes 
 danced with pleasure. And in another second the illusion 
 was gone. The servant opened the door so noiselessly 
 that the occupants of the room were not aware of the 
 presence of visitors until their names were announced. 
 
 There were two persons sitting on a large couch with 
 their backs to the door, evidently engrossed in an absorb- 
 ing discussion. They were bending towards each other 
 with eager and interested looks. One was Mrs. Chandos, 
 the other a man, and a pang of jealousy shot through 
 Jack's heart, and the blue vault of his seventh heaven 
 was hidden by inky clouds. Before Mrs. Chandos greeted 
 him, before she had time to present her companion to the 
 new-comers, Jack knew instinctively who this man was. 
 And when Mrs. Chandos murmured, " Mrs. Pierpoint, Sir 
 John Chester, Mr. Bertram," he was quite prepared for 
 the name. As was natural, the opposite sexes paired : Sir 
 John seated himself near Mrs. Chandos, but not on the 
 couch which Bertram had vacated; and Mrs. Pierpoint 
 took possession of Mr. Bertram. 
 
 The pleasure which Jack had so keenly anticipated was 
 lost in disappointment ; a cruel feeling of being de trop, of 
 having interrupted a pleasant tete-d-tete, overwhelmed him. 
 Although Mrs. Chandos's manner was courteous and even 
 kind, poor Jack was weighed upon by the sense that he 
 was not wanted. A miserable shyness crept over him : 
 every particle of the blithe boldness which he had felt 
 five minutes ago deserted him : he was merely an in- 
 
 8* 
 
90 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 truder. Instead of pouring out his pleasure at seeing 
 her, of begging her to come over to Nice again as he 
 had intended, of proposing another party to Monte Carlo, 
 he was oppressed by the feeling that he was nothing to 
 her, that he in no wise interested her, that she could not 
 care two straws for his company under any circumstances, 
 and that he was only a stupid, fox-hunting young squire 
 who could not hope to inspire any interest in this charm 
 ing, clever woman of the world. 
 
 He stole a glance at Bertram, who was chatting gayly 
 away to Mrs. Pierpoint, evidently amusing her by his 
 conversation. He was a man of middle age, with a face 
 not handsome but of a pleasing expression : his manner 
 was perfect, his voice particularly agreeable. Certainly 
 he did not fulfil the conventional idea that Jack had 
 formed of him as an atheist and the evil genius of Mrs. 
 Chandos's life. 
 
 As he sat almost tongue-tied, how bitterly he envied 
 the man's genial ease of manner ! with what mortification 
 he secretly contrasted it with his own awkwardness! 
 Jack was not himself to-day, for indeed he was wont to 
 have plenty of cheery talk for women as well as for his 
 own sex. 
 
 Mrs. Chandos did most of the talking, and Jack an- 
 swered as best he might, weighted with the dreadful sense 
 that she did not want him, that he was boring her, and 
 that she was dying to get back to the engrossing discus- 
 sion which he had interrupted. 
 
 Instead of the delight he had anticipated, he was ex- 
 periencing purgatory. He wished that his cousin would 
 give the signal for departure : he felt even more anxiouR 
 to get away than he had been to come. But Belle showed 
 no intention of moving : she was amused by her conversa- 
 tion with Mr. Bertram, and she thought she was doing 
 Jack the greatest kindness in giving him the opportunity 
 of a long chat with the lady of his love. 
 
 With all her tact, Mrs. Chandos could not help at last 
 showing a little weariness at the prolonged visit, and poor 
 Jack, whose perceptions were terribly acute this after- 
 noon, was miserable in the consciousness that she was 
 bored. At last he said desperately to Belle that he was 
 afraid of missing his train back to Nice, although the ex- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 91 
 
 cuse was of the baldest. But she took the hint, having 
 become suddenly aware that the conversation of the other 
 pair was somewhat strained and lagging. 
 
 When they regained the carriage, Jack's face was so 
 crestfallen and his manner so changed that, in the kind- 
 ness of her heart, Belle forbore to make any comment, 
 and rattled on with the first thing which came into her 
 head. It was praise of Mr. Bertram. 
 
 " He is perfectly charming," she said. " I have heard 
 so much of him, and always wanted to meet him. He is 
 more interesting than a dozen young men ; and I feel quite 
 capable of falling in love with him myself." 
 
 Belle had no idea of the dagger she was planting in 
 Jack's heart, or that he was already bitterly jealous of 
 Henry Bertram. 
 
 As Jack went back to Nice, his thoughts were of the 
 gloomiest. He wished he had never seen Mrs. Chandos. 
 He felt as though he would never be happy again. There 
 was only one thing for him to do, to get back to his 
 hunting and his home interests. But, somehow, they had 
 lost their savor now, and he felt a desperate clinging to 
 this spot, which a few days ago he had vowed he could 
 not stand more than a fortnight of at the outside. 
 
 Meanwhile, Alwyne had been spending a very much 
 more agreeable day. He had sat and walked with Dulcie 
 and her mother on the Promenade in the morning, and 
 he had driven with Dulcie and Lilah in the afternoon. It 
 was very evident, from the glowing expression of his fine 
 hazel eyes, that his sentiments towards the fair girl op- 
 posite him were hourly intensifying, and Lilah was de- 
 lighted to perceive it. Dulcie's manner was shy and a 
 little embarrassed, but Alwyne was very far from guessing 
 the real cause of this, and put it down to sweet modesty 
 and dawning love. In reality, Dulcie's thoughts were 
 chiefly concerned with Noel, with wondering if it were 
 an absolute fact that he was nothing to her and could in 
 no way control her future life and actions, and partly 
 with a sense of shame that her affection for him, which 
 she had rated so highly, had not only dwindled away to 
 nothing, but threatened to change into positive aversion, 
 whilst it was useless to conceal from herself that Alwyne's 
 society and attentions were extremely agreeable to her. 
 
92 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Morton was in the highest spirits. She enjoyed the 
 new life immensely : the visitors' servants at the hotel 
 formed quite a gay and brilliant society, and she had be- 
 come bosom friends with Mrs. Chester's maid, who gave 
 her the minutest particulars of all that concerned her 
 family. Morton had at first made up her mind to a match 
 between her young lady and Sir John, but, seeing this did 
 not appear to progress as she had anticipated, she next 
 turned her thoughts to his cousin. True, he had no title, 
 but the maid told her that he was a good deal richer than 
 Sir John, and had a finer country place. 
 
 " Why, Miss Dulcie," said Morton, on her young lady's 
 return from driving, "you are looking quite yourself 
 again, I declare. I expect" significantly u you have 
 been enjoying your drive." 
 
 " Yes, I have, immensely," answered Dulcie, with a 
 slight blush. And then she sat down and looked pen- 
 sively out of the window. 
 
 "What a good-looking young gentleman Mr. Temple 
 is !" remarked Morton, tentatively. " Much handsomer 
 than Sir John." 
 
 " Yes," acquiesced Dulcie. 
 
 " Now, why shouldn't you be Mrs. Temple ?" exclaimed 
 Morton. " Anybody can see it only remains with you, 
 Miss Dulcie. He has lots of money and a fine place ; and 
 I'm sure the best thing you can do, to save more trouble, 
 is just to get married right off." 
 
 Dulcie turned uneasily in her chair. 
 
 " Morton," she asked, " are you sure mamma said that 
 that affair at the registry office was illegal?" 
 
 " Quite sure," answered Morton, stoutly. " She said it 
 as plain as possible, and about your being a ward in 
 chancery, and all of us being liable to be prosecuted. Oh, 
 that's right enough !" 
 
 " I wish I was quite sure," uttered Dulcie. 
 
 " Why, Miss Dulcie, what's to make you doubt it ? You 
 know your mamma isn't the lady to say a thing if it wasn't 
 true. And she says to me at the time, ' The marriage is 
 illegal ; and think, Morton,' she says, ' what dreadful trouble 
 you might have brought my daughter into' You take my 
 advice : if Mr. Temple proposes to you, and any one can 
 see with half an eye that you've only to look kind at him 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 93 
 
 and he will, you jump at it, and forget all that's past and! 
 gone." 
 
 " But suppose," and Dulcie trembled and her eyes 
 dilated, " suppose he ever heard anything about the 
 other?" 
 
 " Who's to tell him?" cried Morton. "I expect Mr. 
 Trevor, if he ever does recover, will be glad enough to 
 hold his tongue. He won't want to stand up and be shot 
 at ; and that's what Mr. Temple 'ud do in precious quick 
 time, you may depend, if he came troubling." 
 
 Dulcie made up her weak mind to accept Alwyne's at- 
 tentions. Half an hour later she was alone in the sitting- 
 room, when he came in with a message from Mrs. Chester. 
 After he had delivered it, he stayed on a few minutes, and 
 they stood together looking out of the window. Suddenly 
 Alwyne took Dulcie's hand, and, seeing how she trembled, 
 though she made no effort to release it, he, fascinated by 
 her beauty and this evidence of maiden modesty, bent to- 
 wards her and touched her lips with his. A sudden flame 
 covered her from throat to brow, and she drew herself 
 away from him. For, as a matter of fact, this was the 
 first time that a man's lips had kissed hers, her courtship 
 with Noel having taken place entirely in the open air and 
 in public. 
 
 Before Alwyne could follow up his advance, as the fire 
 in his eyes betrayed his intention of doing, the door opened, 
 and Mrs. Yernon appeared. In an instant she grasped the 
 situation, and horror filled her breast. Here was an awful 
 dilemma. Her daughter married to one man and receiv- 
 ing in ignorance, it is true the advances of another ! 
 
 But she gave not the faintest sign of observing the con- 
 fusion of the pair, and listened with an excellent grace to 
 the message which Alwyne promptly bethought himself 
 of delivering. She took care that he should have no op- 
 portunity of speaking alone with Dulcie again that even- 
 ing, and Alwyne, who was burning to make love to this 
 pretty creature with whom he was falling very much in 
 love, was furious at being baffled in his intentions. 
 
 When Mrs. Yernon retired that night she was a prey to 
 the most painful and harassing thoughts. She was ex- 
 asperated with Dulcie. Was the girl devoid of all heart, 
 of all sense of decency, that, after having gone through 
 
94 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 so much for the sake of one man, she should be ready 
 before a month had elapsed to fall into the arms of 
 another? 
 
 And now what was to be done ? Should she tell Dulcie 
 that her marriage was indeed no sham, but a miserable 
 reality? No, she was afraid to do that until she knew 
 whether Noel would recover. She had no confidence in 
 her daughter now : she did not know what step the fool- 
 ish, headstrong girl might take next. She might elect to 
 escape to her husband and bring about the esclandre which 
 was the terror of Mrs. Yernon's life. She had resolved 
 that if the wretched man, as she called him in her 
 thoughts, did recover, he should not claim his bride until 
 a pretence of courtship and a religious ceremony had been 
 gone through. 
 
 On the other hand, if mercifully he should die, it would 
 be far better that Dulcie should continue to believe the 
 marriage had been invalid, in which case fear of the dis- 
 grace of its being revealed would insure her keeping it a 
 profound secret. She must by some means keep young 
 Temple and her daughter apart; but, having discovered 
 the girPs powers of duplicity, she was horribly afraid of 
 being outwitted by her. To mention the subject to Dulcie 
 might be fatal : if she forbade her to give encourage- 
 ment to Alwyne she might ask leading questions to which 
 it would be impossible to give misleading answers. And 
 if Dulcie regained her freedom the fact was not to be lost 
 sight of that Alwyne would be an excellent match. 
 
 It required an immense amount of manoeuvring to pre- 
 vent the young people from conversing privately with each 
 other, but Mrs. Yernon devoted her entire mind to the task. 
 Hud she been playing her cards in order to catch this 
 spoiled, self-willed young man, she could not have suc- 
 ceeded more perfectly than by her present action. He 
 chafed fiercely : his passion rose to fever-heat. Marriage, 
 which he hated and avoided, now occupied a prominent 
 place in his designs. What on earth did the woman ex- 
 pect? he asked furiously of himself. Did she want a 
 prince of the blood, that he, Alwyne Temple, who had 
 been angled for by so many mothers and daughters, 
 women of title, too, by Jove ! was not good enough for 
 her? Had she set her mind upon Jack, who, in his 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 95 
 
 cousin's opinion, could not hold a candle to himself in 
 any respect, except perhaps his trumpery baronetcy ? If 
 she had been very religious, like his aunt, he might have 
 imagined that she disapproved of episodes in his life that 
 might have reached her ears ; but no ! she was a thorough 
 woman of the world : no squeamishness of that sort would 
 affect her. He would have asked Dulcie ; but no chance 
 presented itself. 
 
 For three days Mrs. Yernon's success was complete in 
 keeping her daughter beside her ; on the fourth she was 
 attacked by a terrible migraine, which rendered her 
 absolutely insensible and indifferent to anything but her 
 own sufferings. 
 
 Dulcie spent the morning with the Chester family, and 
 Alwyne, rejoicing in the discomfiture of his foe, made plans 
 for outwitting her altogether. He took Jack into confi- 
 dence and invoked his aid, and Jack, who was a victim to 
 the tender passion at that moment, was only too ready to 
 sympathize with and help his cousin. 
 
 A big carriage was to be ordered for the afternoon. 
 Mrs. Chester, Lilah, Dulcie, and Alwyne were to go in- 
 side, and Jack on the box. When they came to a certain 
 mountainous region, the three active members of the party 
 were to descend and walk, and Jack was to leave the 
 other pair to each other's society. Then Alwyne would 
 ask for and receive explanations, and well, who knew 
 what the end of it might be ? 
 
 All fell out as Alwyne had planned, and in due course, 
 the walkers having alighted, the carriage having turned 
 a corner, Jack having unaccountably disappeared, the two 
 young people were to all intents and purposes alone in the 
 wide world. 
 
 Alwyne's heart beat with unusual rapidity : he had very 
 often been alone with a woman to whom he intended to 
 make love, but, somehow, this was different: there was 
 an unwonted excitement about it. In former cases it had 
 generally been a foregone conclusion how his advances 
 would be received, but now all was uncertainty. This 
 pretty, charming girl blushed and smiled under his glances, 
 but he had no proof that he had awakened any strong 
 emotion in her modest breast, or that she was prepared to 
 place her fate in his hands. 
 
96 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Alwyne's face was pale ; his eyes shone with feverish 
 brilliancy ; for once in his life his supreme confidence in 
 his own powers of pleasing failed him : he was more diffi- 
 dent in the presence of this young girl than he had ever 
 felt since his first love-affair. 
 
 The moment had come when he was to put his fate " to 
 the touch." 
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 DULCIE'S emotions were, taking into account her natur- 
 ally phlegmatic disposition, considerably excited. Mingled 
 with the pleasure of being in Alwyne's company, with a 
 decided intuition of the nature of his feelings, were the 
 elements of fear and uncertainty, and these had the effect 
 of enhancing the situation and giving a keener interest to 
 it. The love she had once imagined she felt for Noel had 
 now transferred itself to Alwyne : indeed, she found him 
 much handsomer and more attractive than poor Noel. In 
 his case there was no obstacle of poverty, and she looked 
 to him to save her from the fears, perplexities, and evil 
 consequences of her past folly. She recognized now that 
 it had been folly. 
 
 The feelings of both being worked up to a high pitch, 
 it was not long before they broke into expression. Alwyne 
 suddenly caught Dulcie's hand, and the electric current of 
 sympathy flashed from one to the other. It saved the 
 necessity for further preamble. 
 
 "My darling!" cried Alwyne, and caught fair Dulcie in 
 his arms. 
 
 Modesty and a sense of fear not altogether painful 
 caused the girl to resist his embrace, but she trembled so 
 much that Alwyne led her to the bank and seated her 
 there. 
 
 "Have I frightened you? What a brute I am!" he 
 cried, with words and gestures suitable to the situation ; 
 for, in the nineteenth century, it is no longer possible to 
 be original either in making love or anything else. And 
 then he implored her to say she did not hate him, and 
 Dulcie coyly reassured him. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 97 
 
 " Tell mo," he entreated, " why you have seemed to 
 avoid me lately, why I have never had a chance of say- 
 ing a word alone to you." 
 
 Now, if in former times that is to say, before the last 
 three months Dulcie had entertained any affection for 
 her mother, it existed no longer, and she was only too 
 glad of the opportunity of finding fault with and throw- 
 ing blame upon her. 
 
 " It was mamma's doing," she said. " I do not know 
 why, but she hates me to talk to any one or to do any- 
 thing I want to." 
 
 Alwyne took a mental oath that his mother-in-law 
 should be ousted from his menage in the happy future. 
 
 " What an infernal shame, my darling !" he cried. " It 
 is high time you were taken from her and given to some 
 one who would never thwart you in a single wish." 
 
 Alwyne was probably not aware what a false and rash 
 assertion he was making. Then he continued, eagerly, 
 
 "Why should your mother object to me? What has 
 she to say against me ?" 
 
 " Oh," returned Dulcie, " she has never said anything 
 against you, but I think she likes me to feel that I am 
 entirely under her thumb, just as if I was ten years old." 
 
 " I do not care a straw what she thinks," cried Alwyne, 
 disrespectfully, "if only I could know that you cared 
 about me. Tell me, darling," once more taking her hand, 
 " do you think you could love me ? Will you be my 
 wife ?'" 
 
 A sudden remembrance flashed across Dulcie of that 
 scene in the registry office, and made her falter and hesi- 
 tate for a moment. 
 
 Alwyne, in blissful ignorance of the thought that alarmed 
 his beloved, saw only the diffidence of modesty in her hesi- 
 lation, and pressed his suit with increased ardor. 
 
 Dulcie consented to his entreaties ; the bond was sealed 
 in the manner which custom and inclination dictate, and 
 they then began to remember that the occupants of the 
 carriage would be waiting for them. 
 
 "Will you tell your mother?" Alwyne asked, as they 
 pursued their way, and Dulcie's face blanched as she 
 cried, 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! Not for the world I" 
 
 E g 9 
 
98 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 u Then I will !" said Alwyne, with a boldness that com- 
 forted his betrothed, " the very instant that she is well 
 enough to see me." 
 
 At this moment Sir John was seen in the distance wav- 
 ing frantically to them. 
 
 " Do not say a word to any one until you have seen 
 mamma!" pleaded Dulcie, earnestly; and Alwyne prom- 
 ised ; but he could not answer for his face, and that told 
 its tale very plainly indeed. 
 
 Lilah was quite irritable when they reached the car- 
 riage. 
 
 " We thought you were never coming," she exclaimed, 
 pettishly. " We shall not get home till midnight." 
 
 Alwyne and Dulcie were both so happy that they could 
 afford to treat Lilah's petulance with good humor, and 
 they apologized humbly for having kept her waiting. But 
 she was cross, and would not speak all the way home. 
 
 " It was just like that selfish Alwyne," she said to her- 
 self, forgetting poor little girl ! that the epithet applied 
 with even greater force to herself. 
 
 When Dulcie entered the sitting-room on her return, 
 she found her mother lying on the sofa drinking tea. Her 
 head was better, although she still felt weak. 
 
 She did not reproach her daughter for having absented 
 herself without leave, but it was evident from her manner 
 that she was ill pleased. 
 
 " I shall not be well enough to dine at the table-d'hote" 
 she said ; " so, as I do not care for you to dine there with- 
 out me, I will order a cutlet for you up here." 
 
 " Surely," replied Dulcie, who did not relish the idea of 
 a long evening tete-a-tete with her mother, <; Mrs. Chester 
 is sufficient chaperon for me." 
 
 " I do not wish you to dine down-stairs without me," 
 repeated Mrs. Yernon, in a tone that was intended to put 
 an end to the discussion. 
 
 The sullen look which often darkened Dulcie's face now 
 came into it, and she left the room without another word. 
 Mrs. Yernon sighed, as many a mother sighs who, after 
 yeai^s of love and devotion to a child, finds herself repaid 
 by hostility and coldness the moment she thwarts her in 
 a love- or fancied love-matter. 
 
 The evening was no pleasant one. Three months ago 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 99 
 
 Dulcie would have been affectionate and sympathetic in 
 any ailment of her mother's ; to-night she was almost os- 
 tentatiously indifferent to Mrs. Yernon's discomfort, and 
 did not make even the smallest inquiry about or reference 
 to her sufferings. At half-past nine she went to bed. 
 
 It had been arranged between her and Alwyne that, if 
 her mother was sufficiently recovered by the next morn- 
 ing to grant him an interview, Dulcie was to stand at tho 
 window at half-past ten, holding her handkerchief in her 
 hand. If an interview was not to be hoped for, there 
 would be no handkerchief. 
 
 It was with joy that Alwyne saw the little cambric 
 token gently waving as he 'walked by the hotel. Ten 
 minutes later a note was handed to Mrs. Yernon, asking 
 her if she would permit Alwyne to do himself the honor 
 of calling upon her in a quarter of an hour. Mrs. Yernon, 
 groaning to herself, sent an answer saying that she would 
 receive Mr. Temple at eleven o'clock. She then hurried 
 to Dulcie's room to demand the explanation which she, 
 alas ! guessed too well. The young lady was not to be 
 found. She had taken refuge in Morton's room, two 
 flights of stairs higher up, and thither it did not occur to 
 Mrs. Yernon to follow her. Swiftly she made up her 
 mind how to act. She knew instinctively that Alwyne 
 was prejudiced against her and regarded her as an adver- 
 sary, and she half smiled to herself at the irony of fate 
 as she thought how gladly and thankfully she would have 
 listened to his suit but for Dulcie's mad folly. 
 
 Alwyne entered with a somewhat defiant air which he 
 found it impossible to disguise ; but he had sufficient good 
 manners to inquire with some show of interest after Mrs. 
 Yernon's health. He was a little surprised by the ex- 
 treme graciousness and pleasantness of her manner, and 
 insensibly his own became more genial, and he felt less 
 antipathetic towards her. The nervousness which besets 
 every suppliant for something he greatly desires and is 
 not sure of obtaining nevertheless overcame him. His 
 nether lip trembled slightly, and he drew his thick gold 
 rings uneasily on and off his finger. But he plunged 
 manfully into his subject. 
 
 " I don't know whether you are surprised at my asking 
 you to see me, but but . . . The fact is," he blurted out, 
 
100 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " I love your daughter, and I have come to ask your con- 
 sent to to my marrying her." 
 
 The sadness which Mrs. Yernon genuinely felt at not 
 being able to give the answer she would so gladly have 
 done stole into her face, and she said, very gently, 
 
 "I am a little surprised, I must confess, at the sudden- 
 ness of your proposal, as you have only known my dear 
 child for such a very short time ; but " And she hesi- 
 tated. 
 
 " Perhaps," exclaimed Alwyne, beginning to feel more 
 hopeful at this reception, "you want to know something 
 more about me, about my affairs, whether I am in a 
 position to " 
 
 "Xo, no, indeed," interrupted Mrs. Yernon, with ex- 
 treme graciousness. " I assure you I have no doubt 
 whatever on that subject." 
 
 " Then may I hope " cried Alwyne, eagerly ; but 
 
 Mrs. Yernon made a little negative gesture which stopped 
 him in mid-sentence. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon had, when she willed it, a very charming 
 manner, and now she availed herself of it to the utmost. 
 
 " I want you to believe," she said, almost caressingly, 
 for his good looks and eager manner were eminently 
 pleasing to her, "I want you to believe that I should 
 like nothing better than to accept you as my daughter's 
 husband, that all I know and have seen of you is entirely 
 satisfactory to me, but that there are reasons, which have 
 no reference of any kind to yourself, which make it im- 
 possible for me to consent to your engagement to her at 
 present." 
 
 A momentary silence ; then Alwyne, looking at her 
 with wide-open eyes, said, 
 
 " You will surely, if such is the case, not object to tell- 
 ing me what those reasons are ?" 
 
 Mrs. Yernon answered, with evident emotion, 
 
 " It is most natural that you should ask ; under the 
 circumstances, you have every right to ask ; and it makes 
 me quite unhappy to think that it is utterly impossible 
 for me to give you a straightforward answer. Do." look- 
 ing almost piteously at him, " do try and have faith in 
 me, and believe that I would not willingly put any obsta- 
 cle between you and Dulcie." 
 
ONCE AGA1V. 101 
 
 Alwyne's heart grew cold. He doubted Mrs. Yernon : 
 if there had really been any sufficient obstacle, Dulcio 
 would not so readily have accepted him. He spoke with 
 an air of injury. 
 
 " May I ask if Miss Vernon is aware of the obstacle 
 of which you speak ?" 
 
 It suddenly occurred to him that somewhere, in Eng- 
 land or elsewhere, there might be a suitor whom this 
 scheming mother considered more advantageous than 
 himself, and whom she had hopes of entrapping. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon hesitated, then, after a pause, answered, 
 
 " She is not altogether aware of it." 
 
 Alwyne's temper rose. 
 
 "It is not very satisfactory/' he answered, "to be re- 
 fused without a reason. And I must say I consider it 
 most unfair, not to say humiliating, to me. You say you 
 have no personal objection to me, and yet you refuse me. 
 I can only imagine there must be some other man in the 
 case whom you think more desirable." 
 
 Mrs. Vernon gave a faintly-audible groan. More de- 
 sirable ! gracious heavens ! 
 
 " Indeed there is not," she replied, with emphasis. 
 
 " There is no other man in the case !" uttered Alwyne, 
 with a keen glance, his suspicions not being entirely al- 
 layed. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon objected to telling a deliberate lie. 
 
 " There are circumstances," she said, avoiding his gaze, 
 "that make it impossible for me to entertain your pro- 
 posal now, but they may be removed. If I could, I 
 would gladly explain everything to you. Believe me, I 
 quite understand your vexation, and even your doubts of 
 me, but at the same time it is out of my power, at this 
 moment, to be more explicit." 
 
 Alwyne was baffled and furious. What more was there 
 for him to say ? 
 
 " Will you allow me another interview with your 
 daughter?" he asked, and, to his surprise, Mrs. Vernon 
 answered, 
 
 " Certainly. If you will come back in half an hour, 
 you shall see her." 
 
 "And you will not compel her inclinations?" he in- 
 quired, with a mistrustful look. 
 
102 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 11 1 will not. I will simply tell her the reason which I 
 cannot at present tell you, and she shall then give you 
 her answer." 
 
 Alwyne took his hat and went moodily away, full of 
 anger and distrust. Still, it would go hard with him if he 
 did not get the truth out of his darling ingenuous Dulcie. 
 
 The instant he left the room, Mrs. Yernon went again 
 in search of her daughter, and this time successfully. 
 
 Dulcie was looking very nervous and ill at ease, nor was 
 her mind reassured when she caught sight of the angry 
 expression on her mother's face. Mrs. Yernon felt very 
 bitter against the girl, and could not resist the taunt that 
 rose to her lips. 
 
 " You have a very constant heart, I must say, and your 
 love must be extremely valuable, when, after eloping with 
 and marrying one man, you are ready to receive the decla- 
 ration of another almost immediately afterwards !" 
 
 Dulcied trembled and turned very white. Somehow she 
 had expected her mother's assistance and co-operation in 
 this affair with Alwyne. 
 
 " You have placed me in a delightful position in sending 
 Mr. Temple to propose to me for you." 
 
 " I thought " murmured Dulcie, then suddenly broke 
 
 down and hid her face in her hands. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon made a supreme effort to control herself. 
 If she gave the rein to the anger which was boiling in her, 
 she was aware that she would be tempted into some im- 
 prudence of speech and would foil her own designs. 
 
 After a silence of a minute, which it took her to sup- 
 press her feelings, she said, quietly, 
 
 " You thought you were free from the consequences of 
 your folly. I have made inquiries, and am by no means 
 sure that such is the case. If Mr. Trevor recovers, it is 
 quite possible that he may endeavor to prove the legality 
 of the marriage. At all events, he may cause us a great 
 deal of trouble and unpleasantness, and you will probably 
 see that to accept any one else under such circumstances 
 is entirely out of the question. It is impossible to tell the 
 truth to Mr. Temple, who, in his indignation, would prob- 
 ably make the whole story public, and it is hardly likely 
 that if he knew it he would wish to marry you. Still, 
 Mr. Trevor may not recover; the story may never be 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 103 
 
 known ; and then it would be quite possible for you to 
 marry Mr. Temple. He is coming to see you in half an 
 hour, as he declines to believe in an obstacle which I can- 
 not explain to him : so I will leave you to think over what 
 you mean to say to him. As you have brought this di- 
 lemma on yourself, you must get out of it as best you can." 
 
 " Oh," sobbed Dulcie, in terror, " I cannot. I will not see 
 him ! Oh, mamma, pray don't be so cruel ! What can I 
 do ? what can I say ?" 
 
 "Say anything, except that you went out of your 
 mother's house and were clandestinely married at a reg- 
 istry office," answered Mrs. Vernon, pitilessly. " See him 
 you must and shall, and you are at liberty to tell him any 
 story you please. I shall not permit myself to be made a 
 scapegoat of by you." 
 
 She went out and left Dulcie alone, crushed by the awful 
 retribution that had fallen upon her. She had never in 
 her life acted or decided anything for herself: until her 
 meeting with Noel, her mother had commanded and ar- 
 ranged, and she had obeyed with blind docility ; then, 
 when Noel gained influence over her, his will had been 
 her law. Eesponsibility was to her the most terrible 
 thing in the world. She shrank shuddering from the 
 thought of meeting Alwyne now, of having to explain 
 or try to explain matters to him. For what could she 
 say ? She would rather die than let him know the awful 
 truth of which she was so bitterly ashamed. The security 
 into which she had been lulled of late received a rude 
 shock from her mother's words. Noel might give trouble, 
 and might try to prove the legality of the marriage ! To 
 be the wife of a poor man no longer seemed an enviable, 
 delightful lot in her eyes : she was not aware that at 
 twenty-one, or on her marriage sanctioned by the court, 
 she woulci come into a comfortable little fortune of her 
 own. 
 
 She was half minded to put <5n her hat and rush from 
 the hotel to avoid the dreaded interview, but the idea 
 occurred to her that her mother would probably be on the 
 watch against her escape, or that, worse still, she might 
 run straight into the arms of Alwyne, who would not be 
 far off. There was only one thing for it, to throw her- 
 self upon the mercy of her mother, who was so strong and 
 
104 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 so clever, and who never had any difficulty ahout knowing 
 what to do. Hastily she dried her tears, bathed her eyes, 
 and ran to the sitting-room. 
 
 " Mamma," she cried, flinging herself on her knees be- 
 side her mother, " I implore you not to be unkind to me. 
 Oh, do do tell me what to say ! I will say anything you 
 wish, but I cannot think for myself." 
 
 Mrs. Vernon was slightly mollified. 
 
 " It is simple enough," she said. " You must say that 
 you cannot accept him at present, and that you cannot 
 now explain to him why, but that you hope he will re- 
 main your friend. He will of course try every persuasion 
 in his power to get the truth from you ; but that I think 
 I can rely on your not telling him." 
 
 "Mamma," pleaded Dulcie, "must I see him? Oh, dear 
 mamma, will you not see him again instead ? Pray, pray 
 do, and I will never disobey you again !" In her cow- 
 ardice she would have promised anything. 
 
 " No, thank you, my dear," returned Mrs. Yernon, dryly. 
 " I have gone through one interview with Mr. Temple, and 
 that is enough for me. Besides, I promised that you 
 should see him ; and you must." 
 
 Dulcie sat on the floor, looking the image of despair. 
 
 There came a knock at the door. A waiter announced 
 Mr. Temple. Dulcie sprang to her feet, blushing like a 
 carnation, and Mrs. Yernon, without a word, left the 
 room, and the lovers together. 
 
 Alwyne's eyes flashed with pleasure. He advanced 
 swiftly, and with one hand took Dulcie's and put the 
 other round her. But she drew back frightened. Good 
 heavens! if she were really Noel's wife, it would be a 
 crime to receive such attentions from another man. 
 
 " No, no," she gasped ; but he, being strong and wilful, 
 held her with gentle force and kissed her whether she 
 would or no. 
 
 "Now, darling," he cried, "tell me all about every- 
 thing!" for, now that she was here, within his grasp, he 
 made light in his heart of any obstacle. 
 
 Dulcie trembled, and wished the floor would open and 
 swallow her. 
 
 " No, really," she expostulated, " you must not ; indeed 
 you must not, Please do not." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 105 
 
 Whereupon Alwyne released her, thinking that modesty 
 was delightful in theory, but a confounded nuisance in 
 practice. 
 
 " It is quite true what mamma told you," she faltered. 
 " I did not know before, but, but " 
 
 " Well," said Alwyne, " but you at all events, my dar- 
 ling, will tell me why. I know," tenderly taking her 
 hand, " that you are not indifferent to me : you would not 
 willingly make me wretched. Tell me, sweet love," 
 gently, u what can there possibly be that you need mind 
 telling me. Don't yo\i know that I adore you?" 
 
 For all answer to his entreaty, Dulcie hid her face in 
 her hands and wept bitterly. 
 
 For so impetuous and self-willed a young man, Alwyne 
 behaved with great forbearance. He drew her hands 
 gently from her face, he kissed away the tears that 
 streamed from her eyes, and was as gentle and tender as 
 any woman could have been. Dulcie made no resistance 
 now ; her natural weakness took refuge in his strength : 
 she submitted, and wished for nothing better than to 
 shelter herself in this new rock of defence. 
 
 If only there were no awful reason to be given I 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 ALWYNE had felt certain that the gentle and yielding 
 Dulcie would not. be able to keep the truth from him ; but 
 he found it just as impossible to get a definite answer from 
 her as from her mother. 
 
 " At least," he cried, his patience presently wearing to 
 an end, " at least tell me one thing. Is there any other 
 man whom your mother wants you to marry ?" 
 
 " No," answered Dulcie, truthfully enough. 
 
 " Will you swear that ?" he said. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. 
 
 Alwyne got up and walked to the window in high per- 
 plexity. Several ideas passed rapidly through his mind, 
 none of which, however, seemed to him sufficiently plausi- 
 
106 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 ble. A reason which Dulcie had not known yesterday, 
 but the force of which she recognized the moment she 
 learned it from her mother, and the absolute necessity for 
 secrecy in the matter ! 
 
 There was no other man in the case ! Then, with a 
 view to allaying his latest suspicion, he came back, and 
 said, gently, 
 
 " Can you never give me any hope that you will be my 
 wife?" 
 
 Dulcie hesitated. 
 
 " I may," she faltered, " if you will only wait. Oh, if 
 you would only be a little patient, all may come right !" 
 
 Was ever a man placed in so perplexing, so maddening 
 a situation ! If Alwyne had not been so much in love, he 
 would have been very angry ; but this unexpected resist- 
 ance and opposition increased his passion, and as he looked 
 at the pretty tear-stained face, that was not disfigured by 
 crying, as most women's faces are, he felt that he would 
 put up with a great deal to win her. 
 
 " It is awfulfy hard on me," he said ; then, bending over 
 her, " Tell me, darling, that you really love me, that you 
 will some day be mine, and then I will try to be patient." 
 
 Any hankering that Dulcie may have ever entertained 
 after a romantic situation must have been gratified to the 
 full at this moment. Pleasure and fear were mingled in 
 exact proportion, pleasure at the love she inspired, fear 
 at the thought that she might be committing a crime in 
 listening to the avowal of it. Then she shuddered to re- 
 member that she was perhaps the wife of a decrepit in- 
 valid, an imbecile; and she glanced up at Alwyne's 
 straight figure and fine features glowing with passion. 
 Eomantic situations are not always delightful to the actors 
 who take part in them. 
 
 Dulcie did not answer his entreaty in so many words, 
 but there was nothing in her manner or behavior that 
 forbade him to hope. 
 
 "But," he said, presently, "what is to happen now? 
 Am I not to be allowed to see you or write to you ? How 
 long am I to be kept on tenter-hooks ?" And here hia 
 natural irritability came to the front. 
 
 "It depends on mamma," answered Dulcie, disingenu- 
 ously. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 107 
 
 A brilliant idea came to Alwyne. 
 
 " My darling," he cried, " why should not you and I 
 defy your mother and go off and get married without her 
 knowing anything about it ?" 
 
 " No, no," said Dulcie, shuddering. 
 
 It was a horrible coincidence that he too should make 
 this proposition. 
 
 The door opened, and Mrs. Vernon reappeared on the 
 scene. The young people had had quite time enough, she 
 thought, to say all they had to say, and she felt the deep- 
 est distrust of Dulcie. Heaven alone knew what folly 
 she was capable of! It would be necessary, she reflected, 
 for her to have a few more words with Alwyne, and, un- 
 pleasant as it was, the duty must not be shirked. 
 
 " I hope," she said gently to him, " you are satisfied that 
 my behavior is not influenced by any mere arbitrary feel- 
 ing." Then, as he was stiffly silent, she continued, " There 
 are family reasons whijh render it imperative that I should 
 be silent for a certain time. As soon as I am able to give 
 you an explanation, I shall do so, if you still desire it. 
 You must remember that I have not given you any en- 
 couragement to make advances to my daughter, but, on 
 the contrary, the moment I saw an inclination on your 
 part for her society, I did my best to keep you from being 
 alone with her." 
 
 Alwyne preserved his hostile manner. 
 
 " My position is a most unpleasant one," he said. " I 
 am neither refused nor accepted. I am simply put off 
 with what 1 must say seem to me very unreasonable ex- 
 cuses. I love your daughter, and have no intention of 
 giving her up as long as she cares for me. Am I to be 
 allowed to see her, or may I ask what your intentions on 
 the subject are ?" 
 
 " If you continue to see her," answered Mrs. Vernon, 
 with determination, "it must be only as any ordinary 
 friend might. I warn you that I shall not permit you to 
 be alone in her company after to-day. And, if you will 
 take my advice, you will leave Nice and will not approach 
 us again until a time, if it should ever come, when we are 
 able to welcome you as you desire." 
 
 Alwyne's eyes blazed : his temper was getting the 
 better of him. He turned to Duloie. 
 
108 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " Do you agree to this ?" he said, in a voice which he 
 had the utmost difficulty in controlling. 
 
 Dulcie shivered and looked down on the ground. 
 
 "Do you?" he reiterated, his voice getting still more 
 beyond him. 
 
 " Oh," she cried, terrified at his tone, looking from him 
 to her mother, and not reassured by what she saw in 
 either face, " we must do what mamma thinks right." 
 
 " Then of course," said Alwyne, turning suddenly from 
 fire to ice, " there is nothing more for me to say." 
 
 And, taking his hat and making a gesture of stiff 
 salutation, he left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon reflected with some vindictiveness that it 
 would be an excellent punishment for Dulcie to be handed 
 over to a husband with a temper like Alwyne's. 
 
 Then, whilst Dulcie wept helplessly, she sat down and 
 penned a telegram to her lawyer: 
 
 " What news of invalid ?" 
 
 In the course of the afternoon she received an answer : 
 
 " Still in apathetic state. Removed from hospital by friends 
 yesterday" 
 
 As Alwyne was rushing frantically up the hotel stair- 
 case to his room, he ran into his cousin's arms. 
 
 " Halloo !" said Jack. " Where are you off to ?" 
 
 Alwyne stopped short. 
 
 " I say," he remarked, with a sudden inspiration, " let 
 us go over to Monte Carlo ! I want to get out of this. 
 Do come, like a good chap ! I am awfully bothered and 
 worried. I believe I shall go mad if I don't have some 
 one to talk to." 
 
 Jack would have demurred, but, seeing that Alwyne 
 was really upset, he good-naturedly gave way. 
 
 "All right," he said. "I'll just go and tell them. 
 There's a train in a quarter of an hour." 
 
 Poor Jack was himself in a bad way mentally. He was 
 hanging on here day by day, and what for? he asked 
 himself miserably. He knew there was no hope for him ; 
 the place bored him to distraction ; not once had he seen 
 or heard anything of Eeine ; and yet he felt as though ho 
 could not tear himself from the spot until he had at all 
 events seen her once again. Mrs. Pierpoint, who was to 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 109 
 
 have come over the day after his visit to Cannes, had 
 caught cold, which confined her for a couple of days to 
 her room ; after that, she had been occupied with moving 
 to her villa, so Jack had seen nothing of her. He had 
 read Eeine's poems over and over again ; he had possessed 
 himself of her other book, and in turn his soul was vexed 
 and fascinated over the pages, and, he felt unsettled and 
 miserable, as he had never in his life felt before, not even 
 under the influence of the passion from which he had 
 manfully torn himself free. He was quite in a condition 
 to sympathize with Alwyne, and as they had the railway- 
 carriage to themselves during the short journey, he 
 listened with the greatest interest to Alwyne's tirade of 
 love, disappointment, invective. 
 
 What did it what could it mean ? Alwyne cried, over 
 and over again. Was ever a man in this world placed in 
 such a position ? It was enough to drive him to despera- 
 tion, to madness! Jack admitted all this. The only com- 
 fort he could suggest was that there was no other man in 
 the case. 
 
 " But how can we tell ?" cried Alwyne. " That woman !" 
 loading his desired mother-in-law with opprobrious epi- 
 thets, " is capable of telling any lie, a blanked intriguing 
 old cat ! And that dear little innocent thing is so shy, so 
 sensitive, and so easily frightened ; she is under her 
 mother's thumb to such a degree that she could terrify 
 her into swearing anything. Why, if /," and Alwyne 
 dwelt with conscious pride on the I, " could not get any : 
 thing out of her, you may take your oath how crushed she 
 is ! My belief is that there is another man some fellow 
 with a title or something or other she thinks there's a 
 chance of getting hold of. Perhaps" lashing himself into 
 a rage " he's coming out here, and then, if he don't pro- 
 pose, she may fall back upon me. Why, man alive, what 
 other reason can there be?" 
 
 Jack was unable to suggest any. 
 
 " It is very mysterious, certainly," he said, " and mys- 
 teries are exceedingly disagreeable; but then," and his own 
 heart sank as he said it, "you see, it isn't as if you were 
 utterly without hope." 
 
 " I don't know what to be at !" cried Alwyne. " This 
 sort of thing plays the devil with one. To go on seeing 
 
 10 
 
110 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 the girl day after day, and never to get a chance of being 
 alone with her, will drive me mad. And yet I feel as if I 
 can't tear myself away." 
 
 How well poor Jack could sympathize with him ! 
 
 " And the first time in my life I ever wanted to marry!" 
 Alwyne went on, desperately. " Why, this time last week 
 I'd have laid you a thousand to ten against the possibility 
 of such a thing happening. You know, Jack, how 1 
 loathed the idea." 
 
 " I suppose," replied Jack, " that if one likes a woman in 
 the right sort of way, and she is free, marrying her is the 
 thing one does think of." 
 
 The train pulled up. The young men jumped out. A 
 moment later Jack's heart was in his mouth, and his face 
 was aflame, for there, in the act of alighting from a rail- 
 way-carriage, was Mrs. Chandos. 
 
 He rushed eagerly forward to her assistance. To his 
 delight, she was only accompanied by another lady, to 
 whom she at once introduced him. Alwyne was already 
 acquainted with her friend. 
 
 Mrs. Chandos greeted Jack so kindly that a wild happi- 
 ness took possession of him. He would think, she said, 
 smiling, that she lived at Monte Carlo; but, in reality, 
 this was only her second visit this season, and she was 
 only here now because it was such a lovely day, and Mrs. 
 Herbert had insisted on coming. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert joined in the conversation. 
 
 " I felt the want of a little excitement," she said, " and 
 I have brought a few louis to gamble with. Keine is 
 shocked : she never gambles : she will sit on the terrace 
 and look at the view whilst I lose my money." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert was a tall, fair, delicate-looking woman, 
 with a distinguished air and a pleasant voice, apparently 
 gome ten years older than Eeine. 
 
 "Mrs. Herbert," said Alwyne, addressing himself to her, 
 " I am sure you have not breakfasted. Will you and Mrs. 
 Chandos do us the honor of breakfasting with us first ? and 
 then we will go and enjoy a gamble. I also have brought, 
 a little money to dispose of." 
 
 " I am dying of hunger," she answered, pleasantly, " and 
 it would be very nice to have a table together." 
 
 By which she intended to convey to him that, though 
 
ONCE AGAIN. HI 
 
 she and her friend would lunch in their company, she did 
 not intend to be their guests. 
 
 Alwyne called a carriage, put the ladies into it, and he 
 and Jack walked up through the grounds and arrived in 
 time to receive them at the hotel. 
 
 " This is great luck !" exclaimed Alwyne to his cousin. 
 " I shall see whether I can't get something out of Mrs. 
 Chandos. You, Jack, like a good fellow, take Mrs. Her- 
 bert off: you will find her an awfully nice woman." 
 
 Jack's face fell about two inches. This was indeed a 
 severe test of friendship. To take off the nicest woman in 
 the world and to leave Eeine to another man seemed an 
 unbearable hardship. Alwyne, engrossed though he was 
 with himself, could not fail to remark the deep chagrin 
 written on every line of Jack's countenance. 
 
 "I say, old chap," he said, "you must really remember 
 how immensely important this is to me, almost a matter 
 of life and death, you know. I promise you shall have 
 your chance afterwards: only let me get Mrs. Chandos 
 alone for half an hour." 
 
 Nothing could have been cheerier than this little party 
 of four. Mrs. Herbert and Eeine had the pleasing effect 
 of bringing out each other's liveliest and brightest quali- 
 ties in public. Many women can only be gay and viva- 
 cious at the expense of making a noise and attracting at- 
 tention, but these two were brilliant examples of how 
 bright and pleasant ladies may be in an entirely undemon- 
 strative fashion. Mrs. Herbert at once took a great fancy 
 to Jack, whose frank manner and kindly face impressed 
 her agreeably, and it was not five minutes before she was 
 perfectly aware of what he imagined to be a secret tightly 
 locked in his own breast. She resolved to help him, for, 
 although she was herself a widow devoutly thankful for 
 her freedom and keenly alive to its advantages, she had, 
 as Keine said, an absurd notion that every other woman 
 would be the better for having a husband. 
 
 If Jack had been able to think of anything or any one 
 but Eeine, he would doubtless have at once reciprocated 
 her good feeling ; but during luncheon he could scarcely 
 take his eyes from Mrs. Chandos, and Alwyne, remember- 
 ing that he was going to carry off the apple of his cousin's 
 eye presently, devoted himself to Mrs. Herbert. And, 
 
112 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 truth to tell, if it had not been for his eagerness to elicit 
 something bearing on his own affairs frem Reine, he would 
 have preferred the society of the other lady. She was 
 always such good company and so pleasant : she never did 
 or said anything to wound the amour-propre of any man, 
 unless he ventured on a liberty of speech, and that was a 
 very rare event. 
 
 It was with great reluctance, although his good breed- 
 ing prevented him from giving evidence of it, that when, 
 after luncheon, they adjourned to the Casino, Jack fell be- 
 hind with Mrs. Herbert as Alwyne led the way with her 
 friend. But ere long he was tolerably reconciled to his 
 fate, for his companion adroitly broached the subject that 
 was so near his heart, and then, professing surprise at his 
 knowing so little of Cannes, raised him to a seventh heaven 
 by proposing that she and Mrs. Chandos should make him 
 better acquainted with it. 
 
 Meantime, Alwyne had conducted his companion to a 
 sheltered spot in the gardens, and was proceeding to con- 
 fide in her. For he had not the gift of reticence, and, if 
 a thing engrossed his thoughts, insisted on talking of it 
 ad nauseam to any one to whom he chose for the moment 
 to unbosom himself. 
 
 Eeine listened with no little surprise. She did not per- 
 mit the feeling to show itself in her face or manner : these 
 were both sympathetic and interested as she gave ear to 
 the outburst of Alwyne's passion, perplexity, and despair. 
 But she wondered secretly how her aunt could for a mo- 
 ment have permitted him to hope under the circumstances, 
 have allowed him to approach Dulcie with words of 
 love whilst she was another man's wife. It then occurred 
 to her that Mrs. Yernon might possibly have had tidings 
 of the husband's death, either actual or imminent: indeed, 
 that was the only way in which she could reconcile to her- 
 self her aunt's conduct in the matter. Even then she 
 could not thoroughly approve. 
 
 It was evident that Alwyne hoped to extract some clew 
 to the secret from her, but, whilst listening with every 
 mark of sympathy to his recital, she disclaimed all knowl- 
 edge of her aunt's reasons and objections, and confined 
 herself entirely to speaking in kind and affectionate terms 
 of Dulcie. Alwyne, baffled in the most important par- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 113 
 
 ticular, still derived no little comfort and pleasure from 
 talking about the object of his affections. He went so far 
 as to implore Mrs. Chandos's good offices in his behalf, 
 She asked him, smiling, why he should want any assist- 
 ance when he had so much to recommend him? He was 
 so much pleasanter in the humble phase of non-accepted 
 suitor than she had ever before seen him, that Reine was 
 inclined to revoke her previous judgment of him. And 
 Alwyne, who had up to this time been rather spiteful and 
 ill disposed towards her, vowed that she was really a 
 charming woman, and, having talked to her about himself 
 unweariedly for the space of an hour, began to reflect that 
 perhaps he ought to let Jack have a turn, and assented to 
 his companion's proposal that they should go and look for 
 the other members of the party. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert and Jack were still at the tables. They 
 had been playing with varying success, and were now a 
 little to the good. Alwyne made his venture, won ; staked 
 again, won ; again, won ; again, lost ; doubled his stake, 
 and ended by losing. 
 
 The ladies expressed a wish to go to the concert-room, 
 and thither they repaired, Alwyne now devoting himself 
 to Mrs. Herbert. A strange shyness had come over Jack, 
 an unjust sene of self-depreciation. He felt that Eeine 
 must think him a fool and be bored by him. But that 
 lady was in an excellent humor, and talked gayly to him 
 in the intervals between the music, and his diffidence gave 
 way to a feeling of supreme happiness. His tongue was 
 unloosed; he was no longer shy and silent; the'world's 
 face seemed to have changed when they emerged into the 
 sunshine : if this was not Paradise, he wanted no fairer 
 one. 
 
 When, in the train, Mrs. Herbert invited the young men 
 to lunch with them next day, Reine cordially seconded tho 
 invitation. Jack accepted joyfully, Alwyne with reserve. 
 He was not sure in his own heart that he could tear him- 
 self aw^ay from Dulcie. For, so far from having any in- 
 tention of leaving Nice, he had resolved that he would 
 stay near his beloved and see her and fair play at the 
 same time. 
 
 At dinner that evening he sat opposite Dulcie, and his 
 eyes were so full of expressive fire, and his glances at her 
 h 10* 
 
114 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 pretty face so long and ardent, that Mrs. Yernon, who sat 
 on thorns lest his very marked conduct should excite at- 
 tention, took a sudden resolve. As they left the dining- 
 room, Mrs. Chester joined her, and Alwyne was enabled to 
 approach Dulcie ; but, by a sudden turn of the head, the 
 distracted mother saw him put a note into her hand. The 
 moment Mrs. Yernon reached their sitting-room, having 
 declined Mrs. Chester's pressing invitation to join their 
 party both for herself and Dulcie, she turned to her daugh- 
 ter and said, in a tone that frightened the girl, 
 
 " Eead Mr. Temple's letter at once !" 
 
 Dulcie demurred, but Mrs. Yernon insisted, almost with 
 violence, and Dulcie gave in and read it tremblingly. 
 
 Her mother watched her sternly. 
 
 " It is, I presume, a love-letter. !N"o, do not be afraid," 
 as Dulcie instinctively put it behind her back. " I have no 
 wish to see it. I have only this to say to you. Mr. 
 Trevor is alive and likely to live, and he is your husband." 
 
 Then, whilst Dulcie, white as death, sank half fainting 
 on the sofa, Mrs. Yernon passionately seized her desk, and 
 wrote on a sheet of paper, 
 
 " Either you, or I and my daughter, leave Nice to-mor- 
 row. If I find in the morning that you are still here, we 
 go by the afternoon train." 
 
 She directed it to " Alwyne Temple, Esq.," and ringing 
 the bell, gave it to the waiter to be delivered at once. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 MRS. HERBERT and Eeine had dined, and were drinking 
 coffee in the pretty salon of their villa. Mrs. Herbert was 
 lying on a couch drawn towards the cheerful wood fire, 
 and Eeine sat half buried in a big chair, with her feet re- 
 posing on a footstool and warming at the blaze. She 
 seemed engrossed with her thoughts, as indeed she was. 
 A strong sense of honor was one of her chief attributes, 
 and she was at a loss to understand how her aunt, for 
 whom she had a certain respect and esteem, could have 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 115 
 
 acted towards Alwyne Temple in so disingenuous a man- 
 ner. Mrs. Herbert's voice broke in upon her reflections. 
 
 " My love," it said, " what is your busy brain cogitating 
 BO deeply about ?" 
 
 Eeine looked up and smiled. 
 
 " It is quite at your service, if you have any ideas to 
 suggest to it." 
 
 "Only quite trivial ones," replied her friend. " I think 
 we had a very pleasant day, and I found our cavaliers most 
 agreeable," 
 1 " Yes," assented Eeine, but without much enthusiasm. 
 
 "Mr. Temple is remarkably handsome," pursued Mrs. 
 Herbert, " but I prefer his cousin. He looks so kind and 
 good-tempered." 
 
 "Alwyne Temple has improved, I think," observed 
 Eeine. *" I never liked him so well as to-day. He was 
 much less self-assertive than usual." 
 
 " By the way, what were you and he so engrossed in, 
 and where did you disappear to ?" 
 
 Mrs. Chandos had few secrets from her friend, with 
 whom she lived on terms of affectionate intimacy, so she 
 did not hesitate to tell her about Alwyne's attraction to 
 her cousin, though she gave no hint of Dulcie's secret. 
 
 " Between ourselves, strictly between ourselves, Mia, 
 he has fallen in love with my pretty cousin, and, as he is 
 a young gentleman of an impetuous disposition, he is 
 dreadfully perturbed because he is not received by my 
 aunt with open arms." 
 
 "But, my love, he has lots of money," exclaimed Mrs. 
 Herbert. " Why is he not received with open arms ?" 
 
 " Eeally, Mia," returned Eeine, with a shade of im- 
 patience, "you are just like every other woman. If a 
 man has money, there is no consideration of any possible 
 sort or kind of sufficient importance to stand in his way." 
 
 " After all," smiled Mrs. Herbert, with an apologetic 
 little air, "you know, poetess though you are, that that 
 is a very big consideration. Comfort and luxury are by 
 no means words of empty sound in your ears, my love." 
 
 " Oh, no doubt everything is easier to be endured by 
 means of money," returned Eeine ; " but do you think, if I 
 were given the choice of happiness or money, I should 
 hesitate?" 
 
116 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " There is no such thing as happiness," replied Mrs. 
 Herbert, didactically : " as the old conundrum says, the 
 only place where it is always to be found is in the diction- 
 ary. Our life is made up of toleration, endurance, with 
 occasional flashes of hope and pleasure and frequent long 
 periods of suffering and misery. Physical comfort makes 
 toleration easier than anything else ; money gives physi- 
 cal comfort. But, after all, why is this rich and hand- 
 some young man not received with open arms ? Is your 
 aunt ambitious? is she bent on a title?" 
 
 " I have not seen her," replied Reine, " since the day 
 when she and Dulcie first made his acquaintance. You 
 remember, Mia, I told you of the meeting." 
 
 " But is he refused for good and all?" 
 
 " He was evidently not accepted. And nothing in the 
 world could be so calculated to increase his devotion as a 
 little opposition." 
 
 " Is that why it is done, do you think ?" 
 
 "I must hear what my aunt says," returned Reine, 
 evasively. " I think of going over to Nice again before 
 the end of the week." 
 
 " Not to stay !" exclaimed her friend. " I really won't 
 have you go away again to stay ! I am wretched without 
 you, and your aunt cannot want you half as much as I 
 do." 
 
 " No, only for the day," said Reine. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert gave a sigh of relief. 
 
 " That is all right," she said. " Reine, my dear, do you 
 know I think Sir John Chester has fallen in love with 
 you?" 
 
 "Do you?" observed Reine, indifferently. "You gene- 
 rally think that of every man." 
 
 " I may be forgiven if I do, since it not unfrequently 
 happens. But I approve of Sir John much more than of 
 most of your suitors." 
 
 "Have you ascertained, Mia," asked her friend, with 
 slightly-veiled sarcasm, " that he has money enough to 
 insure toleration of life and of himself?" 
 
 "How dare you speak in that tone to me?" laughed 
 Mrs. Herbert. " You know it is quite impossible for you 
 to crush me as you do impertinent acquaintances who take 
 liberties." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 117 
 
 "You are too frail to be crushed," answered Kerne, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Thanks for your magnanimity. But now what do you 
 think of him yourself?" 
 
 " I have not thought much about him at present," said 
 Heine. " But to please you" assuming an air of reflec- 
 tion " I will. I think" pausing and appearing to delib- 
 erate " he looks very English, very clean, very good-tem- 
 pered. He has beautiful teeth. And ah, yes, by the 
 way, he behaves charmingly to his mother and to that 
 poor little invalid sister. Yes, Mia, I think he is an ex- 
 cellent type of a young English sportsman. I feel sure he 
 is a straight rider and a good shot, and I dare say plays 
 cricket and lawn-tennis and is good all round at country 
 pursuits." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert surveyed her friend critically. 
 
 "How heartless you are!" she said. 
 
 " I wish I were !" returned Keine, with a profound sigh. 
 
 " Take courage : you will be in time," smiled Mrs. Her- 
 bert, changing her tone to a light one, " and when that 
 time comes you will arrive at the nearest approach pos- 
 sible to happiness. I, thank heaven, have worn my heart 
 out. It used to give me an immense deal of trouble. For 
 twenty years from fifteen to thirty -five it was the curse 
 of my life. I was always loving, or wanting to love, and, 
 when I did, consuming and fretting myself to a shadow 
 about the object or fancied object of my affection. Now," 
 gayly, "my heart has completely frittered keeif i* vay. I 
 could not love if Jupiter himself put on his most seductive 
 shape to fascinate me. No human being is necessary to 
 my existence ; there is no one whom I could not do with- 
 out, except," laughing, " you, my love, whilst I am here. 
 The real compensation of growing old is, as far as my ex- 
 perience goes, the fading of those turbulent emotions that 
 were the joy and the despair of one's youth. I am not 
 easily disappointed, because I expect nothing; pleasure- 
 seeking has become an intolerable bore to me ; the society 
 of a few people I like, fresh air, beautiful scenery, are the 
 only things I care for, and, if I had but a digestion and an 
 appetite worth dignifying by the name and could enjoy 
 the pleasures of the table, I should look upon old age as 
 an unmitigated boon." 
 
118 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " How you talk, Mia !" interrupted Eeine. " Any ono 
 would think you were seventy." 
 
 " I am a hundred and seventy,'* replied Mrs. Herbert, 
 " and I watch the passions and griefs and loves of you 
 young people from afar, with a sort of amused wonder 
 that you can attach so much importance to them, and 
 with total oblivion of the fact that I was ever a victim to 
 the same passions myself. It is a never-ending marvel to 
 me that years can so entirely change our views on almost 
 every subject : the change, they tell us. that is worked in 
 our constitutions is as nothing to it. Fifteen years ago I 
 was excitable, jealous, exacting, ambitious, with the most 
 pronounced ideas on almost every subject; now I am calm, 
 tolerant, indifferent, unprejudiced, and absolutely heedless 
 of social advancement. I can see that there are two sides 
 to every question, and so much to be said on both that it is 
 easier to let the whole matter slide than to attempt to ar- 
 rive at an absolute conclusion about it. I used to rebel 
 against what I thought the injustice and cruelty of life ; 
 I insisted on prying into the motives and reasons of things, 
 and was deeply indignant because satisfactory answers 
 were not presented to my intelligence. I now take refuge 
 in the doctrine of the Unknowable, and have left off ask- 
 ing questions. No one can explain to me the great 
 enigma of life and suffering. I listen to the various argu- 
 ments with which people who think they know attempt 
 from time to time to convince me. I never contradict 
 them ; I smile and let them imagine they have produced 
 their effect, but each successive argument makes me more 
 certain that the mystery is unknown and unknowable. I 
 no longer beat my wings against the bars of my cage : I 
 doze on my perch and hail the end with tolerable com- 
 posure. I have even given up asking, except once now 
 and then when I am more ill or suffering than usual, 
 * What is the good of anything?' If good there is, we 
 shall know it some day ; if we are only puppets of blind 
 force, why, then we shall have fulfilled our purpose, and 
 the end will have come, and there will be no more need 
 for asking questions." 
 
 Eeine sat upright in her chair, with signs of strong 
 emotion in her expressive face. 
 
 " Ah, Mia," she exclaimed, " it is all very well for you 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 119 
 
 to talk ; you are fortunate to have arrived at such a con- 
 tented frame of mind ; but what about those who do 
 rebel, who cannot help rebelling, because they feel that 
 they have been deluded and cheated? that high ideas, 
 thoughts, aspirations, have been given them which they 
 can never realize ? that they are mocked and disappointed 
 through the very instinct which seemed highest and 
 purest ?" 
 
 " My dear child," replied Mrs. Herbert, " it is a great 
 pity that you ever met Henry Bertram." 
 
 " The best friend I ever had or ever shall have," inter- 
 rupted Eeine, warmly. 
 
 "The worst as a l philosopher and guide.' His effect 
 on you morally was as that of a bon vivant, who gives the 
 prescription that has cured his gout to a poor man who 
 is starving for want of generous food. It would have 
 been far better for you, my love, though you won't agree 
 with me, if when you were suffering from disappointment 
 and heart-soreness you had come across a priest or a re- 
 ligious enthusiast, who could have given you something 
 to prop up your faltering faith, instead of taking away 
 what slender support was still left and leaving you to fall 
 prone to earth." 
 
 " It is far better to know and face the truth," cried 
 Eeine, impetuously. 
 
 "But what is truth?" asked Mrs. Herbert. "To my 
 way of thinking, utter sceptics like our friend are further 
 from it than any one else. Henry is a man, strong men- 
 tally and physically ; he is perpetually occupied ; his diges- 
 tion is excellent; he is devoid of sentiment, therefore his 
 unbelief causes him no inconvenience of any kind. He 
 has no mental weakness, so a personal God is unnecessary 
 to him ; he has healthy, honorable instincts which guide 
 his life correctly and enable him to be quite comfortable 
 without religion. He thought he was doing you a great 
 kindness when, seeing your mind rent with doubt, trouble, 
 and disquietude, he tried to tear up what he considered a 
 miserable superstition from before your stumbling feet. 
 It was like a strong man taking the crutches from a crip- 
 ple and saying, ' See how well I walk. Throw away those 
 wretched devices, which are really of no use to you, and 
 walk erect and straight as I do.' " 
 
120 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 "But, Mia, you know that you believe in very little 
 yourself." 
 
 " I do not admit that," returned Mrs. Herbert. " As a 
 matter of fact, I do not know how much or how little I 
 believe. I find it best not to continue interrogating my- 
 self on the subject. If I am content to bow to the un- 
 alterable power which I acknowledge, and to accept des- 
 tiny without questioning, it seems to me as though I may 
 perhaps be demonstrating the highest form of faith. But, 
 my love, when, in autumn, the creepers that twine them- 
 selves round a tree gradually and naturally unloose their 
 clinging arms and drop to earth, it is very different from 
 those whose strong tendrils are torn violently away in 
 their full flowering-time. You want a counteracting influ- 
 ence. You are young, well," as Heine shook her head, 
 " let us say comparatively young, for, though six-and- 
 twenty seemed very old to me when I was seventeen, I 
 now look upon it as the most charming and fascinating 
 period of a woman's life. From twenty-five to thirty-five 
 a woman ought to rule every one she chooses to rule, 
 that is, a woman who is clever and charming, a woman 
 like you, Heine. Do you know that the best part of your 
 life is before you ? Do you know that if you were to love 
 now, to love a good, kind, honorable man, we won't say 
 anything about his being very clever, you might still be 
 a happy woman, and win back your old beliefs, or, at all 
 events, the best part of them ?" 
 
 And Mrs. Herbert's gray eyes grew quite eager in their 
 expression, and she looked affectionately at Eeine. 
 
 " Love and I are strangers," answered Heine, with a 
 sigh, sinking back in her chair. " I could not love now, 
 because I could not believe. Perhaps, dear Mia, I shall 
 get to your contented frame of mind some day, and think 
 ihe greatest blessing is to feel that no one is necessary to 
 my existence." 
 
 " But, my dear child, I did not feel that at your age, 
 and I do not think any one gets to feel it till he has suf- 
 fered great unhappiness and disappointment. The great- 
 est source of your unhappiness now is your imagination : 
 you live in a world of your own, and you want to idealize 
 every one with whom you come in contact. Your inclina- 
 tion is to believe everything that glitters to be gold, and 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 121 
 
 you take it as a personal injury that when the test acid 
 of experience is applied it corrodes. You shut your eyes 
 and idealize, and when you open them and look at reality 
 it seems coarse and brutal. If you were less critical and 
 more disposed to give the rein to your natural warmth of 
 heart and affection, you would be a much happier woman. 
 It is of no use at your age and with your nature to try to 
 starve your heart. Find some man who is honorable, to 
 be trusted, and devoted to you, and don't insist on ideal- 
 izing him and expecting all sorts of impossible things of 
 him, but be content to love him, and, if you must weigh 
 his demerits occasionally, put his good qualities in the other 
 scale, and balance the two fairly. Women of your sort 
 were not meant to live alone : sympathy and companion- 
 ship are absolute necessities. Why, even I, in spite of all 
 I say," with a sad little smile, " feel at times that to have 
 some one to whom I was necessary, whose life was bound 
 up in mine, would be a blessing worth paying a tolerably 
 severe penalty for. But I do not allow myself to dwell 
 on the idea, and immediately proceed to thank heaven 
 that Fortune has no hostages of mine, and to tell myself 
 that to care for any one or anything is to widen the joints 
 of one's armor and let the shafts of misfortune enter and 
 pierce one. You see, my love, the great difference between 
 us is that I am resigned to my lot, and probably could not 
 alter it if I wished, whereas you are not resigned, and 
 your fate is, humanly speaking, in your own hands." 
 
 " I wish I had never been born !" said Eeine, in a tone 
 of the deepest despondency. 
 
 " That is what I have wished all my life," replied Mrs. 
 Herbert. " I could never understand the intense love of 
 life which some people have who think ' only to live' such 
 a tremendous boon. Of course there have been times when 
 I have been exhilarated by air and sunshine and the pres- 
 ence of those I loved into being momentarily glad of life ; 
 but the feeling has been transitory. I dislike the idea of 
 dying, because of the mystery and doubt, the fears, mental 
 and physical, that surround the act of dying ; but to be 
 dead always seems desirable to me, and infinitely more 
 desirable, as the Preacher said, it is never to have been 
 born at all. There is only one thing that could reconcile 
 me to life, and that would be the knowledge that I had 
 
 F 11 
 
122 NCE AGAIN. 
 
 been of use in my generation ; that I had made others the 
 better for me ; that I had prevented a great deal of suffer- 
 ing and caused a great deal of happiness. I, like every 
 one else, love my own individuality, and should hate to 
 change it, but there is one man, whom I do not know and 
 never met, with whom I would gladly change places at 
 
 any moment, and that is Lord S . When I think of 
 
 the incalculable misery he has prevented and ameliorated, 
 the amazing amount of good he has done, I say to myself, 
 'A life like that is worth living, in spite of any amount 
 of personal misfortune, disappointment, or discouragement.* 
 What are the triumphs of the most beautiful woman or 
 the greatest statesman compared with these ?" 
 
 "Mia, dearest," interposed Eeine, with some anxiety, 
 "you are exciting yourself too much, and will have one 
 of your bad nights, I am afraid." 
 
 " Quite true, my little Mentor. I will be calm." And 
 Mrs. Herbert settled herself back among her cushions. 
 "Let us turn to a less exciting theme. How shall we 
 amuse our young men to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I think, Mia, it was very rash of you to ask them. I 
 fear they will be bored, and I am quite sure we shall." 
 
 "I am not sure of anything of the sort," returned her 
 friend. " I mean to make myself very agreeable, and, as 
 you know, I am extremely fond of good-looking young 
 men." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, dear Mia. I ought to have remem- 
 bered that no one could be bored in your pleasant com- 
 pany. I was selfishly thinking of myself." 
 
 " Let us pray for a fine day," said Mrs. Herbert. " We 
 will have luncheon first, and then take them for a drive : 
 that will get over the afternoon charmingly." 
 " Arrange everything as you please, my dear." 
 "But you will second me, Eeine? you promise not to 
 be distraite or disdainful ?" 
 
 " Mia, did you ever know me to fail in my duty as 
 hostess or part-hostess ?" 
 
 " No, I don't think I ever did. Now I am going to 
 read my book and calm my excited mind," said Mrs. 
 Herbert ; " and I advise you to do the same. It is a good 
 thing to exchange one's own ideas for those of some one 
 else." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 123 
 
 But Heine leaned back in her chair, and her thoughts 
 wandered off to dreamland ; and when she came back 
 from that far country there were tears in her eyes. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIY. 
 
 MRS. YERNON'S note was handed to Alwyne in the 
 Chesters' sitting-room, where he and Jack had repaired 
 after dinner. Mrs. Chester was with Lilah, who had one 
 of her headaches. 
 
 As he read, Alwyne's face blanched : then he threw the 
 note to his cousin. Jack, having read, looked up sympa- 
 thetically. 
 
 " I am awfully sorry," he said. " I suppose there is 
 nothing for it but to go." 
 
 Alwyne gave vent to his anger in furious and passionate 
 language. He heaped invectives on Mrs. Yernon, and 
 raved and stormed about the room like a madman. Men 
 are not frightened by each other's violence, and Jack, if a 
 trifle disgusted by his cousin's want of self-control, ut- 
 tered no remonstrance, but waited until he should recover 
 some degree of calmness. When Alwyne had partly in- 
 veighed away his fury, Mrs. Chester came into the room, 
 and, seeing his handsome face all distraught and perturbed, 
 stopped point-blank. 
 
 "My dear boy," she exclaimed, kindly, "what has hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 Alwyne, nothing loath, poured forth the recital of his 
 wrongs. He would have confided them to a perfect 
 stranger in his present mood. 
 
 Mrs. Chester was a kind woman, and her nephew's dis- 
 tress excited her sympathy at once. She tried to console 
 him with the thought that his rejection was only tempo- 
 rary, and that perhaps everything would come right in 
 the end. But Alwyne, like a spoiled child, passionately 
 refused to be consoled, and declared that he had been 
 shamefully used and was the victim of a mercenary, de- 
 signing, heartless woman who was only waiting to sell 
 that poor innocent darling, Dulcie, to a higher bidder. 
 
124 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 He implored his aunt's mediation. Would she see Mm, 
 Vernon and try to get the truth out of her? When Mrs. 
 Chester demurred, and said that she could not possibly 
 interfere in so delicate a matter, he grew very angry in- 
 deed, swore that every one was in league against him, and 
 went out of the room, slamming the door behind him. 
 
 Jack, though he mentally resented Alwyne's rudeness 
 to his mother, felt that this was not the time to take 
 notice of it, and only remarked apologetically that he 
 was afraid Alwyne was terribly cut up and had lost his 
 head a little. 
 
 " I am sorry for him, of course," returned Mrs. Chester, 
 who had all along been ill pleased with Alwyne's atten- 
 tions to Dulcie, and perhaps in her heart of hearts felt 
 that his sufferings were not wholly undeserved ; " but I 
 can quite understand that Mrs. Yernon wishes to see and 
 know a great deal more of him before trusting her dear 
 child's happiness to him. I fear Alwyne will make but a 
 very indifferent husband, and that any girl who marries 
 him will have a great deal to put up with from his violent 
 and uncontrollable temper." 
 
 "Dulcie Yernon is a dear, amiable little girl," said Jack, 
 "just the sort to suit him, because she would not oppose 
 him. Alwyne is a very good fellow if he is not contra- 
 dicted." 
 
 " I am afraid she is much too good for him," replied Mrs. 
 Chester. " I think she will make an excellent wife, and 
 deserves a better fate than to become the slave of a selfish, 
 tyrannical man." 
 
 Mrs. Chester, good and kind as she was, could not help 
 showing the soreness she felt, for she had fondly pictured 
 amiable Dulcie as the happy and fortunate wife of one of 
 the kindest and best men in the world, namely, her own 
 dear son. 
 
 " My dear mother, don't be too hard on the poor chap !" 
 urged Jack. " He has always been rather spoiled, you 
 know, and just now he is very hard hit." 
 
 Presently Jack went to seek his cousin, and found him 
 Bitting in his room with a gloomy expression of face, hav- 
 ing passed from the passionate to the melancholy stage. 
 After a time he allowed himself to be persuaded to go out 
 and smoke a cigar on the Promenade, and, having talked 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 125 
 
 for an hour and a half about his woes and wrongs, he ar- 
 rived at a state of comparative calmness. He would be 
 hanged, he said, if he would go right away. No; ho 
 would stop in the neighborhood, if only to aggravate the 
 old woman and to see fair play. Would Jack swear to 
 tell him everything that went on, and to talk to Dulcio 
 about him ? Jack promised the first part, but averred that 
 he could not run the risk of breaking up the friendly re- 
 lations of the party by doing what Mrs. Vernon would bo 
 sure to disapprove. Alwyne abused Jack's selfishness 
 roundly, and declared his intention of being even with 
 everybody all round some day. Jack ventured to ask 
 whether he would go to lunch with Mrs. Herbert on the 
 morrow, but he replied snappishly that he had no wish to 
 meet Mrs. Chandos, who was just as mercenary and in- 
 triguing as her aunt. No, he should go to his sister for 
 the present, and what he would do afterwards he bad not 
 yet made up his mind. 
 
 When, about half-past ten, Jack went back to the sitting- 
 room, he found his mother there. Her face wore rather a 
 perturbed expression, and had a little unusual tinge of 
 color. 
 
 " I thought you would perhaps come in again, my dear,' 7 
 she remarked. " I have something to say to you. I hope," 
 looking wistfully at him, " you will not be vexed." 
 
 An uncomfortable instinct came into Jack's breast that 
 he would be vexed, for he knew there was only one sub- 
 ject on which his mother could have anything to say that 
 would be unpleasant to him. 
 
 He tried to smile :'n a gay and unconscious manner. 
 
 " What can you possibly have to say that would vex 
 me, mother? Have I not been behaving myself?" 
 
 His mother, contrary to her custom, avoided meeting his 
 eyes. 
 
 " I heard you say," she began, " that you were going to 
 Cannes to-morrow. I am afraid that you are going to 
 see Mrs. Chandos." 
 
 Jack colored : there was a slight stiffness in his tone. 
 
 " And if I am, my dear mother," he replied, " I do not 
 quite understand why you should be afraid.'" 
 
 " My dear boy," cried Mrs. Chester, with visible agita- 
 tion, " I cannot bear to pain you, and yet I feel it my duty 
 
 11* 
 
126 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 to speak. Pray do not resent it : you must know that my 
 anxiety only proceeds from love." 
 
 Jack made no answer. something in his throat choked 
 speech, and Mrs. Chester, after a moment's pause, went 
 on : 
 
 kl I cannot help seeing that you have fallen in love with 
 Mrs. Chandos, in the last few days you have changed so 
 much and have looked so harassed ; but to-night, when 
 you came from Monte Carlo, you seemed pleased and 
 happy, and were so eager about going to Cannes to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Well, mother," Jack's voice trembled a little, but he 
 looked very steadfastly in his mother's eyes, " and if I 
 do love Mrs. Chandos ?" 
 
 " It would break my heart if you married her !" cried 
 Mrs. Chester, with strong agitation. " You know that I 
 have no selfish feeling in the matter, that it is no fear of 
 losing my home that makes me speak. I should be too 
 glad and thankful to see you marry some nice, good girl : 
 I was in hopes you might care for " 
 
 " Do not speak of any one else," interrupted Jack, " but 
 tell me what you object to in Mrs. Chandos." 
 
 " I have no doubt she is very clever, very fascinating," 
 poor Mrs. Chester hurried on, " but oh, my dear boy, she 
 is not the wife for you. I must tell you that I have read 
 her books, I got them in order to see if what I had heard 
 was true, and they have shocked me beyond words. It 
 is not only the love-verses, which indeed I cannot undbr- 
 stand any woman writing, but what horrifies me infinitely 
 more is the utter scepticism she displays. She must be an 
 atheist, the most awful thing 1 can imagine. Oh, my 
 dear son, how could you take such a woman to be mistress 
 of your house, mother of your children? Think of a 
 household presided over by a woman who had no religion, 
 no belief in God ! think of children brought up no better 
 than the poor heathen ! It must be a fearful sin against 
 God to marry such a woman : you would be calling down 
 a terrible judgment on your head by doing so !" 
 
 His mother's words pierced Jack's honest heart to the 
 core, for some of these ideas which she enunciated with 
 such passion and fervor had traversed his own brain, 
 although his principles were very much broader and more 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 127 
 
 liberal than hers. Still, he had been brought up in a 
 religious and somewhat narrow-minded atmosphere, and 
 he had the conviction of most men of the better sort, that 
 a woman ought to have a certain amount of piety and 
 should bring her children up in the love and fear of God. 
 Even men who have outgrown what they think of as the 
 " superstitions necessary to keep the lower classes in 
 order" still think it pleasing and right that women should 
 go to church, say their prayers, and teach their children 
 to do the same. But Jack had not outgrown superstition, 
 and had the most conservative ideas of Church as well as 
 State : therefore his mother's words made due impression 
 upon him, though he endeavored to resist their influence. 
 
 " But, mother," he said, " neither you nor any one else 
 can say that Mrs. Chandos is not as refined, as ladylike, 
 as particular in her conversation, as any other woman, 
 even if unfortunately she has listened to the arguments 
 of unprincipled men and is not perhaps exactly religious. 
 There is not," vehemently, " the least breath against her." 
 
 " My dear boy," cried his mother, " do not wilfully shut 
 your eyes to facts ! Could any right-minded woman have 
 written that poetry ?" 
 
 " There is always a certain amount of license permitted 
 to people with poetic imaginations," returned Jack. 
 
 " Would you like your wife to have written or to write 
 such lines ?" persisted his mother. " To my mind, there 
 is something very shocking in any expression of passion 
 of of the passions of the sexes from a woman." 
 
 Jack was silent, because to argue upon such a subject 
 with one's mother, particularly a very religious mother, 
 is next to impossible. Mrs. Chester looked down at the 
 floor, being also embarrassed by the turn the discussion 
 had taken. Jack was the first to speak. 
 
 " I think, mother," he said, " you may make your mind 
 perfectly easy. Mrs. Chandos looks upon me and treats 
 me very much as she might do an overgrown Eton boy 
 or an undergraduate, and would probably laugh in my 
 face if I presumed to take the liberty of expressing my 
 feelings for her." 
 
 At this Mrs. Chester naturally fired up. " I should 
 think she would feel very much flattered and honored," 
 cried the excellent lady. " And," with an unusual display 
 
128 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 of sarcasm, " I should be very sorry if you were to pro- 
 pose to her on the chance of her refusing you." 
 
 Like every man who loves, it was intolerable to Jack 
 to hear his idol spoken of slightingly. He turned away 
 with an angry gesture, then, recovering himself, said, in 
 an agitated voice, " Forgive me, mother, but I cannot dis- 
 cuss Mrs. Chandos with you." 
 
 Mrs. Chester cast an agonized glance at him. 
 
 " Are you going to break my heart ?" she said. 
 
 " I hope no one's heart will be broken," he answered. 
 "As I told you, mother, there is not the very smallest 
 chance of Mrs. Chandos giving me a thought. Good- 
 night." He approached, kissed her cheek with perhaps a 
 shade less of affection than usual, and retreated hastily, 
 whilst the poor lady, fearing to add another word, re- 
 mained overwhelmed with trouble and anxiety. She felt 
 certain that Jack would propose to Mrs. Chandos the next 
 day, and she was equally sure that dangerous woman 
 would accept him. 
 
 Jack, as he sought his own room, was in no happy 
 frame of mind: he had a painful consciousness that Mrs. 
 Chandos was perhaps not the woman whom in cold blood 
 he would have chosen to marry, but his blood was not 
 cold, and he knew that if she but held up a finger to him 
 he would follow wherever it beckoned. 
 
 The next morning the young men started after break- 
 fast for Cannes. Jack was to accompany Alwyne to his 
 sister's villa to spend the intervening time between his 
 arrival and the hour at which Mrs. Herbert had invited 
 him to lunch. 
 
 Belle evinced great pleasure at seeing them. Her hus- 
 band had left the night before for Algiers to spend a fort- 
 night with an old brother-soldier. But when she per- 
 ceived what a very bad frame of mind her brother was in, 
 she began to feel doubtful whether his companionship 
 would be any great boon, and when he went to look at 
 his room, and left her alone with Jack, she hastened to 
 confide her doubts to him. 
 
 " My dear Jack," she cried, the instant the door closed 
 upon him, " I foresee a dreadful time. Alwyne is in one 
 of his most detestable moods, and if I have him alone on 
 my hands he will drive me to distraction. I know what 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 129 
 
 he is when he is crossed in love. His temper is too dread- 
 ful : he abuses everybody and everything, or else sits and 
 looks like a skeleton at a feast. My dearest boy, do, for 
 pity's sake, come and stay here for a few days. For once, 
 three will be much better company than two, and if we 
 cannot manage him between us we can at all events fall 
 back upon each other." 
 
 A thrill of pleasure shot through Jack's heart as he 
 thought of the delight of being near Mrs. Chandos ; but 
 then it occurred to him that he had better wait until 
 after his visit before he accepted, in case he should see the 
 advisability of placing the sea between himself and a 
 hopeless passion. 
 
 " I shall be delighted to come if I can," he answered ; 
 " but I must leave it open until to-morrow, if you don't 
 mind." 
 
 " Nonsense !" returned Mrs. Pierpoint, bent on her plan: 
 "telegraph to your servant to bring your things over 
 to-night. I will write to auntie." 
 
 But Jack declared that in any case he must go back to 
 Nice that night, though, if possible, he would return in 
 the morning. 
 
 Belle, with her sharp woman's wit, made a very shrewd 
 guess on what her cousin's plans hinged, and devoutly 
 prayed that his visit might prove satisfactory. The day 
 was not one of the typical days of the sunny South. It 
 was gloomy ; there was a bitter wind blowing, and dust- 
 storms whirled about in an even more uncomfortable 
 manner than they do in much-abused England. And 
 when Jack arrived at the villa there was a dreadful blow 
 in store for him. Mrs. Herbert greeted him in the kindest, 
 most cordial manner. But then she hastened to say, 
 
 " I have a very sad piece of news for you. Poor dear 
 Eeine has a frightful headache and is unable to make her 
 appearance ; but I shall do my very best to entertain you, 
 and you must try to put up with my company." 
 
 Jack felt an awful sinking at his heart : he could not 
 even muster up courage enough to make the attempt to 
 look cheerful or to say something civil. He was oppressed 
 by the idea that the headache was only a woman's excuse, 
 and that it was Mrs. Chandos's way of intimating to him 
 that his society was unwelcome to her. 
 
130 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert divined his thought in an instant, but had 
 too much tact to let him see that she did so. 
 
 "It is only a pleasure deferred," she said, brightly. 
 " In a day or two you must come over again, if you will, 
 and the original programme shall be carried out." 
 
 During luncheon Mrs. Herbert was so bright and cheery 
 that Jack's drooping spirits began to revive. She seemed 
 to take it as a matter of course that they were to see a 
 good deal of him at the villa, and he found courage to tell 
 her that Mrs. Pierpoint wished him to spend a few days 
 with her. 
 
 " I am so glad," Mrs. Herbert said. " I hope you will, 
 and that we shall see you very often. We are two lonely 
 women, and we pretend to like solitude and to be unso- 
 ciable, but I really believe that we are very glad now and 
 then to be invaded by cheerful people from the outer 
 world. It may be all very well for an elderly invalid like 
 myself," she added, smiling, "but it is not right for a 
 charming young woman like Keine." 
 
 Jack, whose spirits were reviving, wished politely to 
 protest against her reference to herself, but she made a 
 little gesture with her hand. 
 
 " I have no youth and no illusions left," she said, cheer- 
 fully. " Please take me at my own estimate, and do not 
 think it necessary to make civil little disclaimers when I 
 refer to my age. You see, it gives a woman so much more 
 freedom and license when it is once understood that she 
 has no longer any youthful aspirations and is to be treated 
 as a friendly and benevolent godmother. I have several 
 godsons and god-daughters, and am always ready to add 
 to their number." 
 
 This was a kind way of intimating to Jack that she 
 took a friendly interest in him ; and he recognized the in- 
 tention, and began to think his hostess a very delightful 
 person. 
 
 " We had proposed," she said, when luncheon was over, 
 " to take you for a drive this afternoon ; but I dare not ven- 
 ture out on such a day : so we will go into the salon and 
 have our coffee and a chat, and as soon as you begin to get 
 bored you shall make any pretext you like, or none at all, 
 and run away. 
 
 " And now," said Mrs. Herbert, when they were in> 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 131 
 
 stalled by the fire in two comfortable chairs, and the ser- 
 vant who brought the coffee had departed, " we can talk 
 at our ease. I have a theory that it is wrong to make 
 personal remarks before servants ; and yet it is so much 
 more interesting to talk about people than things." 
 
 Then she drew him on to speak about his cousins, his 
 little invalid sister, his own interests and pursuits, then, 
 very gradually, to the subject of Eeine. She adroitly 
 ignored his feelings for her friend, and spoke of her as 
 though she wished to call his attention to the charms of a 
 person whom he did not perhaps sufficiently appreciate. 
 Jack listened with eagerness, with a glowing heart: he 
 began to feel as if he had known Mrs. Herbert all his life, 
 instead of having only met her yesterday for the first 
 time. 
 
 " There is no one," Mrs. Herbert said, " who has been 
 more misunderstood than Keine. It is perhaps her own 
 fault a little ; and yet, though I do not think she willingly 
 gives false impressions, she does not try to avoid doing so, 
 or to correct them when once they are made. The real 
 Keine is the most kind-hearted, lovable, affectionate creat- 
 ure in the world." 
 
 " I am sure of it," exclaimed Jack, with a warmth which 
 would have betrayed him even if his feelings had be.en a 
 secret until now. 
 
 " Perhaps," Mrs. Herbert continued, reflectively, without 
 giving any sign of having noticed his enthusiasm, "per- 
 haps you do not know by experience how wrong things 
 are apt to go in this world, and that many people, women 
 especially, "are doomed to contend with the very trials 
 which are most painful to them and cause them the great- 
 est suffering. Now, if Eeine, with her impulsive nature, 
 had married a man who was at all suited to her, she might 
 have been one of the happiest women in the world ; and 
 certainly no woman could have been better calculated to 
 make a man happy." 
 
 Jack devoured Mrs. Herbert with his eyes, as though 
 imploring further confidences. 
 
 She had every intention of confiding in him, for she had 
 made up her mind about him and had taken a very shrewd 
 diagnosis of his character. He was true ; he was to be 
 trusted ; he was devoted to Koine, and he was not in the 
 
132 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 very least likely to repeat what she said. Not that she 
 intended to make any indiscreet revelations to him : there 
 was nothing in Heine's life that a man who loved her 
 would not love her the better for hearing, nothing but 
 what would increase the chivalrous feeling of a good man 
 and intensify his desire to love and to protect her. Mrs. 
 Herbert made no apology for confiding in Jack, but now 
 rather assumed the air and manner of one who talks to a 
 common friend of some person whom both love. She was 
 an excellent talker, and could tell a story with a smooth- 
 ness and consecutiveness which few people are gifted 
 with. Probably if Eeine had been aware that her friend 
 was beguiling Sir John Chester with her biography she 
 would have been very angry ; but the blessing that we 
 ought to be most thankful for in this life ignorance of 
 what is said of us in our absence was vouchsafed to her, 
 and, little dreaming of the deeply-interesting tete-d-tete 
 that was going on down-stairs, she was hoping that poor 
 dear Mia was not being too dreadfully bored. 
 
 Poor dear Mia, however, was very far from being bored. 
 She had taken an immense fancy to Jack ; she had made 
 up her mind that he was the very man to make Eeine 
 happy, and she already intended to assist him by every 
 means in her power, being perfectly aware at the same 
 time that she would have to be very clever and cunning 
 to conceal her designs from that acute lady. As for Jack, 
 I leave the reader to conjecture what his feelings were as 
 he listened to and talked of the one subject that engrossed 
 his soul. 
 
 CHAPTBE XY. 
 
 " IF her mother had been alive, Eeine would never have 
 married that wretch," said Mrs. Herbert, with vindictive 
 energy. " The worst misfortune that ever happened to 
 the poor dear child was the death of Mrs. Chandos. She 
 was a charming woman, and she and Eeine were devoted 
 to each other." 
 
 " Mrs. Chandos, I suppose, was Mrs. Vernon's sister ?" 
 ventured Jack. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 133 
 
 " Yes ; but I do not think they were at all alike. I 
 knew Mrs. Chandos well, but my acquaintance with Mrs. 
 Yernon is only slight. She seems a thorough woman of 
 the world, and a much more decided person than her 
 sister, who was very gentle, very yielding, easily trampled 
 on. From what I have seen of Mrs. Yernon," smiling, "I 
 do not think it would be easy to trample on her." 
 
 " No indeed," smiled Jack, in response. 
 
 " When a woman is soft and gentle," observed Mrs. Her- 
 bert, " a man that is, a husband frequently takes the 
 opportunity of oppressing her." 
 
 "Eeally!" uttered Jack. "I'm afraid I don't know 
 much about these things." 
 
 " On the other hand," continued Mrs. Herbert, lightly, 
 " if the husband is weak and easy-going, he is tolerably 
 sure to be ruled with a high hand by his wife." 
 
 " I suppose," remarked Jack, doubtfully, " that opposite 
 natures were intended to come together." 
 
 " To the great detriment of the next generation," said 
 Mrs. Herbert. " Eeine and I have a theory that the cause 
 of most of our mental suffering is the opposing influences 
 of the two separate natures and wills that we inherit from 
 our two parents struggling within us. However," with a 
 light laugh, seeking Jack's look of perplexity, " I am not 
 going to bore you with our theories (we have a good many 
 between us) ; at all events, not now. They shall be kept 
 for another day. I did not like Colonel Chandos at all. 
 He could, and did, make himself very agreeable in society, 
 but was extremely despotic, arrogant, and ill-tempered at 
 home. Eeine inherited something of his fiery spirit as 
 well as her mother's kind heart and sweet nature, and she 
 resented his behavior, and would have shown her resent- 
 ment but for her mother's entreaties. The two were all 
 in all to each other, and then, as misfortune would have 
 it, Mrs. Chandos died from the effects of an accident when 
 Eeine was just seventeen, and, poor dear child! her heart 
 was all but broken. For some months she stayed with 
 me, then she went to her aunt, Mrs. Yernon, and finally 
 it was decided that she was to return to her father to pre- 
 side over his house. This did not answer particularly 
 well : he was tyrannical and disagreeable, and she resented 
 his treatment of her, and now there was no mother to 
 
 12 
 
134 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 stand between them. It was just at the time when she 
 felt most unhappy and unsettled at home that she met 
 Captain Bernard, who fell desperately in love with her. 
 I believe I hope I do not do him injustice that Colonel 
 Chandos knew that he had led anything but a reputable 
 life, and that he drank ; but he was rich and heir-presump- 
 tive to a barony, so the colonel, being rather anxious to 
 break up his establishment and enjoy more freedom for 
 himself, put no obstacle in the way. Eeine was always 
 imaginative and romantically inclined, poor dear child, BO 
 she proceeded to idealize her lover, and to throw a halo 
 of her own creating round him, and, as he was very cai e- 
 ful to keep his bad habits in the background, she imag- 
 ined him a sort of hero, and looked forward to the happi- 
 ness that only exists in story-books." 
 
 Jack gazed earnestly at his companion. 
 
 " You seem to take a very bad view of life," he said. 
 "Do you really think there is no happiness in it?" 
 
 " I think there is plenty of happiness for people with 
 good health and good digestions," answered Mrs. Herbert, 
 with something between a smile and a sigh. " I think 
 there is physical happiness and enjoyment, but that is for 
 those who do not look much beyond the physical ; but for 
 people troubled with great ideas and imaginations I be- 
 lieve there is a good deal more misery than happiness. 
 Young ladies who write poetry and look at the stars and 
 dream of knights and heroes are apt to suffer very rude 
 revulsions of feeling when they come in contact with the 
 hard and prosaic realities of life." s 
 
 " But," said Jack, with some warmth, " every man does 
 not turn out a drunken blackguard ; and if a beautiful 
 girl married a a decently good sort of fellow who was 
 devoted to her, even if he did not come up to her imagi- 
 nation, I suppose there might be a chance of his making 
 her tolerably happy." 
 
 " Of course there is every chance," Mrs. Herbert an- 
 swered. " If Heine had married some nice, kind man who 
 loved her, I believe she would have been a comparatively 
 happy woman. She would have come down from the 
 skies and found the earth quite habitable. I feel sure that 
 under some circumstances she might still be happy. I told 
 her so only last night." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 135 
 
 " And what did she say?" asked Jack, eagerly. 
 
 " She poo-poohed the idea, of course. But 1 do not. 
 despair." 
 
 Jack looked ardently at Mrs. Herbert as though he 
 were dying to say something, but she hurried on with her 
 story : 
 
 " Well, Eeine married, and for a month everything went 
 smoothly. Captain Bernard put a patent-leather boot on 
 his cloven foot until unfortunately he met an old boon- 
 companion whom he invited to dinner. When they joined 
 Heine in the drawing-room, she was painfully impressed 
 by something in her husband's demeanor, and retired early. 
 The pair adjourned down-stairs, and Captain Bernard, when 
 he again joined his wife, was hopelessly drunk. There 
 was a scene next morning: she threatened to leave him: 
 he promised reformation ; but after that his lapses from 
 sobriety became frequent. Eeine fled to her father, who 
 declined to receive her, and told her bluntly that she must 
 make the best of things, and she had no choice but to re- 
 turn to her wretched home for a time. Her love had 
 turned to loathing and contempt ; her husband, incensed 
 by her coldness and disgust, began to hate her ; he left 
 her and consorted openly with disreputable people, and 
 one night he threw a decanter at her which struck her 
 head and caused her nearly to bleed to death. A doctor 
 was sent for: the butler and footmen saw her fainting 
 on the floor: there was no lack of evidence of his cru- 
 elty." 
 
 Jack's face was rigid ; his teeth were clinched. Mrs. 
 Herbert purposely avoided looking at him. 
 
 " I was abroad at the time. She went to Mrs. Yernon 
 when she was able to be moved, and as soon as possible a 
 divorce was obtained. When she joined me some months 
 later in Italy, I think I never saw so heart-broken a 
 woman. She would not go anywhere in public nor see 
 any one : she had a morbid idea that she was irretrievably 
 disgraced. She was subject to the most violent outbursts 
 of despair and grief; her nerves were shattered, and 1 
 was at my wits' end to know what to do with her. It 
 was then that unfortunately, as I cannot help thinking 
 she met Henry Bertram. He took an immense interest in 
 and gained an enormous influence over her. She had been 
 
136 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 religiously brought up by her mother, and her mind was 
 then tormented by the impossibility of reconciling omnipo- 
 tence and universal benevolence in the Divine Being. Suf- 
 fering had weakened her faith, and she revolted from what 
 she considered the intolerable injustice of human life and 
 the cruelty of unmerited suffering. Henry Bertram is a 
 robust unbeliever, perfectly happy without a faith or 
 creed of any kind except the creed of personal probity 
 and honor, and he, not in the least comprehending the dif- 
 ference of fibre between his strong resolute nature and the 
 delicate, nervous, imaginative, dependent organization of 
 a woman or rather a girl like Eeine, thought the kindest 
 thing he could do for her was to convince her that the 
 religion in which she had been brought up was a sham 
 and a delusion, and that as soon as she cast off its shackles 
 and ceased to torment herself with vain speculations, ac- 
 cepted realities and made the best of life from his pagan 
 point of view, she would be an infinitely happier, more 
 contented woman. And, perhaps, if he could have 
 changed her life to one full of interests like his own and 
 closed her brain to thought, his remedy might have 
 answered, instead of depriving her of what little comfort 
 she had and taking away her sole main-stay." 
 
 " He must be a thundering blackguard," uttered Jack, 
 between his teeth. 
 
 " My dear Sir John," answered Mrs. Herbert, looking up 
 at him with a smile, " you could not have applied more un- 
 just or untrue epithets to Mr. Bertram. I know that in 
 the tract-books of one's youth an unbeliever was always 
 painted in appallingly black hues : he was bound to be a 
 drunkard, a murderer, a villain of the deepest dye ; and it 
 is almost shocking to one's pet theories to know that so 
 many atheists, agnostics, or whatever they are called, are 
 really excellent people. Henry Bertram is the soul of 
 honor ; he is the kindest, the most benevolent creature in 
 the world : he has discovered, he says, that good is good 
 for its own sake ; that it is far better to be upright and 
 just from conviction and inclination than from fear of 
 consequences ; that whether there be a future or not 
 (about which he gives no opinion, though he sees no 
 probability of it nor has any desire for it), it must make 
 the greatest difference in this life both to ourselves and 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 137 
 
 our neighbors whether we act rightly, kindly, unselfishly ; 
 that it is irrational to be always thinking about what is to 
 happen in another world, instead of minding our business 
 and doing our best in this, which is at all events a certainty 
 as long as it lasts." 
 
 Jack felt a keen sense of disappointment as he listened 
 to this description of the man whom it had pleased him to 
 think of as the evil genius of Mrs. Chandos. 
 
 He was not inclined to take him at Mrs. Herbert's 
 estimate, she, no doubt, being biassed by a personal parti- 
 ality ; for Jack still held the view which his interlocutor 
 smilingly derided, that a man who believed in nothing 
 must be a scoundrel and a villain. He felt that he would 
 rather not discuss Bertram : so he asked, after a moment's 
 pause, what had become of Captain Bernard. 
 
 "He is drinking himself to death," returned Mrs. Her- 
 bert, " but, having a fine constitution, he takes a consider- 
 able time about it. I shall be glad," she continued, calmly, 
 " when he is dead, for then I think perhaps Eeine might 
 be induced to marry. I fancy she would hardly consider 
 it right or feel quite comfortable about it as long as he 
 lives/; 
 
 Jack had been nerving himself to ask a question. Mrs. 
 Herbert's manner was so kind and confidential that it em- 
 boldened him to commit what he strongly suspected was 
 an indiscretion, if not an impertinence. He turned un- 
 easily in his chair, the color deepened in his cheek, and 
 then he said, with an effort, and stammering a little, 
 
 " Would it be taking a very great liberty if I asked you 
 a question? If you think it one, please don't answer me 
 or or take any notice of it. But but Mrs. Chandos's 
 poetry would make me think that she had had cared 
 very much about somebody " 
 
 " It does seem very wonderful to think," answered Mrs. 
 Herbert, smiling, " that all those very pretty and rather 
 well, if I must say it ardent verses were inspired by 
 idealization of a drunken brute like her husband, for I as- 
 sure you as a positive fact that Eeine has never shown 
 any sign of caring for any one else. She has a very poetic 
 and imaginative nature, and you know it is quite possible 
 for minds like hers to imagine and describe all sorts of 
 things they have not experienced. I have often been 
 
 12* 
 
138 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 quite amused to hear Eeine discussed by people who knew 
 nothing of her and simply judged her from her verses : 
 sometimes, however, I have been very angry, for the most 
 unjust and false judgments have been formed of her. Be- 
 cause she writes of love, the world pictures her surrounded 
 by lovers : they credit her with being her own heroine 
 and bestowing on various favored lovers the warmth of 
 feeling which she describes. There is not in this world 
 a more innocent or virtuous woman than Eeine, and no 
 one has been more surprised than I have at the passion- 
 ate utterances which she has occasionally given forth in 
 verse. I am tempted sometimes to wish she had never 
 written a line ; for, though it has given her a considerable 
 reputation and made her much sought after, I think it has 
 laid her open to very grave misinterpretation." 
 
 A load seemed to be lifted from Jack's heart. 
 
 " I can quite imagine what you say to be the case," he 
 said, warmly; " but yet it is very natural to think that 
 when people write about a subject they are expressing 
 their own feelings and and experiences." 
 
 " That is where ordinary mortals make such tremen- 
 dous mistakes. They cannot allow for the power of im- 
 agination. I can, for I also am imaginative. If I were to 
 shut my eyes and you were to describe to me something 
 that I had never seen or heard of, it would all be as plain 
 to my mind's eye as if I had witnessed it myself. And 
 any one who, like Eeine, is at the same time strongly im- 
 aginative and sympathetic, lives in a world of his own, 
 and sees visions and dreams dreams so strangely like re- 
 alities that commonplace people would decline to believe 
 that the seer had not taken actual part in them." 
 
 Jack was emboldened by Mrs. Herbert's frankness to 
 say something of a still more leading nature. 
 
 " It is so awfully kind of you to treat me and to talk to 
 me in the way you have done," he said, looking eagerly 
 and gratefully at her. " I I dare say you have seen how 
 much I I admire Mrs. Chandos. I have never met any 
 one who, /think, could hold a candle to her. Might I ask 
 you a question ?" imploringly. 
 
 u A dozen," replied Mrs. Herbert, kindly. 
 
 It was a minute or two before Jack could muster reso- 
 lution to drag out his next question. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 139 
 
 " Do I bore Mrs. Chandos? Is that why she has kept 
 out of the way to-day ?" 
 
 Mrs. Herbert smiled reassuringly. 
 
 " No, indeed," she answered. " I give you my word, 
 her headache is a sad reality. She is suffering torments. 
 Why, last night she and I were making all sorts of plans 
 for your entertainment to-day." 
 
 Again Jack felt a load taken from his heart. 
 
 " Of course," he said, humbly, " I know it is great pre- 
 sumption on my part to think of her at all. I cannot 
 hope to interest her in the very least ; but " 
 
 He looked down at the floor, and left his sentence un- 
 finished. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert took pity upon him and gave him a little 
 gentle encouragement. 
 
 "It is always a mistake," she said, smiling, "for a man 
 to undervalue himself. Do not be too humble : the wo- 
 man whom you wish to win never thinks any the more 
 favorably of you for it. You should be friendly and 
 pleasant, and endeavor to amuse her. If you look melan- 
 choly, as men not sure of their position frequently do, 
 you will bore her, and that will be fatal. I take quite a 
 friendly interest in you, and, if I can help you, I will. 
 But you must be guided by me." 
 
 Jack made all sorts of protestations of gratitude. In 
 the midst of them the door opened, and Mrs. Chandos. 
 looking pale and languid, but, as Jack thought, more 
 beautiful than ever, came in. 
 
 " Why, my love," cried Mrs. Herbert, rising to meet 
 her, " this is an agreeable surprise. You are better, I am 
 sure, or you would not be here." 
 
 " Yes," answered Eeine, " I am much better." And she 
 greeted Jack kindly. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert insisted on installing her on the sofa and 
 making all sorts of little arrangements for her comfort, in 
 which she called on Jack to assist her. 
 
 He felt as though sunshine had suddenly broken through 
 the gray afternoon, and his face beamed with pleasure. 
 It was so delightful to know that she had not purposely 
 avoided him, nay, that she had made an effort to come 
 down and see him. It was as well, poor fellow, that he 
 did not know the real nature of the effort. Eeine had 
 
140 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 thought her friend would be so bored by his prolonged 
 visit that she had come to relieve her from her task of 
 entertaining him. When Mrs. Herbert made some pre- 
 text to leave the room, Eeine did not attempt to hinder 
 her, thinking she had well earned this respite. 
 
 But she was agreeably surprised presently to find that 
 Sir John was not boring her. He told her about Alwyne's 
 banishment and despair, and Keine grew so interested that 
 she almost forgot her headache. Then she drew him on 
 to talk of his sister and his own pursuits, and Jack, giving 
 heed to Mrs. Herbert's recent advice, did his utmost to 
 amuse and interest her. When that discreet lady re- 
 turned, thinking it wiser not to give Eeine time to get 
 weary, she found them on excellent terms. She rang for 
 tea, and the three chatted away until Jack, with deep 
 reluctance, and only yielding to a strong sense of the 
 impropriety of inflicting his company any longer on his 
 hostesses, rose to take leave. He was coming the next 
 day, he told them, to stay with Mrs. Pierpoint, and both 
 pressed him very cordially to come again soon. 
 
 How light his heart was as he left the villa ! how differ- 
 ent his sensations from those he had suffered after his last 
 leave-taking there ! 
 
 " My dear Jack," cried Belle, as he entered his cousin's 
 drawing-room, " do, for heaven's sake, tell me that you 
 have made up your mind to stop with me for a few days ! 
 If you don't, I shall be in a lunatic asylum soon and 
 Alwyne will probably have committed suicide. I never 
 knew him take anything so badly ; and that is saying 
 a great deal. I suppose he really is in love this time. Tell 
 me, what extraordinary fascination is there about this 
 girl?" 
 
 " Only the fascination that every woman has for the 
 man who is in love with her, my dear, as far as I know. 
 She has none for me, except that she is a nice, pretty, 
 ladylike girl. Yes, I shall be very glad to come and help 
 you entertain him, poor chap ! But I don't think it will 
 be a very easy task." 
 
 Alwyne was at that moment cogitating in his own room. 
 His one idea was how he was going to communicate with 
 Dulcie and to see her without her mother's knowledge. 
 If Jack were worth a straw, he reflected, angrily, he 
 
(JNCE AGAIN. 141 
 
 could so easily help him : it was all very fine to talk about 
 honor where your own feelings were not interested ; but 
 never mind! he would do without him. And Alwyne 
 mused and mused until he had concocted a plan for cir- 
 cumventing Mrs. Yernon that he hoped would be quite 
 successful. 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 THE four ladies, left at Nice without their cavaliers, 
 were all more or less depressed and out of sorts. 
 
 Dulcie was wretched at having lost her handsome and 
 devoted admirer, Mrs. Yernon was perplexed and worried 
 beyond measure at the new complication, Mrs. Chester 
 was miserable at the thought of her dear son being ex- 
 posed to the dangerous seductions of Mrs. Chandos, and 
 Lilah was irritable and vexed at the absence of her 
 brother. The first three exerted becoming efforts to con- 
 ceal their feelings, but Lilah made no such attempt, her 
 ill health being always a sufficient excuse when she chose 
 to be cross and peevish. 
 
 Dulcie was beginning to conceive a sullen dislike to poor 
 Noel and to consider that he had shamefully entrapped 
 and deceived her. The prospect of going out to India as 
 the wife of a poor soldier no longer had any charms for 
 her; indeed, she thought it detestable, now that she 
 would have had the opportunity, but for her unfortunate 
 marriage, of being a rich and considered woman in her 
 own country. And Alwyne's imperious, determined na- 
 ture was eminently adapted to control her weak and 
 wavering one and to impress her with respect and admi- 
 ration. She blamed everything and every one but herself 
 for the misfortune which had befallen her : she even said 
 to herself that it was her mother's fault for preventing 
 her from seeing Noel and by so doing making her think 
 ten times more of him than she would otherwise have 
 done. 
 
 It was the afternoon following Alwyne's departure 
 when one of the chambermaids tapped at her door, and, 
 with a mysterious air. handed her a note which she said 
 
142 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 she had been bidden to deliver to mademoiselle when she 
 was alone. 
 
 Dulcie blushed vividly as she took the envelope from 
 the woman's hand, though she tried to assume a careless 
 and natural manner. She waited until she was alone, and 
 then, with a beating heart, broke the seal. It was, as she 
 guessed, from Alwyne, and was couched in the most pas- 
 sionate and despairing terms. He wrote of his unbear- 
 able misery, the absolute impossibility of enduring life 
 under such intolerable circumstances, and he conjured her 
 to grant him a meeting. He suggested that the following 
 day she should feign a headache arid declare herself too 
 ill to go down to dinner, and then, when her mother was 
 out of the way, steal out and meet him in the garden. 
 
 Dulcie's mind was a prey to all sorts of conflicting feel 
 ings, her desire to see Alwyne, the recollection that in 
 doing so she was committing almost a crime, fear, excite- 
 ment, doubt : her brain whirled as these conflicting emo- 
 tions chased each other through it. If she could only 
 have had some one to help or advise her! but she was 
 afraid to trust Morton now, and, of all things, shrank from 
 letting the maid know that the hated marriage was valid. 
 But the desire to see Alwyne again was paramount, and 
 triumphed even over her fears, and she presently indited 
 a few lines to him, saying that she would try to meet him 
 on the morrow as he wished, but that it would be only to 
 say " good-by" and must be for the last time. 
 
 She confided the letter to the chambermaid, and then 
 joined her mother in the sitting-room with a serene and 
 unconscious face. Her affair with Noel having given her 
 considerable training in deceit, it now came tolerably easy 
 to her, and she was not visited by any very severe qualms 
 of remorse, as a girl of strong feelings might have been. 
 She did not mean any harm : on the contrary, she meant 
 to tell him that he must not write to her or try to see her 
 at present. If he was so miserable about her, it was only 
 fair just to see him and bestow what consolation she 
 could upon him. Besides this, there was a strong secret 
 desire in her heart not to lose him : even without ac- 
 knowledging it to herself, she clung to the hope that 
 something she did not say death might free her from 
 her hated bond. And then she might marry Alwyne, the 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 143 
 
 most delightful fate imaginable, and she would get away 
 from her mother, whom she no longer loved, but merely 
 dreaded. 
 
 When Mrs. Yernon saw her daughter so apparently 
 cheerful and unconcerned, she did not suspect her of any 
 fresh duplicity, but only reflected wonderingly on her 
 extraordinary insensibility. Strong-willed and resolute 
 people are unsuspicious, as a rule. They attack their de- 
 sires in a straightforward manner, and try to carry them 
 by a coup de main. If they are disappointed and thwarted, 
 they show their feelings openly, rarely attempting dis- 
 guise ; and they are exceedingly prone to take it for 
 granted that other people's looks and actions are equally 
 natural and spontaneous. Having dealt a crushing blow 
 on Dulcie by assuring her of the validity of her marriage, 
 she was not in the least prepared for the young lady's 
 continuing to encourage Mr. Temple's suit. 
 
 Whilst despising Dulcie in her heart for the weakness, 
 poverty, insensibility of her nature, she still thought it 
 matter for congratulation that the girl, had so little 
 feeling. 
 
 The next day after luncheon Dulcie complained of 
 headache. During their afternoon drive she assumed a 
 languid air, and on returning home went at once to lie 
 down. She made Morton darken the room ; she sub- 
 mitted to the operation of having her brow bathed with 
 eau-de-cologne and water ; she even went so far as to take 
 the remedies which her mother prescribed. And, as the 
 dinner-hour approached, she asked, in a faint voice, to be 
 left alone to sleep. She refused to allow Morton to sit in 
 the room with her, and begged that she might not be dis- 
 turbed until she rang her bell, when the chambermaid 
 would tell Morton. 
 
 It was a great relief to Dulcie when she was left alone, 
 for she was in such a fever of excitement and terror at 
 the bold action she plotted that it was only by an ex- 
 traordinary exertion of self-cdmmand that she remained 
 motionless in her recumbent position. The instant she 
 was alone, she started up, locked the door, dressed herself 
 in her darkest clothes, looked out the thickest veil she 
 possessed, and waited with what patience she might until 
 she heard the summons to the table-d'hote. She delayed 
 
144 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 another ten minutes to give every one time to assemble in 
 the dining-room ; then, tying on her veil and another over 
 it, she peeped cautiously from her door, and, having as- 
 sured herself that there was no one about, hurried along 
 the corridor, descended a side staircase, and made her way 
 out of the house by a back door. In two minutes more 
 she and Alwyne were together, he pouring out all sorts 
 of passionate exclamations of love, she listening, half en- 
 chanted, half terrified. It was in vain she tried to tell him 
 that she had only come to wish him good-by for the last 
 time ; that he must not try to see her or write to her any 
 more for the present : his vehemence bore down all her re- 
 monstrances and protestations as the current bears a straw 
 on its bosom. He could not live without her ; he would 
 shoot himself if this sort of thing went on ; if she would 
 only trust to him and do as he told her, he would arrange 
 their meetings and correspondence, and they would be- 
 tween them manage to outwit her mother. He urged her 
 passionately over and over again to tell him what the ob- 
 stacle to their love was, and pressed upon her the sugges- 
 tion that there was some other suitor whom her mother 
 thought more eligible. Dulcie found it the easier plan to 
 allow him to assume that this suspicion was correct. 
 
 Time sped on with that incredible swiftness which he 
 only employs during the meetings of lovers, and Dulcie, 
 who<in her calculations had arranged that she must not be 
 absent from the hotel more than twenty minutes, found to 
 her horror, when she looked at her watch, that nearly 
 forty had elapsed. She was terrified : the table-d'hote 
 would be over; she would meet some of the hotel guests 
 in the passages or on the stairs, and they would infallibly 
 recognize her. What should she do? She tore herself 
 from Alvvyne's embrace and fled back to the hotel, crept 
 cautiously in at the door, got up-stairs without meeting 
 any one except a waiter and a chambermaid, turned into 
 her own corridor with a sensation of intense relief, opened 
 her door, and found herself face to face with her 
 mother. 
 
 For a full minute an awful minute, pregnant with hor- 
 ror not a word was uttered by either. "Dulcie felt she 
 was lost. Mrs. Yernon had realized the situation and 
 decided upon action. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 145 
 
 When she spoke, there was a terrible calmness in her 
 voice. 
 
 " You have been to meet Mr. Temple?" 
 
 No response from Dulcie. 
 
 " Knowing that you are the wife of another man. Per- 
 haps you are contemplating an elopement with him. The 
 punishment for bigamy is imprisonment." 
 
 Dulcie stood trembling like a leaf, looking away from 
 her mother. Mrs. Yernon was in a state of intense exas- 
 peration, but her tone was cold and incisive. 
 
 " I see," she continued, " that if you remain with me 
 you will end by bringing some terrible disgrace upon me. 
 I have no longer any control over you, and deceit is a 
 thing with which I cannot pretend to cope. I now look 
 upon the accident which happened to your husband on 
 your wedding-day as a very great misfortune for me. But 
 for that, I should be relieved of all responsibility about 
 you, and you would probably be on your way to India. I 
 intend to start for England the day after to-morrow, and 
 the moment that your husband is well enough to under- 
 take the care of you I shall hand you over to him. Of 
 two evils one must choose the least, and though your ex- 
 traordinary story may give rise to some gossip, still I feel 
 it is better to let the world talk about that than about 
 some still more disgraceful situation into which you may 
 possibly get yourself. For my own part, I shall endeavor 
 to forget the past and the affection and interest which I 
 have always felt for you : indeed, I shall be thankful to be 
 relieved from the frightful responsibility of looking after 
 a girl who has neither self-respect nor, apparently, any 
 sense of right and wrong. If, between this time and the 
 day you go to your husband, I find you holding corre- 
 spondence of any kind with Mr. Temple, I shall write and 
 tell him the truth." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon's words had their full effect. Dulcie was 
 terrified nearly to death. She sobbed and cried, implored 
 and entreated, promised anything in the world if only her 
 mother would not forsake her and give her up to Noel. 
 For now the weak girl was persuaded that all her heart 
 was given to Alwyne, and the thought of Noel was hate- 
 ful to her. 
 
 The sight of her distress did not touch one chord of pity 
 G k 13 
 
146 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 in her mother's heart : she felt nothing but boundless con- 
 tempt for her. She was satisfied with the excellent result 
 of her threats, about which she was half in earnest. She 
 argued seriously to herself that Dulcie's extraordinary 
 weakness and apparent obliviousness to right and wrong 
 might lead her into some very serious predicament, and 
 she told herself, besides, that, as the girl was really mar- 
 ried to Noel and the marriage could not be undone, the 
 only thing was to make the best of it and let it be an- 
 nounced to the world as soon as possible. Her own ambi- 
 tion on Dulcie's behalf was crushed forever: all she could 
 now hope was to make her own life as pleasant and agree- 
 able as possible. Dulcie in India would be very much like 
 Dulcie dead : the affection which she had entertained for 
 her only child had dwindled away to nothing: indeed, th 
 girl's companionship had become irksome and the respon- 
 sibility for her caprices harassing in the extreme. 
 
 If, three months earlier, any one had told her that her 
 feeling for her daughter could undergo such a change, she 
 would not have believed it ; but Dulcie's behavior }iad 
 caused her such poignant disappointment and annoyance 
 that, not having the blind mother's love which no ill con- 
 duct on the part of a child can alienate, she had grown to 
 look upon her with a degree of coldness, anger, and dis- 
 trust which swamped all warmer feeling. 
 
 .Dulcie's tears and distress did not move her: she took a 
 revengeful pleasure in terrifying her and in seeing her 
 suifer. Why should she be sorry for a girl who had been 
 absolutely indifferent to her feelings ? 
 
 " You have brought all this on yourself," she said, un- 
 pityingly, " and must take the consequences. I cannot 
 help you : you have put yourself beyond the power of any 
 one to help you. I have brought you up with the utmost 
 care ; you have been guarded and shielded from harm, you 
 have never been left to the care of strangers or hirelings, 
 never had an anxiety or trouble ; and yet the very first 
 time when, for your own sake, I thwart you, when, for 
 your own sake (for how can it personally affect me whether 
 you are comfortable or uncomfortable, happy or un- 
 happy ?), I refuse to allow you to see more of a penniless 
 man without recommendation of any sort, you at once 
 fly to deceit, and, with the most extraordinary folly and 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 147 
 
 obstinacy, take a step which is to ruin your whole future. 
 You thought you were in love with Mr. Trevor, and here, 
 you see, less than two months after you have married him 
 and by doing so cut yourself off from all other men, you 
 fall in love again, and this time with a man whom I would 
 gladly have received and welcomed, and who would have 
 been an excellent match." 
 
 Dulcie buried her face in her hands in an agony of self- 
 abasement and misery. Each word of her mother's cut 
 her to the heart. 
 
 " Even now," proceeded Mrs. Yernon, with unrelaxed 
 severity, " I do not think you realize your position. Are 
 you aware that in listening to Mr. Temple's professions of 
 love, and perhaps permitting his embraces (for I have so 
 little opinion of you that I think even this quite possible), 
 you are committing a positive crime ? If your husband 
 ever hears of this, what do you suppose he will think of 
 it ? No doubt he imagines you to be devoted to him ; and 
 how would he like to know that, when he is lying at 
 death's door, you are stealing out at night to meet another 
 man ?" 
 
 By this time Dulcie was in hysterics, and her mother 
 thought it expedient to discontinue the infliction of the 
 moral kourbash. She proceeded to leave the room, saying, 
 somewhat unfeelingly, 
 
 " You had better control yourself, or you will have peo- 
 ple coming to see what is the matter. I shall return 
 when you are more composed, and will then tell you my 
 plans." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon went back to the sitting-room a prey to 
 feelings of the most unpleasant kind. Until the last day 
 or two, when Alwyne's suit had taken her so disagreeably 
 by surprise, she had really been enjoying the life at Tic 
 when she could get away from the dreadful thought of 
 Dulcie's marriage. The sunshine and beautiful scenery, 
 the companionship of her old friend Mrs. Chester, and of 
 other pleasant acquaintances, had made life extremely 
 agreeable, and she had been in part able to lay aside the 
 haunting dread of the future. She was willing to wait 
 calmly for events without going to meet misfortune. It 
 was obvious now that she must leave Nice and get Dulcie 
 away from Alwyne's influence ; and she came to the con- 
 
148 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 elusion that the best plan would be to return to London. 
 As to travelling about alone with her daughter, the idea 
 was intolerable; and now Mrs. Yernon was really of 
 opinion that the sooner Dulcie was re-married and handed 
 to her husband the better. She had fled from England to 
 be out of Noel's way ; now she was about to return in 
 order to seek him. Such is the irony of Fate! 
 
 But what excuse was she to make to Mrs. Chester for 
 leaving Nice? No allusion had been made by either of 
 the ladies to Alwyne's suit or his sudden departure, though 
 Mrs. Yernon did not for a moment doubt that her friend 
 was aware of the former and its connection with the latter. 
 It would be better to avoid the awkwardness that a refer- 
 ence to the truth might occasion, and to invent some 
 plausible excuse. 
 
 She would say that her father, who was a very old 
 man, was in such a precarious state of health that she felt 
 it her duty to go to him at once, as she had received a 
 report which occasioned her great anxiety. The next 
 morning she would telegraph her intended return to Mr. 
 Benson and the butler, and the day following they would 
 leave Nice and travel straight through to England. 
 
 Mrs. Yernoi} arranged all her plans with care, and, 
 when they were quite settled, went back to her daughter's 
 room. 
 
 Dulcie was lying limp and exhausted on the bed, in- 
 capable of remonstrance or resistance to her mother's 
 will. Mrs. Yernon, in a quiet, decided voice, informed 
 her of her plans and of the reason which she intended to 
 give to Mrs. Chester and their other acquaintances for 
 their sudden departure. 
 
 Dulcie did not respond by a single word. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon, on leaving her, sent for Morton, and, io 
 the maid's bitter disappointment, told her that she would 
 have to pack up on the morrow, and assigned the same 
 reason for returning to London that she proposed to give 
 to every one else. 
 
 Morton could have cried : she had never enjoyed any- 
 thing so much in her life as this sojourn in the Nice hotel, 
 where there was as much gayety below-stairs as above, 
 and where she mixed with the most delightful company 
 of valets and ladies' maids, was invited to soirees and 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 149 
 
 dances, played cards, and heard the most interesting and 
 scandalous gossip about all the families in the place who 
 were fortunate enough to be represented by domestics. 
 
 But she could not remonstrate with her lady against 
 thus arbitrarily cutting her off from her new-found joys 
 and pleasures : she could only exhibit her chagrin in her 
 face and manner, of which, naturally, Mrs. Yernon took 
 not the smallest notice. 
 
 Having laid her commands on Morton, Mrs. Yernon 
 sought Mrs. Chester, and, in the most natural manner in 
 the world, confided to her that she had received news of 
 an alarming character about her father's health and felt 
 it her duty to return at once to England. Mrs. Chester, 
 the most truthful and unsuspicious woman living, believed 
 implicitly what her friend told her, and sympathized in 
 the warmest and most sincere manner with the afflicted 
 daughter. She deeply regretted the departure of Mrs. 
 Yernon and Dulcie, to both of whom she had become 
 much attached. They had made her stay at Nice much 
 pleasanter than it would otherwise have been ; and she 
 extracted a promise from Mrs. Yernon to go and visit her 
 in the summer or autumn. 
 
 Mrs. Chester sat ruminating very sorrowfully after her 
 friend left her. She was shy and retiring, not at all given 
 to making acquaintances, and she scarcely knew any one 
 in the hotel or the place with whom she would care to 
 associate when Mrs. Yernon and Dulcie left. And she 
 thought sadly how the little castle had been thrown down 
 which she had built for the habitation of her son and 
 Dulcie, that dear, good, innocent girl, who would have 
 made him such a charming wife. And he was now, as, 
 alas! there could be no doubt, under the pernicious influ- 
 ence of the dangerous siren at Cannes, who had cast a 
 glamour over him which, as his mother believed, had 
 never been cast by any woman before. What, ah ! what 
 was to be the end of it ? 
 
 13* 
 
150 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 CHAPTEK XYII 
 
 IT was the end of May. Dulcie and her mother were 
 entering into the festivities of the season, and leading ex- 
 actly the same sort of life as they would have done had 
 the untoward event of the previous November never hap- 
 pened. Noel had made no sign : they were ignorant of his 
 fate, his whereabouts, of everything that concerned him. 
 Now and then the remembrance of him came across both 
 mother and daughter as a sort of nightmare, but, by com- 
 mon consent, no mention was ever made of him. 
 
 Never had Dulcie received so much attention. Fate, 
 with the irony in which she delights, brought several ad- 
 vantageous suitors to her feet, suitors whom a year ago 
 Mrs. Yernon would have welcomed with delight. The 
 frigid reception which they met at the hands of both 
 mother and daughter seemed to increase their ardor. Mrs. 
 Yernon was forced by circumstances to turn a deaf ear 
 and cold glances upon men whom she would have gladly 
 smiled at, and Dulcie was terrified now at the approach 
 of any man with words of love and admiration on his lips. 
 For Alwyne was the real possessor of her heart, and, al- 
 though she had not seen him since that dreadful evening 
 at Nice, she had determined in her foolish head that he 
 was the only man she ever could or would love, and, as it 
 was impossible she could marry at all, she would never 
 place herself again in the terrible predicament in which 
 that affair with Alwyne had landed her. 
 
 She went to balls, parties, and plays, she danced, she 
 smiled, she talked pleasantly enough ; but the moment 
 any admirer showed symptoms of tenderness or undue at- 
 traction she froze at once, and, contrary to the old axiom, 
 the more fire he showed, the less disposition the young 
 lady evinced to him. Once or twice Mrs. Yernon had 
 earnestly discussed her daughter's affairs with Mr. Benson. 
 He recommended her to wait until Mr. Trevor took the 
 initiative. There was no question in his own mind that 
 the young man's head had been affected by the injury : he 
 might even have forgotten the fact of the marriage, or his 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 151 
 
 health might still be in such a condition that he felt it ex- 
 pedient to wait until he was stronger before he made the 
 necessary overtures and explanations which would now be 
 indispensable to the recovery of his wife. It was quite, 
 possible, Mr. Benson suggested, that he had been warned 
 against any excitement and that he feared the consequences 
 of a meeting with Mrs. Yernon. He must be convinced 
 ere this, by Dulcie's having made no attempt to see or 
 communicate with him, that his hold over her was not so 
 strong as her mother's. He saw nothing for it but to wait. 
 To seek out the young man and, if he was still an invalid. 
 as there could be no doubt he was, to put it into his head 
 to claim his wife would be a most unwise proceeding. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon had resumed friendly relations with Dulcie. 
 After their return to London she had felt the utter im- 
 possibility of their living together on bad terms : so mak- 
 ing an immense effort over herself, she pretended to ignore 
 all the unpleasantness which had gone before, and to 
 take up life from the morning before Dulcie had sallied 
 forth to commit that fatal, irretrievable action which she 
 imagined was to lead her straight to the " happy ever 
 after" point. As this would have been almost impossible 
 had they remained tete-a-tete, Mrs. Yernon invited friends 
 to stay with them : so that for some months now there 
 had nearly always been a third person whose presence 
 made the amenities of life necessary and comparatively 
 easy. At the present moment the, in this case, welcome 
 third was a cousin of Mrs. Yernon's, a widow of middle 
 age, childless, prepossessing in face and manner, good- 
 tempered, and fairly well-off. Dulcie was fond of her, 
 and she, Mrs. Leslie, entirely reciprocated the affection. 
 She liked the society of young people better than that of 
 women of her own age. Mrs. Yernon, who was suffering 
 slight inconvenience at this time from a strain of a sinew, 
 was glad that Mrs. Leslie should relieve her occasionallv 
 from the duties of chaperonage and take Dulcie to balls 
 and other entertainments which necessitated standing 
 about. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie loved society, and was disposed for all sorts 
 of amusement. She particularly liked walking in the 
 Row in the morning, and had no difficulty in persuading 
 her pretty cousin to accompany her. Mother and daugh- 
 
152 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 ter had kept their own counsel well, and Mrs. Leslie had 
 not the faintest suspicion of the exciting romance of 
 which the quiet and modest Dulcie had been the heroine 
 a few months before. 
 
 This fine May morning Mrs. Leslie and Dulcie, as usual, 
 wended their way to the Park, and took chairs placed 
 with their backs to the railings and commanding a view 
 of all who passed down the Eow. A friend of Mrs. 
 Leslie's came up, greeted her with warmth, and asked 
 permission to take the vacant chair beside her. It was 
 at this moment, when her cousin's attention was quite 
 absorbed, that Dulcie, looking to her right, beheld within 
 a few paces of her the handsome face and figure of 
 Alwyne Temple. The blood rushed tumultuously to her 
 cheeks ; at that instant he caught sight of her, and a look 
 of delight beamed in his eyes. In another moment, 
 having assured himself that Mrs. Vernon was not of the 
 party, he had quietly taken the seat beside Dulcie and 
 was pressing her hand. 
 
 "Is it safe to speak to you?" he whispered, with a 
 glance at Mrs. Leslie's averted head ; and Dulcie made a 
 sign in the affirmative. 
 
 " My own darling ! how delighted I am to see you once 
 more !" he murmured. " If you knew how wretched I 
 have been all this time! Tell me, is your mother still 
 dead against me, or has the mysterious obstacle been 
 removed ?" 
 
 At this question, fraught with horror to Dulcie, the 
 crimson, which had been waning in her cheeks, flowed 
 in full tide over them again. She shook her head and 
 looked utterly miserable : the delight which she had felt 
 at sight of Alwyne was swallowed up in the dreadful 
 remembrance of Noel. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie turned her head at the moment, and, well 
 pleased to find that Dulcie was apparently so agreeably 
 occupied, returned with redoubled energy to flirting with 
 her companion, Colonel Strange. 
 
 Alwyne saw the distress in the girl's face, and it per- 
 plexed him greatly. 
 
 " Tell me, darling," he whispered, " what is this wretched 
 obstacle ? We are as good as alone now : you know you 
 can trust me : it is awfully cruel to keep me in this sus- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 153 
 
 pense. I have never known a happy hour since that night 
 at Nice when I last saw you. I went to India, and haven't 
 been back a week. Tell me, darling, I implore you," he 
 urged, in a low voice of entreaty, afraid of attracting Mrs. 
 Leslie's attention. 
 
 It was an awful position for Dulcie, who, having been 
 lifted to a seventh heaven of delight at seeing Alwyne, 
 was now plunged into the depths of woe at the remem- 
 brance that he could be nothing to her and that it was 
 absolutely impossible for her to tell him why. 
 
 "Don't ask me!" she said, miserably. "I can never 
 marry. It is no use talking. Mamma will not hear of 
 it." 
 
 "Do you mean, solemnly," asked Alwyne, looking at 
 her as though his eyes could pierce her secret heart, " that 
 you will never be able to marry anybody?" 
 
 Dulcie hesitated. There was always the hope that 
 Noel might die: for all she knew, he might be dead al- 
 ready. 
 
 Alwyne pressed her for an answer. 
 
 " I do not know about never," she said, at last, des- 
 perately ; u but not yet. I must not even talk or think 
 about it yet. But, oh !" in a very low voice, " could you 
 not, if you really care for me, be patient for a little and 
 wait?" 
 
 " Be patient ! good God !" cried Alwyne, unconsciously 
 raising his voice in his excitement, but suddenly checked 
 by the curious looks of two ladies who were passing at the 
 moment. Mrs. Leslie was, fortunately, too much engaged 
 with her colonel to hear his exclamation. 
 
 " Pray don't speak so loud," whispered Dulcie, implor- 
 ingly. " If my cousin were to hear ! And if mamma 
 knew I had spoken to you, she would be so dreadfully 
 angry." 
 
 " But cannot I meet you somehow without your mother 
 knowing ?" he said, eagerly. " Wouldn't your cousin help 
 us ?" indicating Mrs. Leslie by a gesture. 
 
 "It does not do to trust any one," answered Dulcie, 
 mournfully shaking her head. " I shall not tell her your 
 name. I shall pretend I have forgotten it." 
 
 " Is she staying with you ? Do you often go out with 
 her?" asked Alwyne. 
 
154 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " Yes. Mamma is not well, and my cousin is taking me 
 about." 
 
 Alwyne's face brightened. 
 
 " Then I think we shall be able to manage something," 
 he said, hopefully. " Tell me, are you going to many 
 dances or balls just now ?" 
 
 " I am going to the Fawcetts' to-night," she answered. 
 
 "That's capital!" replied the young man, joyfully. 
 " Charlie Fawcett and I were at Eton together. I met 
 him only this morning, and he invited me, though, when 
 I accepted, I had not the smallest intention of going. 
 How I shall look forward to to-night ! Do not be late, 
 my darling ! Let us, at all events, have one happy even- 
 ing together. And after that," looking very handsome 
 and resolute, " we will see if something cannot be man- 
 aged for the future. I don't intend your mother or any 
 one else to spoil our lives." 
 
 Dulcie seemed to catch the infection of his spirit. Yes, 
 for once she would be happy ; for once she would forget 
 that dreadful sword of Damocles hanging over her. 
 
 " Wish me good-by now," she whispered. " I do not 
 want my cousin's suspicions to be excited." 
 
 And Alwyne, after protesting, complied at last with deep 
 reluctance. 
 
 " Till to-night, then," he whispered, with a string of 
 endearments hanging to the words. 
 
 The next time that Mrs. Leslie looked round, Dulcie's 
 companion had disappeared, and she suggested that it was 
 time for them to be going lunchward. Her colonel ac- 
 companied them to the Grosvenor gate. When he took 
 leave, Mrs. Leslie questioned Dulcie about her friend in 
 the Eow. 
 
 " I forget his name," Dulcie replied, mendaciously 
 
 " He is very good-looking, wonderfully good-looking," 
 remarked Mrs. Leslie. " And I thought he seemed very 
 devoted to you." 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Dulcie, "not at all. I met him at 
 Nice ; but do not mention him before mamma. For some 
 reason or other she did not like him, and perhaps she 
 might be vexed at his speaking to me." 
 
 " I suppose that, like most good-looking young men, he 
 has no money," returned Mrs. Leslie. " Do not be afraid, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 155 
 
 my dear: I will be the soul of discretion. But I wonder 
 that he has not made more impression on you. Tell me, 
 Dulcie, have you never been in love ?" 
 
 " I think being in love is a mistake," returned Dulcie, 
 evasively. 
 
 " But how can one help it?" said her cousin, gayly. "I 
 have always been in love more or less all my life." 
 
 "And is Colonel Strange the last?" asked Dulcie, de- 
 lighted at the opportunity of turning the conversation 
 away from herself. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie blushed like a girl, and all the way home 
 expatiated on the agreeable qualities of Colonel Strange. 
 
 Dulcie excused herself from driving with her mother in 
 the afternoon. Her mind was full of excitement : she was 
 looking forward eagerly to the night. But afterwards! 
 What was to happen afterwards ? It seemed as if she did 
 not care. Only let her spend these delightful hours with 
 Alwyne, dance with him, sit out in some sequestered 
 spot with him, hear him say again that he loved her, 
 and then come what would ! How strangely things hap- 
 pened in the world ! These people who were giving the 
 dance to-night were the same at whose house she had met 
 Noel. At this moment Dulcie could not believe or realize 
 that she had ever cared for him : it seemed to her as 
 though she must have been under some fatal spell. When 
 she compared him with Alwyne, she could not imagine 
 what she had ever seen to like in him. But at that time 
 she had not known Alwyne. There was hardly a man of 
 her acquaintance whom she did not prefer to poor Noel, so 
 prejudiced and bitter she felt against him for the suffering 
 and wretchedness he had caused her. 
 
 Morton thought her strangely fanciful and capricious a 
 she dressed for the ball that evening. Usually compla- 
 cently indifferent to her appearance, she seemed to-night 
 intensely anxious about it : nothing could please her or 
 convince her that she was really looking her best. And 
 yet she had never looked so pretty : the unusual anima- 
 tion which excitement lent to her became her amazingly. 
 Her mother was surprised at her beauty, and groaned in- 
 wardly as she thought how disastrously its advantages 
 had been thrown away. 
 
 Alwyne was on the stairs waiting for Dulcie when she 
 
156 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 arrived at the ball, and a moment after she had greeted 
 her hostess his arm was round her, and they were gliding 
 away in the most delightful of waltzes. The rooms were 
 not yet full, and dancing was not only possible but enjoy- 
 able. Three-quarters of an hour passed, it was just upon 
 midnight, and Alwyne had not left her for one instant. 
 
 Dulcie knew that she was committing the gravest im- 
 prudence, that her mother would never forgive her if 
 she ever came to learn the events of this evening ; but, 
 somehow, the danger and wrong of what she was doing 
 only enhanced the excitement and delight of it: she 
 seemed to care nothing for the morrow. 
 
 Every one remarked this handsome pair, and their ab- 
 sorption in each other; it was rumored at once that Al- 
 wyne had proposed to and been accepted by Miss Yernon. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie had some slight misgivings about thia very 
 marked flirtation : she had never seen Dulcie give encour- 
 agement to any man before, and meant to remonstrate 
 gently with her on the subject ; not because she minded 
 herself, but because she was afraid of Mrs. Yernon'fr re- 
 proaches if it came to her ears. 
 
 The house in which the ball was given was a new one, 
 built in the old-fashioned style, and there were quaint 
 nooks and corners in it highly suitable and appropriate 
 for solitudes d deux. It was close upon midnight when 
 Alwyne sought refuge in one of these delightful spots 
 with his beloved one. It was a curtained recess, partly 
 draped, and screened off by palms and flowers, much 
 sought after by such pairs, who wished for a time to be 
 alone among a crowd and for the moment to live only for 
 each other. Until now, though Alwyne had cast many a 
 longing glance towards this bower, it had not been vacant, 
 but at present his turn had come, and he and Dulcie were, 
 to all intents and purposes, " far from the madding :rowd." 
 
 Dulcie felt, knew, that she was doing wrong ; but the 
 knowledge did not hinder her from doing it : Alwyne had 
 Buch a mastery over her that she did not even attempt to 
 oppose his will. No fear of their being interrupted. She 
 had refused to engage herself for any dance except those 
 she gave to Alwyne ; the edge of her tulle skirt peeping 
 beyond the palms gave notice that the alcove was occu- 
 pied; and, although there was room for a second couple, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 157 
 
 the vacant half was not coveted by those to whom the 
 whole would alone have been acceptable. 
 
 Alwyne was madly in love with his pretty companion ; 
 ho refused to recognize any obstacle to his passion, and 
 Dulcie had almost got beyond the remembrance that there 
 was one. She had assured herself that it was " only for 
 this one evening," and, satisfying her conscience with that 
 excuse, she, as we have known her do on previous occa- 
 sions, threw prudence to the winds and lived but for the 
 moment. She loved Alwyne : she hated Noel ; she ban- 
 ished him from her thoughts and refused to remember his 
 existence or her bond. 
 
 Alwyne had given up asking questions. Confident in 
 his own strong will, and buoyed up by his passion, he was 
 determined that all should come right, and defied Fate, 
 Mrs. Yernon, and everything else. 
 
 Now he cared for nothing but to feel Dulcie's hand in 
 his, to breathe impassioned words into her dainty ear, to 
 assure himself by the expression of her eyes that her heart 
 was his. He drew her towards him ; his lips just touched 
 hers, when there came the crash of a falling palm, and, 
 starting apart, Dulcie with a smothered scream, Alwyne 
 with a muttered curse, they became conscious of a hag- 
 gard face glaring upon them through the flower-screen. 
 Another moment, and its owner stood panting before 
 them. 
 
 "How dare you touch my wife?" he almost shrieked, 
 then staggered and fell forward, and had not Alwyne 
 darted up and caught him he would have fallen prone into 
 Dulcie's lap. For one awful moment the girl was para- 
 lyzed; then, as she heard a gurgling sound in the unhappy 
 man's throat, and saw Alwyne holding him, she started 
 up, and, white, scared, terrified as one who has seen a 
 ghost, she hurried to the ball-room, where she had left her 
 cousin. 
 
 Most fortunately, Mrs. Leslie was standing by the door. 
 Before she had time even to give a startled ejaculation, 
 Dulcie caught her by the arm. 
 
 u Come at once, at once !" she whispered in a terrified 
 voice. " I must go home. I am ill." 
 
 Mrs. Leslie was a woman of tact. She saw that some- 
 thing serious had happened, and that this was not the 
 
 14 
 
158 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 time to ask questions. So she complied at once, without 
 a word, accompanied the white, trembling girl down-stairs, 
 sent for the carriage, and hurried her into it the moment 
 it arrived. 
 
 When it drove away with them, she asked Dulcie in vain 
 what had happened. 
 
 " Oh !" moaned the girl, " I shall die ! I shall die! Oh! 
 what will become of me ?" 
 
 All sorts of dreadful doubts and fears took possession of 
 Mrs. Leslie, but she was forced to remain with them un- 
 satisfied, for the only words that the girl would utter were 
 repeated asseverations that she would die. 
 
 That her agitation was connected with the handsome 
 young man who had been her companion all the evening, 
 Mrs. Leslie never for an instant doubted ; but what could 
 he have said ? what could he have done ? 
 
 Mrs. Yernon would be very angry, would never let her 
 chaperon Dulcie again ; and, urged by this fear, she said, 
 almost sharply, 
 
 "For goodness' sake, Dulcie, control yourself. Don't 
 let the servants see you in this state. What on earth 
 will your mother say ?" 
 
 CHAPTEK XYIII. 
 
 MRS. YERNON was still in the drawing-room when they 
 returned. She was generally glad of an excuse to sit up 
 late, and to-night she happened to have an interesting 
 book. 
 
 Dulcie saw by the light in the drawing-room that her 
 mother had not retired : she would, therefore, be forced 
 to meet her. Indeed, she was rather glad of this, for she 
 felt it absolutely necessary to tell her of the awful appari- 
 tion of Noel and to beg her assistance and co-operation 
 against him. So she said hurriedly to her cousin, 
 
 " Do not come into the drawing-room : I must speak to 
 mamma alone. And, whatever you do," imploringly, " do 
 not let out that I met Mr. Temple either to-night or this 
 morning." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 159 
 
 Mrs. Leslie took the hint, and went off to her own 
 room, her curiosity aroused to the highest pitch. 
 
 Meanwhile Dulcie, still trembling and white as a sheet, 
 went into the drawing-room. 
 
 "Good heavens! what has happened? Are you ill, 
 Dulcie?" cried Mrs. Yernon, at sight of the girl's tell-tale 
 face. 
 
 Dulcie threw herself into a chair and sobbed hysteri- 
 cally. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon, who was strong-minded and had no sym- 
 pathy with hysterics or violent demonstrations of feeling, 
 said, impatiently, 
 
 " Do not go on in that absurd way, Dulcie ! Tell me 
 directly what has happened !" 
 
 " Oh, the most awful thing !" sobbed Dulcie, racking 
 her brain to think how she should avoid all mention of 
 Alwyne in the terrible avowal. 
 
 " What ? what ?" cried her mother. " Tell me at once ! 
 What awful thing?" 
 
 " He was there !" almost shrieked Dulcie, and gave vent 
 to redoubled expressions of emotion. 
 
 "He! who?" said Mrs. Yernon; but she had a strong 
 conviction as to who the man represented by the personal 
 pronoun was. 
 
 She rose. 
 
 " Now, Dulcie," she said, " for heaven's sake exercise a 
 little self-control and tell me what has happened." 
 
 " I had been dancing," sobbed Dulcie, " and I was 
 sitting out, and and suddenly I saw a dreadful face 
 glaring at me through the flowers, and then he came 
 round the corner and said something about ' my wife 1* 
 and fell down in a fit." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon turned as white as her daughter. In a 
 moment, she conjured up a terrible scene of curious eyes 
 and whispering tongues and her unfortunate daughter 
 the heroine of a most painful esclandre. She stood as if 
 turned to stone. 
 
 " Who was with you ?" she asked at last. " Did many 
 people see this this dreadful scene?" 
 
 " No," gasped Dulcie. " Only the man I was dancing 
 with. I left him with with the other, and rushed away 
 and found Cousin Anna, and we came off at once." 
 
 "And what did you tell Anna?" 
 
160 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " Nothing, not a word," sobbed Dulcie. 
 
 " Did you give her no explanation ?" 
 
 No." 
 
 " And who was the man you were dancing with ?" 
 
 " I don't know his name," answered mendacious Dulcie. 
 
 " Do you think he heard what what the other said ?" 
 
 " I don't know. He was holding him up, and I rushed 
 away. And oh, mamma ! what am I to do ? Perhaps he 
 will come here. Oh, I can't, I won't see him ! What 
 shall I do ?" Dulcie's distress was so intense, her look of 
 terror so real, that Mrs. Yernon had not the heart to add 
 to her wretchedness. 
 
 " I do not know. We must think about it," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Oh, mamma! for pity's sake, take me away some- 
 where ! hide me ! Oh, don't let him find me ! Oh, per- 
 haps if you give him money he will go away and leave 
 me alone!" And this was the young lady who had been 
 so ardently attached to Mr. Trevor that she had walked 
 out of her mother's house and married him clandestinely, 
 and here, without any fault or crime on his part, on the 
 very next occasion of their meeting she was filled with 
 horror and loathing of him, and asking whether he could 
 not be bought off! As this passed through Mrs. Yernon's 
 mind, she almost pitied Noel as much as she despised her 
 daughter. 
 
 "How came I to bring such a child into the world?" 
 she groaned in spirit ; but she kept the thought to her- 
 self. 
 
 " You had better go to bed now," she said, " and I will 
 think the matter over. As soon after eight as you are 
 awake in the morning, send for me, and I will tell you 
 what conclusion I have come to. Do not say a word to 
 Morton of what has happened : tell her you were taken ill 
 at the ball: she must think what she likes." 
 
 When Dulcie had left her, Mrs. Yernon sought her cousin 
 with a view of eliciting what she knew or suspected. 
 
 " The most extraordinary thing imaginable !" exclaimed 
 Mrs. Leslie. " Ten minutes before, I had seen her dancing 
 apparently in the best of spirits, and suddenly she rushed 
 up to me looking as if she had seen a ghost. Fortunately, 
 most of the people had gone down to supper, and I man- 
 aged to g;et her away without attracting much attention. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 161 
 
 But, my dear Margaret, what was it? She would not tell 
 me a word, and I could get nothing out of her except that 
 she would die." 
 
 " It is no very great matter," replied Mrs. Yernon, speak- 
 ing in a light, unconcerned tone. " There was a man 
 whose attentions to her gave us a little trouble last winter, 
 and I fancy from what she tells me that he made rather a 
 scene, and then fainted. Very disagreeable, of course, and 
 poor Dulcie is not very strong-minded, you know. But 
 with whom was she dancing ?" 
 
 " I really did not notice," replied Mrs. Leslie, for all 
 three ladies had made up their minds to tell each other 
 stories pretty freely. 
 
 If Mrs. Yernon had known the truth, it would have as- 
 sisted her immensely in making her plans ; but it did not 
 for a single instant enter her brain to consider that Mr. 
 Temple had played a part, and a very important part too, 
 in this painful affair. 
 
 Little sleep visited her that night : the great question 
 which occupied her brain was how this terrible affair was 
 to be settled with as little scandal as possible. Noel was 
 now partially recovered, though evidently still weak : 
 there could be no question that he would claim his wife. 
 She must, if possible, persuade him to consent to some 
 weeks' delay whilst a pretence of courtship was gone 
 through, and then he and Dulcie must be quietly re- 
 married in church. She did not despair of bringing him 
 to reason, and was much more occupied in thinking how 
 Dulcie was to be managed. That this sudden distaste for 
 him would last, Mrs. Yernon did not for an instant be- 
 lieve: if she had been, or fancied herself, so fond of him 
 once, the feeling would return when they were thrown 
 together again. In any case she had elected to marry 
 him, and had no choice but to take the consequences. 
 
 Noel would write or come to the house, and it would 
 be best for all parties that Dulcie should be out of the 
 way. Mrs. Yernon bethought her that she might send 
 Dulcie off that very day to an aunt at Brighton. Eight 
 o'clock had scarcely struck when there was a tap at her 
 door, followed by the entrance of Dulcie, white, wide-eyed, 
 looking the picture of fright and misery. 
 
 "I have been awake since five," she said, "but was 
 I H* 
 
162 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 afraid to disturb you before. Oh, mamma! have you 
 thought of anything?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Mrs. Yernon, cheerfully : " I am going to 
 telegraph to your aunt Clara to know if she will take you 
 in for a few days." 
 
 Dulcie sighed with an air of great relief. 
 
 u Oh, yes," she exclaimed. " Anything to get away !" 
 
 Mrs. Yernon wrote on a telegraph form, 
 
 " Can you have Dulcie for a few days ? Wants change. 
 If so, will send her by one-fifty. Answer paid" 
 
 She rang for the housemaid and gave orders that it was 
 to be sent" at once. Then she seated herself in an arm- 
 chair, and, looking at Dulcie, said, quietly, 
 
 u We must now decide how matters are to be arranged. 
 You are, as I told you, as much Mr. Trevor's wife as 
 though you had been married in church, and he can 
 claim you at any moment he chooses. He will have to go 
 through certain legal formalities with the court of chan- 
 cery, and will be compelled, fortunately for you, to con- 
 sent to your money being settled upon yourself. I shall 
 endeavor to persuade him to ignore for the present the 
 ceremony at the registry-office, to make a pretence of 
 being engaged to you, and to marry you in church in a 
 few weeks' time." 
 
 " Oh, mamma !" cried Dulcie, trembling like a leaf, " can 
 nothing be done ? Can it not be proved illegal, or cannot 
 I get a divorce ?" 
 
 ""I have told you," replied her mother, coldly, "that 
 you are his wife. Nothing can alter the fact. And it 
 seems a most extraordinary thing to me that, if you were 
 so desperately in love with him a few months ago that 
 you could defy everything and everybody in order to 
 marry him, you should now, without a shadow of reason, 
 have changed so completely." 
 
 Dulcie sat looking the picture of misery and anguish. 
 
 " At all events," pursued Mrs. Yernon, " it will be best 
 for you to be out of the way for the present. I will hear 
 what he has to say and write, or perhaps go to you and 
 tell you the result." 
 
 In less than an hour the answer to the telegram ar- 
 rived. It would be quite convenient for Dulcie to go as 
 soon as she liked. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 163 
 
 Then Morton was ordered to pack her young lady's 
 trunk. She could not be spared to accompany her, but 
 Mrs. John Vernon's maid would do everything that was 
 necessary. Mrs. Yernon enjoined the strictest secrecy on 
 Dulcie, which, however, was unnecessary. The girl was 
 too thoroughly miserable and ashamed of the whole affair 
 to want to confide it to any one. 
 
 She had been gone nearly an hour when a card was 
 brought to Mrs. Yernon, who was sitting at luncheon with 
 Mrs. Leslie. 
 
 " Mr. Alwyne Temple" she read, with unfeigned annoy- 
 ance. 
 
 " Is Mr. Temple in the drawing-room ?" she asked, rather 
 sharply, of the butler. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 Why in the name of all that was disagreeable should he 
 add to her perplexities by coming at this particular junc- 
 ture ? When the card was handed to her, the name she 
 had fully expected to read was that of Trevor. 
 
 However, there was no help for it: he was in the house, 
 and she must see him. She rose with an expression of 
 great annoyance, and left Mrs. Leslie feeling rather fright- 
 ened and guilty. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon assumed her coldest, stiffest manner as she 
 entered the drawing-room. Alwyne himself looked to the 
 full as haughty. 
 
 She seated herself, and motioned him to a chair. 
 
 He began what he had to say at once with the air of a 
 person who, having right on his side, is not to be intimi- 
 dated by any show of aggressiveness on the part of his 
 opponent. 
 
 " You will remember," he said, stiffly, " that last winter 
 at Nice I proposed for the hand of Miss Yernon." 
 
 Miss Yernon's mother made a cold gesture of assent. 
 
 " You informed me that there was an obstacle to my 
 suit, but you declined absolutely to inform me as to the 
 nature of that obstacle." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon made another gesture of cold affirmation. 
 
 " May I ask." proceeded Alwyne with a particularly di& 
 agreeable and supercilious inflection of voice, " whethei 
 the obstacle which you declined to state was that your 
 daughter has a husband already ?" 
 
164 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 For a moment the room seemed to Mrs. Yernon to 
 swim. Her self-possession deserted her. She had been 
 absolutely unprepared for such a blow as this. 
 
 She was silent : she could really not find one word to 
 say. Then, partly recovering herself, and endeavoring to 
 reassume her cold, stiff manner, she said, 
 
 " I must really ask you to explain yourself." 
 
 " By all means," returned Alwyne, with alacrity. " I 
 had been dancing with Miss Yernon, I beg her pardon, 
 
 Mrs. , I do not know her name, and was sitting out 
 
 with her, when suddenly our conversation was broken in 
 upon by a man who asked me how I dared touch his wife, 
 and then proceeded to have a fit, in which I had the honor 
 of rendering him assistance." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was rent by conflicting feelings : the prin- 
 cipal one was anger against her daughter. Bulcie's un- 
 pardonable duplicity filled her with wrath : she would not 
 be made the scapegoat of her folly and wickedness any 
 longer : let the consequences be on her own head ! Again 
 she was silent for some seconds. 
 
 " I quite see, from the manner in which you receive my 
 communication," proceeded Alwyne, almost insolently, 
 " that I have discovered the real obstacle. But I must 
 confess one thing astonishes me, and that is that both 
 
 Miss Yernon or Mrs. , whatever her name is, and 
 
 yourself allowed me to believe that I might ultimately 
 hope. I presume you were counting on this this per- 
 son's death : he seems to be in very indifferent health." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was goaded beyond endurance by his tone. 
 
 " I have no longer any wish to screen my daughter," she 
 said. " Her folly is so unaccountable that I cannot pre- 
 tend to extricate her from the dilemmas into which she 
 is always getting herself. I shall tell you the facts of the 
 case. If you are a gentleman," and she flashed a look 
 upon him which plainly intimated that she thought his 
 claim to that title very doubtful, " you will consider my 
 confidences sacred ; if not, you must, if you choose, pub- 
 lish them to the world." 
 
 And she proceeded to relate to his astonished ears the 
 story which we already know, together with her views 
 and intentions for the future. 
 
 Indignant as Alwyne was on his own account, he could 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 165 
 
 not help feeling for the moment that the unfortunate 
 mother had been hardly used, and he forbore to express 
 his anger at the deceit which had been practised upon 
 himself, and merely said that it was very strange and a 
 very bad business, and that Mrs. Vernon might rely upon 
 his keeping what she had told him strictly secret. So 
 they parted on better terms than might have been ex- 
 pected, Alwyne going his way, stunned and perplexed at 
 the behavior of his adored Dulcie, and Mrs. Yernon lean- 
 ing back in her chair, filled with wrath and bitterness 
 against her daughter, and determined to be rid of all re- 
 sponsibility about her as soon as possible. 
 
 She was still sitting, a prey to anger and wretchedness, 
 when the butler brought her in a note. 
 
 This simply contained a request for an interview, and 
 was signed " Noel Trevor.*' 
 
 Mrs. Yernon groaned in spirit. But the interview must 
 be gone through with, and she made up her mind that the 
 best thing would be to get it over as soon as possible. 
 She wrote an answer saying that Mr. Trevor could call as 
 soon as he felt disposed, told the butler she would be at 
 home only to Mr. Trevor that afternoon, sent a message 
 to Mrs. Leslie that she would not drive until late, and then 
 endeavored to brace her nerves for the coming encounter. 
 
 How often she had congratulated herself upon having a 
 pretty daughter ! Now she only lamented bitterly that 
 she had ever had a child at all. She absolutely longed to 
 get rid of her and all the worry and trouble which she 
 involved. Instead of the wrath which she had always 
 intended to pour out on Noel when she should see him, 
 she now prepared to meet him with calm indifference and 
 to make preparations to hand over his wife to him at as 
 early a date as decency permitted. What Dulcie felt in 
 the matter was of but small concern in her eyes. 
 
 Only a quarter of an hour elapsed before Noel was 
 ushered into her presence. He looked dreadfully haggard 
 and ill ; and, although she felt but scant pity for him, she 
 devoutly hoped that he was not going to faint or make a 
 scene. 
 
 She bowed, without offering her hand, and pointed to a 
 chair. 
 
 " I see," she said, " that you are still ill. You had better 
 
166 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 take time to compose yourself: we are not likely to be in- 
 terrupted." 
 
 Poor Noel sat down and made a violent effort to control 
 his agitation. 
 
 " I am quite prepared to hear all you have to say," ob- 
 served Mrs. Vernon, quietly, her one object being to pre- 
 vent him from exciting himself dangerously and causing 
 a catastrophe. 
 
 " I feel," he said at last, in a trembling tone, " that you 
 must think very badly of me." And he looked imploringly 
 at her. 
 
 " It does not much matter what I think of you," she 
 answered, coldly. "It will be more to the point to talk 
 about what you propose for the future." 
 
 A great load was taken from the young man's mind : no 
 opposition was going to be offered to his claim, and he 
 became calmer at once. 
 
 " You are married to my daughter," pursued Mrs. Ver- 
 non. " Unpleasant as the fact is, it is not one that can be 
 got over. The only thing that surprises me is that you 
 have allowed all this time to elapse without making any 
 sign." 
 
 " I have had a dreadful illness," said Noel, eagerly. 
 " For weeks after the accident I was unconscious ; then I 
 remained in an apathetic state for months, scarcely re- 
 membering or caring to think of anything. It is only 
 within the last six weeks that my health has improved so 
 much that I have been really able to think seriously about 
 the future. And and not hearing a word from Dulcie," 
 he hesitated over the name, as though it were a liberty 
 to pronounce it, " I was in doubt how to approach her ; 
 and and I thought I ought to get quite strong before 
 before I " 
 
 He broke down, too embarrassed to know how to con- 
 tinue. 
 
 " And yet," said Mrs. Yernon, " you were well enough 
 to go to a ball last night." 
 
 " I went with thejiope of seeing and speaking to her," 
 exclaimed Noel, eagerly. " I called at the house that 
 morning, hoping to hear something about her, and they 
 told me they were giving a dance, and pressed me to 
 go to it, and I went. And then," added the poor lad, 
 
ORCE AGAIN. 167 
 
 growing painfully agitated, "when I saw her with an- 
 other man's arm round her, another man's lips touching 
 hers, I think I went mad ; and I don't remember what 
 happened afterwards until I was in the cab driving home.' 1 
 
 And Noel hid his face in his hands, and groaned. 
 
 This was another pleasing revelation for the mother : 
 Alwyne's arm round her daughter's waist, his lips touch- 
 ing hers. Decidedly the sooner she had a husband to look 
 after her the better. She felt almost sorry for Noel. 
 
 " Are you sure of what you say ?" she asked, in a chill 
 voice. " I can hardly believe my daughter capable of such 
 such an indiscretion. Do you not think that you were 
 perhaps under the influence of some delusion, as your brain 
 cannot be very strong at present?" 
 
 " No ! no !" he groaned. " I saw it all too well. The in- 
 fernal villain 1" 
 
 " Pray control yourself," interposed Mrs. Yernon, coldly. 
 " But, now, what do you propose to do ?" 
 
 " May I not see her ?" cried Noel, the color flushing into 
 his pale face. " Oh, pray, pray, do let me ! She did love 
 me oh, perhaps if I see her, she will explain all !" 
 
 " You cannot see her," returned Mrs. Yernon. " She 
 has gone to Brighton ; and perhaps it will be better to tell 
 you the truth, even if it is not very palatable : she shrinks 
 from the idea of seeing you." 
 
 " Oh, my God !" cried Noel ; and he leaned his elbows on 
 the table, and the tears trickled fast through his fingers. 
 
 He was very weak at present, poor fellow I 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " You will see her, of course," said Mrs. Yernon, feeling 
 just the least bit sorry for him. " But, before you can 
 consider her your wife, you will have to go through a 
 form of of courtship and to marry her in a church, as I 
 would not for one moment allow the story of that dis- 
 graceful affair at the registry office to be known." 
 
 "I will do anything, anything!" cried Noel. 
 
168 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " And you will have to attend at the court of chancery 
 and agree to her money being settled upon herself." 
 
 Noel flushed. 
 
 " You do not, I hope, think/' he cried, " that any con- 
 sideration of money influenced me in the matter." 
 
 " Most people would think so," returned Mrs. Yernon, 
 chillingly. 
 
 " I swear," cried the young man, " that I never knew 
 she had a penny; never had a thought or wish but for 
 herself." 
 
 " I believe you have not any means of supporting a girl 
 accustomed to every comfort and luxury," observed Mrs. 
 Yernon. 
 
 Noel hung his head. 
 
 " I thought our love would help us to get over that," 
 he murmured. 
 
 " I have frequently heard that theory," said Mrs. Yer- 
 non, contemptuously. " But I never knew it answer in 
 practice. My daughter has never in her life wanted for 
 anything, and I do not think she is a girl to bear poverty 
 and discomfort cheerfully." 
 
 Noel bit his lip and looked the picture of misery. 
 
 " However," proceeded Mrs. Yernon, " when she is of 
 age she will have a thousand a year, and, meantime, you 
 will have to manage as best you can. I presume you 
 intend to join your regiment in India ?" 
 
 " I have not communicated with my colonel yet," an- 
 swered Noel : " the doctor did not think me quite fit for 
 duty. I suppose as I did not go out with the regiment I 
 shall have to join at the depot first, unless I can get sent 
 out with a draft." 
 
 " I should think you had better go to India, if possible," 
 aaid Mrs. Yernon, who, after all that she had gone through 
 with Dulcie, felt that it would be a relief to get rid of her 
 entirely. 
 
 " I should like it best," exclaimed Noel, brightening ; 
 "and she seemed quite willing in the winter. When 
 may I see her ?" 
 
 " When she returns from Brighton, in a day or two. If 
 you leave me your address, I will let you know when to 
 call." 
 
 Noel felt that his mother-in-law was behaving much 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 169 
 
 better than he could have expected. He had a good 
 heart, and was smitten with remorse at the thought of 
 the pain and grief he must have caused her. 
 
 " I am afraid," he said, diffidently, " that you must have 
 rather a bad opinion of me. I hope you will forgive me 
 for the trouble I have caused you." 
 
 The remembrance of her wrongs rose forcibly in the 
 mother's breast, and she said, with a burst of anger, 
 
 " Until she met you, Dulcie had never given me a 
 moment's anxiety. She was my one hope and comfort in 
 life. I looked forward to her making a good marriage, 
 to seeing her happy and well provided for. You have 
 wrecked all my hopes. You taught her to deceive me ; 
 you inflicted on me the severest blow I ever had in my 
 life : take care that your sin does not recoil on your own 
 head, and that she does not deceive you ! I cannot 
 unmarry you : all I now wish is to see and hear as little 
 of both of you in the future as possible." 
 
 Noel was crushed : he had no answer to make, and rose, 
 looking very humble and crestfallen, to take leave. He 
 was even forgetting, in his embarrassment, to give his 
 address. 
 
 " Where are you to be found ?" asked Mrs. Yernon, 
 stiffly ; and he wrote his address on a card with a trem- 
 bling hand, and then, bowing, left the room, as his hostess 
 did not attempt to proffer her hand. 
 
 When he had reached home, and had leisure to think, 
 he was assailed by all manner of painful doubts. Dulcie, 
 his darling, his dear sweet little wife, as he had thought 
 of her over and over again, shrank from him, had gone 
 away to avoid him ! Did she care for that other man in 
 whose embrace curse him ! he had seen her ? His blood 
 boiled at the recollection. Then Mrs. Yernon's words came 
 back to him ; 
 
 " Take care that she does not deceive you !" 
 
 He had imagined that her silence since the accident had 
 been the result of fear of her mother ; he had felt sure 
 that she would be as happy at being restored to him, 
 though that was hardly possible, as he would be at finding 
 her once again. He had never realized the possibility of 
 another man stepping in between them. 
 
 He felt that he must see her, must know the truth 
 H 15 
 
170 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 from her own lips ; and he resolved to go to Brighton that 
 very evening and endeavor to find her. 
 
 Although he and Alwyne went down in the same train 
 on the same quest, neither happened to come across nor 
 to guess at the other's vicinity. For Mrs. Yernon had 
 also mentioned to Alwyne that her daughter had gone to 
 her aunt in Brighton, little imagining that now he knew 
 she had a husband the young man would dream of follow- 
 ing her, or of attempting to see her again. But Alwyne, 
 after his first ebullition of wrath, returned afresh to his 
 tenderness for Dulcie, and, feeling sure that she was in re- 
 ality devoted to him and indifferent to his rival, all sorts 
 of wild projects of carrying her off seethed in his mind, 
 though he pretended to himself that he only intended to 
 reproach her and bid her farewell forever. 
 
 Noel spent the morning after his arrival at Brighton in 
 pursuit of his wife. He had to keep reminding himself 
 that she was his wife, his lawful wife ; for the most dis- 
 tressing doubts of her love harassed his brain. It was a 
 fine morning, and she was sure to be out somewhere : at 
 Brighton people never stay in-doors. He walked along 
 the "King's Koad, the Esplanade, went on the West Pier, 
 scanning every face eagerly. Then he took a victoria, 
 and, bidding the man drive slowly, went up to Kemp Town. 
 And when he very nearly reached the end, he caught 
 sight of a pretty figure in a neat, tailor-made dress, saun- 
 tering along listlessly, and his heart gave a great bound as 
 he recognized Mrs. Noel Trevor. He stopped the carriage, 
 paid the driver, and walked slowly after her, so agitated 
 and trembling that he was forced to stop for a moment 
 and support himself by the wooden rail. 
 
 Dulcie took a seat in one of the embrasures and looked 
 out seaward. There was no one near, except a nurse-girl 
 lazily pushing a perambulator, and Noel waited until she 
 was out of earshot before he approached. 
 
 Then he came close up and said, in a low voice, 
 
 " Dulcie !" 
 
 The girl gave a little gasp of terror and looked at him 
 with affrighted eyes. He sat down beside her, and she 
 started up, as if for fright. 
 
 "For God's sake!" cried poor Noel, " don't look at me 
 like that!" 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 171 
 
 And he laid a detaining hand on her arm, and trembled 
 violently, half from emotion, half from weakness. 
 
 " Have you forgotten ?" ho went on. u Don't you care 
 for me any longer ?" 
 
 A shrinking horror of him crept through Dulcie's veins. 
 She remained motionless, speechless, looking at him with 
 cold distaste. How had she ever cared for him ? How 
 inferior he was in every way to Alwyne! and now he 
 looked so shrunk and ill and haggard, he was almost re- 
 pulsive to her. She felt no pity for his distress, nothing 
 but repugnance. His eyes were fixed on her whilst ho 
 awaited for some answer to his impassioned words, but 
 none came : she was thinking how she could get away 
 from him. 
 
 " Dulcie," he said again, imploringly, " after all I have 
 suffered, have you nothing to say to me ? Don't you care 
 for me any longer ?" 
 
 " No," she answered, remorselessly. " I do not care for 
 you. You got some bad influence over me and persuaded 
 me to deceive my mother. I was so young, I did not 
 know any better. It was very wicked and cruel of you." 
 
 Great heaven ! this was his reception, after all his 
 tender dreams of his darling wife and of their meeting 
 and reunion ! 
 
 " What has changed you ?" he asked, in a hollow, miser- 
 able voice. " You did care for me." Then, with sudden 
 passion, drawing near to her, " Oh, my darling, how can 
 you be so cruel to me ?" 
 
 " Do not touch me !" she cried, crouching into the 
 corner of the seat ; " do not come near me !" 
 
 A wild feeling of jealousy surged through Noel's heart 
 as he remembered the scene at the ball. 
 
 " You could bear another man to touch you, to put his 
 arm round you, to kiss your lips !" he cried, violently. 
 " My (rod ! why had I not strength to kill him ? But I 
 will hunt him down ! I will " 
 
 He stopped suddenly : a horrible faintness was creeping 
 over him: he felt that he must control himself or he 
 would swoon or die. 
 
 He leaned back for a moment, gasping, so pale and hag- 
 gard that Dulcie was terrified. 
 
 She remained speechless in her crouching posture, and 
 
172 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 after a few moments Noel was able to speak with more 
 self-command. 
 
 " I am not very strong yet," he said, and then added, 
 with a tremulous yearning in his voice, 
 
 " Why do you look like that ? Why should you be 
 afraid of me ? Do I not love you better than anything in 
 th3 world?" 
 
 But his words of tenderness were hateful to Dulcie. 
 She had not a grain of either love or pity for him. Sho 
 said obstinately to herself that he had entrapped and de- 
 ceived her. He was the obstacle and stumbling-block in 
 the way of her happiness. She even had a shadowy idea 
 that if he would give her up she might still be happy 
 with Alwyne. 
 
 " What is the use of your loving me?" she said, looking 
 away at the sea. " I do not love you ; I never shall. If 
 you really cared for me, you would go away, and give me 
 a chance of being happy." 
 
 " With him ?" asked Noel, in a cold, bitter voice. " You 
 do not seem to realize that you are my wife ; that I have 
 the right to claim you now, this moment ; that I can, if I 
 choose, take you away with me here and now, and that 
 no one can stop me." 
 
 " I will not go with you," cried Dulcie. " I would 
 rather throw myself into the sea. You entrapped and 
 cheated me into marrying you: you only wanted my 
 money. And now, if it were not for you, I could marry 
 a man whom T love, and who is rich, and whom mamma 
 would be only too glad for me to marry. I will never, 
 never be your wife. I hate you !" 
 
 Fear and dislike of him had worked the girl up almost 
 to frenzy. She looked at him with fierce defiance. She 
 seemed capable of throwing herself into the sea to escape 
 him. 
 
 Noel looked at her for a moment, and then slowly 
 turned his eyes seaward. The bitterness of death seemed 
 to creep over him : love, youth, life, wrestled in a dying 
 agony on his heart. It was engulfed as though all those 
 shining, sunlit waves had gone over it and stifled every 
 atom of hope and joy in the cruel sands below. 
 
 Morning after morning, as life and strength had come 
 slowly back to him, he had thought and dreamed of this 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 173 
 
 fair, pretty face ; but in his visions there was a tender 
 love-light in the eyes, happy smiles dimpled the mouth, 
 and he had indulged in the most blissful anticipations of 
 their meeting, of her joy at his recovery, of the blessed 
 future that was to atone for all the anguish he had gone 
 through. Was this pale girl, with hatred in her looks, 
 and wild words of anger and defiance on her lips, the 
 cherished darling of his dreams and thoughts ? or was 
 this scene some wild fantasy of his still distraught brain? 
 No, it was all too true. He was wide awake. Dulcie was 
 beside him. Whilst he lay battling with death, another 
 man had come and stolen her from him, even as he had 
 stolen her from her mother. His own guilt was borne in 
 upon him with cruel force. 
 
 And now she hated him. Gracious heaven ! she had 
 taunted him with having sought her for her money ; she 
 had sworn that, sooner than be his, she would throw her- 
 self into the sea. Oh, God ! at that moment how he 
 wished that he was lying under those glittering waves, 
 with his darling locked in his arms, his darling of other 
 days ; not this frightened, angry, unloving woman beside 
 him. The future seemed to grow clear to him as he sat 
 there, his heart full of deadly despair : he must go away 
 to India, and by some means or other set her free. Would 
 he force her to unwilling bonds ? What joy or pleasure 
 could he have of her, since she hated him ? 
 
 He sat motionless, his eyes seeming to gaze at the rest- 
 less waters, patched with blue and purple and pale green, 
 with here and there a tiny fleck of foam on the crest of a 
 wavelet. 
 
 Dulcie watched him with bated breath at first, and then, 
 as he made no sign or movement, she began to speculate 
 upon the possibility of getting away from him. Suddenly, 
 as he seemed lost to consciousness, she darted up and fled 
 away. JSToel did not move, did not even turn to glance 
 after her; he had looked his last upon her: this fair girl 
 whom he had loved so tenderly, upon whom all his hopes 
 had centred, was to be no more to him henceforth for- 
 ever. 
 
 He did not know clearly what he meant to do, only 
 that he would go far away from her and never trouble her 
 more : he would get out to his regiment as soon as pos- 
 
 15* 
 
174 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 sible, and when the wide seas were between them she, at 
 all events, would rejoice. 
 
 Meantime, Dulcie, with a beating heart, gained her 
 aunt's house, and flew to her room to compose her agitated 
 feelings and features before going down to lunch. 
 
 Mrs. John Yernon was a stout, comfortable lady, by no 
 means of an inquisitive or suspicious turn of mind, and 
 too much absorbed in her pugs and birds to take much 
 interest in her own species. She observed nothing un- 
 usual in Dulcie's manner, and never dreamed, simple- 
 minded lady, of the very dramatic circumstances in which 
 her niece was placed. 
 
 Every day. winter and summer, if the weather was at 
 all passable, Mrs. John Yernon took her drive with her 
 pugs. She invited Dulcie to accompany her this after- 
 noon, but Dulcie excused herself, and her aunt did not 
 press the matter : the pugs would be more comfortable 
 and less cramped. 
 
 The carriage came round, with its fat horses and sleek 
 coachman, the perfect type of a wealthy widow's equipage, 
 and Dulcie saw aunt and pets depart. She remained for 
 some time at the window, looking out at the sea, think- 
 ing to herself that she was the most unfortunate girl in 
 the world, and wondering what the end of all this dread- 
 ful business was to be. As she sat there, the sea faded 
 from her eyes ; the sound of the waves ceased from her 
 ears : she was back in the bower at the ball, with Alwyne's 
 arm round her, his voice breathing sweet words which 
 troubled her brain and senses. 
 
 She started as the door was flung open, and the butler, 
 with a beaming face, announce'd " Mr. Temple." 
 
 He was an old servant, and of a benevolent disposition : 
 he saw, or fancied he saw, why Miss Dulcie had declined 
 to drive, and thought he was indeed doing something ex- 
 tremely pleasing to her by ushering in this handsome 
 young gentleman. 
 
 Alwyne had looked in a Brighton directory, and, find- 
 ing the name of Mrs. John Yernon, had concluded she 
 must be the aunt whom Dulcie was visiting. He had no 
 idea of what he meant to say if he saw her ; he did not 
 know that he would even see her, much less see her alone ; 
 and when he found himself face to face with her he was 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 175 
 
 almost as much embarrassed as she was. Both com- 
 manded themselves sufficiently ere the door closed on the 
 butler to exchange the ordinary, commonplace greeting 
 in the ordinary manner, but after that there was a pause. 
 Dulcie stood looking down, Alwyne went to the window. 
 Two feelings were struggling in him, delight at seeing his 
 beloved again, and an aggrieved sense that he had been 
 badly used. The latter obtaining the mastery, he turned, 
 and coming towards her, said, in a reproachful tone, 
 
 u Why did you deceive me ?" 
 
 Dulcie proceeded to defend herself. Her nature was 
 deficient in generosity and in a sense of justice: like all 
 weak persons, she was wont to defend herself at the ex- 
 pense of some one else. On this occasion, poor Noel, 
 against whom her mind was entirely poisoned, was the 
 scapegoat. She depicted him as a villain and seducer of 
 the deepest dye ; she proved clearly to Alwyne's thirsting 
 ears how entirely innocent she had been throughout, an 
 unhappy dupe in the hands of a designing man. And 
 Dulcie related with triumph the interview of the morning 
 in which she had poured her hatred and contempt upon 
 him, described the scene with glistening eyes and raised 
 voice, as though she had been some brave and virtuous 
 heroine bearding an unscrupulous villain. 
 
 Alwyne forgot the wrong this fair creature had done 
 him as he sat listening to her, drinking in with rapture 
 the story of the discomfiture of his rival, and filled with a 
 sort of heroic ardor of championship and a great but 
 vague idea that he was going to be her deliverer, though 
 at the present moment he could not quite see how. 
 
 " We must do something to rid you of this ruffian !" ho 
 said, excitedly, getting up and pacing the room. 
 
 " I will be grateful to you forever," cried Dulcie. " Oh, 
 you don't know how he frightened me this morning with 
 his violence. He said I was his wife and he could take 
 me away then and there if he chose and no one could 
 hinder him !" 
 
 Alwyne swore under his breath. This was indeed an 
 awful contingency. No man, he said, hotly, could be 
 blackguard enough to force a woman who hated him to 
 live with him. 
 
 " I will kill myself first !" cried Dulcie, excitedly. 
 
176 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " No, darling !" replied Alwyne, soothingly : " you must 
 not talk like that. I will move heaven and earth to free 
 vou from him. Surely there must be a way out of it. I 
 believe myself it was a bogus marriage. But remember 
 one thing : if he should attempt to carry you off by force, 
 you must escape and come straight to me, and we will see 
 then," cried Alwyne, looking very handsome and deter- 
 mined, "whether any mortal power can get you away 
 from me !" 
 
 For a long time ihey talked eagerly over all sorts of 
 possibilities and contingencies. Alwyne declared that he 
 would go up to London and consult his solicitor, and be- 
 tween them they would assuredly find some means to free 
 her from this hateful bond. He talked both himself and 
 Dulcie into quite a cheerful frame of mind, and when he 
 took leave of her, both their hearts beat high with hope. 
 
 CHAPTEK XX. 
 
 MRS. YERNON, after her two interviews, was in a state 
 of irritation against her daughter that she could scarcely 
 control. She recognized the fact that to contend with 
 this seemingly weak girl was like buffeting water. Now 
 she had but one desire, and that was to marry her to Noel ; 
 for to go on living under the same roof with her on ami- 
 cable terms was more than Mrs. Yernon felt capable of. 
 She could not watch and dog her every step and move- 
 ment; and duplicity now seemed like second nature to 
 Dulcie. The mother had not patience to fight against the 
 weapon she so abhorred and despised. Besides, Dulcie 
 was Noel's wife, and could not be unmarried : so the sooner 
 he carried off his prize the better. And in her heart Mrs. 
 Yernon bitterly wished him joy of her. 
 
 After a great deal of reflection, she decided to go down 
 the next day to Brighton and bring Dulcie back. She did 
 not intend to have any discussion with her if it could be 
 avoided, but as soon as convenient after their return she 
 would send for Noel, bring the young couple face to face, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 177 
 
 and let them settle matters themselves. As for Dulcie's 
 reluctance, she cared not one straw : she had married him, 
 and must abide by the consequences. 
 
 The day after her two interviews, Mrs. Yernon betook 
 herself to Brighton by the one-fifty train, which should 
 have arrived at three-fifteen, but was twenty minutes late. 
 Her sister-in-law would think it odd her coming to fetch 
 Dulcie after a stay of twenty- four hours ; but there were 
 much graver considerations involved than Mrs. John 
 Vernon's surprise. 
 
 The fl} r which conveyed her from the station had ar- 
 rived within half a dozen doors of her sister-in-law's house, 
 when a young man came running down the steps with an 
 excited and triumphant expression of countenance, and 
 Mrs. Yernon was almost transfixed with anger and aston- 
 ishment as she recognized Alwyne. He did not see her, 
 but went on his way rejoicing. 
 
 " What can I do with such a creature !" cried the dis- 
 tracted mother, between her teeth, feeling a violent desire 
 to fly at and beat this hopelessly good-for-nothing daugh- 
 ter of hers. 
 
 She had to control herself by an immense effort to meet 
 the smiling butler, an old servant in the family, with an 
 answering smile, to inquire after Mrs. John, and whether 
 Miss Dulcie was at home. 
 
 And then she was ushered into the drawing-room, where 
 the dear girl was nursing all sorts of charming dreams. 
 
 The mother could scarcely control her voice to speak. 
 She did not intend to have any discussion now : if once 
 she let loose the flood-gates of her wrath, she felt that she 
 would hardly be answerable for her words or actions. She 
 glacially bade Dulcie go at once and see to her things 
 being packed, as they were to return to London by the 
 five-o'clock train. Dulcie divined that some dreadful 
 catastrophe had happened, and was only too glad to es- 
 cape from the room and assist her aunt's maid, who plied 
 her with many expressions of wonder and regret at her 
 short stay, to pack. Mrs. Yernon sat in the drawing- 
 room, staring at the sea, with a horrible weight at her 
 heart, a weight of anger and despair. She was a clever 
 woman : as a rule, she had no difficulty in circumventing 
 people, and making those at all events over whom she had 
 
178 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 any authority do what she pleased ; but this frail, foolish 
 girl utterly baffled her and set her plans at naught. What 
 had Alwyne been doing there ? She, of course, imagined 
 that Dulcie had informed him of her whereabouts. From 
 the satisfied expression of his face, the interview with 
 Dulcie must have been a pleasing one : possibly she had 
 consented to fly with him. 
 
 The unhappy mother determined to send for Noel tho 
 very next morning and to fix the earliest date possible for 
 the marriage in church: it would not have required much 
 persuasion on Noel's part now to get her consent to carry 
 off Dulcie with no further ceremony than the one which 
 had already been performed in the registry-office. 
 
 As good fortune would have it, Mrs. John did not return 
 from her drive before it was time for her guests to leave : 
 so, bidding the butler make her excuses, and promising to 
 write, Mrs. Vernon carried her daughter oif to London. 
 
 She did not speak one word during the journey : indeed, 
 words would have choked her. It was no use asking for 
 explanations : she would only be met by falsehood. At 
 dinner, and during the evening, not one word was ex- 
 changed between mother and daughter: each talked in 
 turn to Mrs. Leslie ; and she, though devoured by curiosity 
 to know what had happened, feigned not to remark any- 
 thing unusual, and chatted away gayly. She knew it was 
 hopeless to expect a communication from Mrs. Yernon, but 
 she hoped to extract some explanation from gentle and 
 pliable Dulcie. When they were alone for a moment she 
 cried, 
 
 "My dear child, what is all this terrible mystery 
 about ?" 
 
 But Dulcie, with an uneasy smile, declared that it was 
 nothing, nothing at all, and would not be beguiled into 
 a word of confidence. She distrusted every one but 
 Al wyne. 
 
 As for Morton, she was on tenter-hooks, and did not fail 
 to ask her young lady point-blank what was going on, and 
 why Mr. Trevor and Mr. Temple had both been to see her 
 mamma ; but Dulcie obstinately refused to answer her, and 
 Morton was in high dudgeon. 
 
 After dinner Mrs. Yernon wrote a note to Noel request- 
 ing him to call the following morning. His first impulse 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 179 
 
 on reading it was to excuse himself; but on second thoughts 
 he decided that he owed it to Mrs. Yernon to explain why 
 he was going away without claiming his wife, lest she 
 should conceive an unjust idea of him and his motives. 
 He would not have risked seeing Dulcie again, but he be- 
 lieved her to be at Brighton, which he had left almost im- 
 mediately after their painful interview. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon had given private orders to the butler that 
 when Mr. Trevor arrived he was to be ushered into the 
 drawing-room and she was to be told that some one wished 
 to see her : no name was to be mentioned before the other 
 ladies. She anticipated the possibility of Dulcie's flying 
 to her room and locking herself in if she became aware 
 that Noel was in the house. 
 
 When Noel arrived and Mrs. Yernon went to the draw- 
 ing-room to receive him, her feelings were of quite a dif- 
 ferent nature from any she could have entertained for him 
 a week previously. She rather wished to propitiate him : 
 instead of the anger and contempt she had felt for him, 
 she was now disposed to regard him with a certain amount 
 of respect, and was almost afraid of his learning her 
 daughter's shortcomings, lest he should be less ready to 
 accept the serious responsibility of taking charge of her. 
 
 To-day, as she advanced to meet him, her manner was 
 by many degrees more cordial : she even offered him her 
 hand. She was shocked to see how ill he looked and to 
 remark the melancholy written in every line of his wan 
 face. She was even a little sorry for him. She did not 
 like the hopeless expression that he wore : it augured ill 
 for her plans and wishes. But she feigned not to remark 
 anything, and said, in a cheerful voice, 
 
 " I think we had better settle about your marriage as 
 soon as possible. This state of things is very unsatis- 
 factory." 
 
 If she expected a brightening of Noel's face and au 
 ardent assent to her words, she must have been disap- 
 pointed. If possible, a deeper gloom spread itself over 
 his face, and he looked persistently at the carpet. 
 
 " You do not seem very anxious," exclaimed Mrs. Yer- 
 non, a flush rising to her face and a considerable tartness 
 lending itself to her voice. 
 
 lie looked up at her. 
 
180 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " Do you know that I have seen your daughter ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "Seen her? How? When? Where?" cried Mrs. 
 Yernon. 
 
 " Yesterday morning, at Brighton. I went there in the 
 hope of seeing her, and I met her out walking, and 
 and " 
 
 "And what?" 
 
 " She said" and poor Noel's voice faltered "that she 
 hated me and would rather kill herself than be my wife. 
 And, oh, my God!" cried the poor lad, "she said she loved 
 him!" 
 
 He buried his face in his hands, and tears oozed through 
 his thin fingers. Mrs. Yernon wondered to herself how 
 much exasperation it was possible to endure without 
 apoplexy supervening. She did not believe that, in the 
 record of mothers and daughters, mother had ever been 
 so tried as she. Was this girl utterly devoid of all sense 
 of all decency? 
 
 Her manner to Noel softened considerably. She almost 
 felt like a shop woman offering damaged goods which she 
 was anxious to get rid of. 
 
 " But," she said, after a pause, " that is nonsense. You 
 are her husband, and she must accept the fate she herself 
 chose. Nothing can annul the marriage, and she must 
 make the best of it : indeed, I hope, when she sees more 
 of you, her affection will return, and that all will be 
 well!" 
 
 She was trying to bolster up her own hopes as well as 
 Noel's, but all the time a disagreeable presentiment seized 
 her that neither he nor she would be able to cope with 
 Dulcie. She almost regretted that he was not somewhat 
 of the villain she had imagined him; for then he would 
 have carried things with a strong hand. 
 
 " I love her with all my heart," groaned Noel, " and she 
 
 did love me, or else why " And here he stopped 
 
 Bhort. Then, with a sudden inspiration, he looked up at 
 Mrs. Yernon, and asked, " Has she known this man long ? 
 
 Where did she meet him, and when did ?" But he 
 
 could not bring his voice to finish the sentence. 
 
 A half-frightened recollection of her own share in the 
 catastrophe rushed through Mrs. Yernon's brain. She re- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 181 
 
 membered that it was she who had given Dulcie to under- 
 stand that her marriage was not legal, arid that it was in 
 consequence of this representation that the girl had con- 
 sidered herself free to accept Alwyne's attentions. 
 
 But for the moment she felt it impossible to confess this 
 to Noel. 
 
 " We met him at Nice," she answered, with some hesi- 
 tation. " He is the nephew of an old school-friend of 
 mine, with whom we were travelling." 
 
 "And this," cried poor Noel, "must have been not a 
 month after our marriage !" 
 
 " You must remember," pleaded Mrs. Yernon, " that she 
 had heard nothing of you, that she did not even know 
 if the marriage was legal." 
 
 Noel interrupted her with flashing eyes. 
 
 " I will never believe," he cried, " that she would have 
 doubted me, unless some one had influenced her against 
 me." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, during which Mrs. Yer- 
 non was fighting a severe battle with herself. She pos- 
 sessed in a marked degree the truthful and honorable in- 
 stincts which, as a rule, the sterner sex are exclusively 
 credited with, but which may yet be found in many 
 women, whilst they are absent from many men. 
 
 She abhorred lying and deceit, and she was naturally a 
 fearless and courageous woman : indeed, from the inde- 
 pendent life she had so long led, she had been unaccus- 
 tomed to fear anything or any one. She was proud, and 
 nothing could gall her so much as to be proved to have 
 acted unworthily. It was less difficult to her to confess 
 herself wrong than to bear to be accused by another 
 person. 
 
 For a moment it was a hard fight ; then the honorable 
 instinct prevailed. 
 
 " I will be quite straightforward with you," she said, 
 and her voice involuntarily assumed a haughty accent. 
 " When my daughter returned home on the day of the 
 accident, and I learned the truth, I did not for a moment 
 believe the marriage to be binding, and I told her so. And 
 when, later, I learned that it was, I did not undeceive her, 
 thinking she might commit some fresh imprudence. And, 
 besides," hesitating, for it was hardly a pleasant thing to 
 
 16 
 
182 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Bay, ' you were in such a critical condition that it was not 
 supposed you would recover. In which case," with some 
 confusion, " there would have been no occasion for any one 
 to know anything more of the matter." 
 
 Noel saw it all now, and, with the impulse of a lover, 
 immediately shifted the blame from the shoulders of Dulcie 
 to those of her mother. It was clear to him he had been 
 maligned, traduced, blackened to his darling ; she had been 
 made to doubt and hate him, to believe him capable of 
 unspeakable villany. 
 
 After a pause he said, in a voice of righteous indigna- 
 tion, 
 
 " Then it was you who set her against me and paved 
 the way for another man." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was exceedingly human, and had a con- 
 siderable temper. After making an enormous sacrifice of 
 feeling to behave fairly and honorably, to be met with this 
 accusation, and to see that Noel held her responsible for 
 all that had occurred, was more than she could bear, and 
 she struck out sharply in return. 
 
 " You see," she said, in the quiet voice which those who 
 knew her best most feared, " I could hardly imagine that, 
 after being so much devoted to you and ready to sacrifice 
 everything for your sake, my daughter would, a couple 
 of months later, be equally well disposed to receive the 
 attentions of another man. However," changing her tone 
 abruptly, " the moment that I perceived what was going 
 on, I told Dulcie that she was your wife, and forbade Mr. 
 Temple to see her again." 
 
 "And did you tell him the truth?" cried Noel, rather in 
 the tone of a Grand Inquisitor. 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Vernon, striking out again. " I am 
 not given to publishing disgraceful family secrets." 
 
 " Disgraceful !" cried Noel. 
 
 " Yes," returned Mrs. Vernon, calmly, with an unflinch- 
 ing regard, " disgraceful /" 
 
 Noel subsided. He knew he had done wrong, and he 
 was not of a temperament to brazen it out. His head 
 sank again, and he resumed his scrutiny of the carpet. 
 
 Having got the best of him, Mrs. Yernon was disposed 
 to be merciful. 
 
 " Kecriminations," she said, " are never of any use. Let 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 183 
 
 us be practical, and consider the best way out of the 
 dilemma. I will send for Dulcie, and will tell her in your 
 presence that there is only one thing for her to do, which 
 is to submit to the inevitable." 
 
 "No! no 1" cried Noel. " How can I take her against 
 her will ?" 
 
 " Then may I ask what you propose ?" inquired Mrs. 
 Yernon, impatiently. 
 
 " I am going to try to get out to my regiment in India. 
 And then," with a profound sigh, " I shall never trouble 
 her again." 
 
 This magnanimous suggestion was very far from meet- 
 ing with Mrs. Yernon's approval. 
 
 "A delightful position, truly, for my daughter!" she 
 exclaimed. " A wife without a husband ! No ! I will not 
 bear the responsibility of her, and I shall not permit you 
 to shirk yours. If you go to India, she must accompany 
 you." 
 
 " Is it my fault ?" cried Noel, in accents of deepest re- 
 proach. " Would I not give my right hand to win back 
 the affection she felt for me last winter ? I love her with 
 all my soul : do you think I want to go away and leave 
 her to him ?" 
 
 " If you leave her, it probably will be to him," replied 
 Mrs. Yernon, tartly. " Pray, Mr. Trevor, be a man : make 
 use of your authority : it is perfectly impossible for things 
 to go on in this way. I shall now send for Dulcie. You 
 must insist on your rights, and I shall support you." Be- 
 fore he could say a word, she had rung the bell. 
 
 "Ask Miss Dulcie to come to me for a moment/* she 
 said blandly to the butler. 
 
 A minute later, Dulcie, all unsuspecting, obeyed the 
 summons. 
 
 When she caught sight of Noel, she turned ashen pale 
 and trembled in every limb. He rose to meet her, but she 
 did not even greet him by so much as a word. He threw 
 an agonized glance at her mother which said plainly, 
 " You see." 
 
 " Dulcie," said Mrs. Yernon, gently, " I have sent for 
 you that we may talk matters over. Last winter, of your 
 own free will and consent, you walked out of my house to 
 marry Mr. Trevor. By the consequences of that step you 
 
184 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 must abide. You are his wife, and nothing can alter the 
 fact. The law is on his side, and, if he chooses, he can 
 compel you to live with him ; and I am not disposed to 
 deny his position. If you were so much attached to him 
 a few months ago, there is surely no ground for your al- 
 tered feelings now, as he has done nothing to wound or 
 offend you. Indeed, the severe suffering he has under- 
 gone ought to give him a greater claim on your sympathy 
 and affection. I hope that when you have talked the 
 matter over together you will recognize what your duty 
 is. Under the circumstances, I shall not feel justified in 
 keeping you from your husband, and you must not regard 
 this as your home in the future." 
 
 Dulcie remained with downcast eyes. She did not 
 speak a word in answer, but sat with a fixed, dogged ex- 
 pression in her face which augured ill for Noel. 
 
 After waiting to give her an opportunity of speaking, 
 Mrs. Yernon rose and went to the door. 
 
 " I will leave you for a little," she said to Noel. " I 
 hope you will be able to persuade her." 
 
 The two young people, left alone together, remained 
 speechless. Dulcie preserved her obstinate expression, 
 and Noel gazed wistfully at her, longing yet not daring to 
 approach her, to take her in his arms, to implore her love, 
 her pity, her forgiveness even, though he had committed 
 no crime against her. 
 
 At last he said, in a broken voice, 
 " Dulcie, won't you speak to me? You used to love 
 me; and what in heaven's name have I done that you 
 should be so changed ?" 
 
 Still that dogged, obstinate silence which is more trying 
 than the fiercest invectives and recriminations. 
 
 " Dulcie !" and he moved diffidently nearer to her, "won't 
 you speak to me ?" 
 Still silence. 
 
 He tried to take her hand, but she dragged it away from 
 him. 
 
 " Did I not tell you at Brighton," she cried, roused at 
 last, " what I felt for you ? And yet you come here again 
 to persecute and torment me, and to set mamma more 
 against me and make her behave worse to me than she has 
 done already !" 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 185 
 
 " I never meant to have seen you again," returned Noel. 
 " I was going to India, I had begun to make arrange- 
 ments about it, but your mother wrote and asked me to 
 come. I thought you were still at Brighton. But, now I 
 am here, let me plead with you once again. You are not 
 very happy at home ; you and your mother are not on 
 good terms : why why will you not come with me ? Oh, 
 darling! I will devote every hour of my life to making 
 you happy : I will be your slave : you shall not have a 
 wish ungratified if I can help it. Dulcie, my own wife I 
 won't you come to me ?" 
 
 All the passion of which he was capable was expressed 
 in his voice, but she only shrank from him with a gesture 
 of distaste and disgust. 
 
 " I hate you," she said, cruelly ; " and if you take me 
 away by force I will kill myself. What pleasure can it 
 be," and she began to whimper, " to persecute and torment 
 a woman who does not care for you ? If I were a man I 
 should have too much pride." 
 
 " But since you are my wife ? since I have the right to 
 take you?" he answered, his voice hardening for a mo- 
 ment, and a look that frightened her coming into his 
 eyes. 
 
 She burst into sobs. 
 
 " Then I will kill myself!" she repeated. 
 
 Dulcie was the last girl in the world to carry out such 
 a threat, she was far too great a coward, but she 
 thought it a good way of intimidating him. 
 
 He sat down again, hid his face in his hands, and 
 groaned. 
 
 What was he to do ? Why had he come here to fight 
 the battle over again? He had gone through all this 
 misery yesterday and had made up his mind about the 
 future, and now he had been compelled to a futile repeti- 
 tion of his wretchedness. Some men might take pleasure 
 in forcing themselves on a reluctant woman : her terror 
 and repugnance might have lent piquancy to the situation 
 in their eyes. 
 
 But Noel was not one of these. 
 
 16* 
 
186 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXL 
 
 DULCIE was buoying herself up with the hopes which 
 Alwyne had inspired in her. He was going to his lawyer ; 
 he would leave no stone unturned to find a way of annul- 
 ling and making void this marriage, and then he would 
 marry her and their life was to be one of ideal bliss. "With 
 this thought firmly rooted in her head, Dulce was scarcely 
 likely to turn anything but a deaf ear to Noel's pleadings. 
 He was her foe ; Alwyne her knight and deliverer. Her 
 mother was equally her enemy, trying merely out of spite 
 to force her into the arms of a man she hated. It suited 
 her mother's purpose now to declare the marriage irrevo- 
 cable, but Dulcie did not believe it. 
 
 Suddenly it occurred to her that her best plan would 
 be to propitiate Noel. 
 
 " Why should you want to make me miserable ?" she 
 said, raising her tearful eyes to his face. " It is not my 
 fault that I no longer care for you. I suppose I did once, 
 but that is all over now. I was told you had deceived 
 me, and that it was not a real marriage, and then I got 
 to hate you. It is no good blaming me ; it is not my 
 fault." 
 
 Once more the bitterness as of death crept through 
 Noel's heart ; once more he roused himself to a supreme 
 effort. 
 
 " Say no more !" he cried, hoarsely ; then, rising and 
 going towards the door, " I shall never trouble you again." 
 He paused a moment, as though he would have taken 
 some farewell of her; then, changing his mind, he went 
 out. 
 
 A few minutes later, Mrs. Yernon returned to the draw- 
 ing-room to see how matters were progressing. She found 
 Dulcie alone, looking out of the window. 
 
 " Well," she asked, sharply, " where is Mr. Trevor?" 
 
 " Gone," replied Dulcie, with a sullen air. 
 
 " And what have you settled?" inquired her mother. 
 
 Dulcie did not answer, and it was only after innumer- 
 able questions that Mrs. Vernon elicited what had hap- 
 pened. Then the flood-gates of her wrath were let loose, 
 and she talked to Dulcie in a manner which succeeded in 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 187 
 
 frightening that obstinate young lady She declared that 
 the same ^roof should no longer cover them ; that if she 
 disgraced her she would cast her off and never see or speak 
 to her again ; she threatened her with all sorts of terrors. 
 At last, frightened herself at the violence of her feelings 
 and words, she rushed from the room and locked herself 
 in her own room, a prey to the strongest emotion she had 
 ever felt. 
 
 She was no match for this weak, obstinate girl. What 
 was she to do with her? Plan after plan chased itself 
 through her mind. She thought of sending her to some 
 school, where she would be placed under the strictest 
 surveillance, and where she could neither write to nor 
 receive letters from Alwyne. Then she reflected that by 
 too harsh treatment she might drive Dulcie to the very 
 disgrace she so greatly feared. She resolved to consult 
 Mr. Benson, and ordered the brougham. Driving straight 
 to his chambers, she poured out the whole dreadful story 
 to him. He was amazed and shocked, and seriously con- 
 cerned to see his usually self-possessed client a prey to 
 such violent emotion. 
 
 He was unable to suggest anything. If the young man 
 himself would not asserf his privileges and compel his wife 
 to live with him, he thought there was nothing to be done 
 in the matter but to trust to time and to the young lady's 
 coming to her senses. He could not for a moment enter- 
 tain the shocking possibility of so well-brought-up a girl 
 eloping with Mr. Temple if she were made cognizant of 
 the terrible and disastrous consequences of such a step. 
 
 Excellent Mr. Benson, with his calm judicial ideas and 
 words, gave no comfort to the distracted mother in her 
 present frame of mind, and on leaving him she flung her- 
 self back in her brougham in a state bordering between 
 intense irritation and despair. For once the self-contained 
 woman felt the absolute necessity of a confidante, and she 
 resolved to tell Mrs. Leslie the truth. On her return she 
 sent at once for her cousin, and, after first making her 
 swear secrecy upon the Bible, she proceeded, to her own 
 intense relief, to pour out the whole dreadful story to her 
 excited and deeply-interested relative. 
 
 " I feel," said Mrs. Yernon, in conclusion, " so exasper- 
 ated against Dulcie that it is impossible for me to go on 
 
188 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 living in the same house with her, at all events for the 
 present. When I remember," and unwonted tears sprang 
 to her eyes, " how carefully I have brought her up, how I 
 have guarded and watched over her, it is more than I can 
 bear to think of the disgrace she has brought upon me. 
 It must come out sooner or later : I have no doubt the 
 servants already know everything, for I do not place the 
 smallest faith in Morton's discretion ; and, even if she were 
 to be trusted, they must see that something extraordinary 
 is going on." 
 
 Mrs. Leslie was a very good-natured woman, and felt 
 sincerely sorry for her cousin. 
 
 "Is there anything I can do to help you?" she cried, 
 eagerly. " Shall I take Dulcie home with me for a few 
 weeks ? I promise you Mr. Temple shall not get a chance 
 of seeing her." 
 
 Mrs. Yernon seized eagerly upon her offer. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I should be most grateful to you. Anything 
 to get her away from my sight for the present. But may 
 I really trust you ?" she asked, recollecting herself. " I 
 know, my dear, that you are very good-natured and rather 
 weak. If Dulcie persuaded you " 
 
 " No, no. I assure you you may trust me," protested 
 Mrs. Leslie, eagerly. " I will be a perfect dragon. When 
 shall we go ? the day after to-morrow ? I must give them 
 a day to prepare. I will telegraph at once." 
 
 Dulcie was delighted when she heard that she was to 
 be handed over to Mrs. Leslie. She was quite as anxious 
 to get away from her mother as her mother was to be 
 rid of her, and in her heart she felt sure that she would 
 get her own way with her cousin, and be able to corre- 
 spond with Alwyne, if not to see him. 
 
 Two days later they were on their way to Mrs. Leslie's 
 pretty little country-house. Mother and daughter had 
 not exchanged a single word in the mean time, nor did 
 they even bid each other good- by. Mrs. Yernon's exas- 
 peration was so deep that she could not bring herself to 
 look at or speak to Dulcie, and when she was once fairly 
 out of the house her mother felt as though a great load 
 were lifted from her heart. Bitter indeed was it to feel 
 the love and care and kindness of so many years requited 
 by defiance and hostility, and one can scarcely wonder if 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 189 
 
 for the time the mother's natural affection gave way to a 
 feeling very nearly akin to dislike. 
 
 Now it was Duicie's turn to tell her story to Mrs. Leslie, 
 and that kindly-disposed lady was a little shocked to find 
 herself sympathizing in turn with the girl and looking 
 upon her somewhat in the light of a heroine of romance. 
 Not, she gave her clearly to understand, that she meant 
 to allow any interviews with Mr. Temple; besides, she 
 could not imagine, she said, that Dulcie would wish to do 
 anything so wrong as to receive unlawful and compro- 
 mising attentions. But Dulcie soon talked her into the 
 belief that her marriage with Noel was, through Alwyne's 
 
 influence, speedily to be made null and void. And then 
 
 Why, of course, then, Mrs. Leslie assented, it would be a 
 different matter altogether. 
 
 The first thing Dulcie did was, unknown to her cousin, 
 to write and furnish Alwyne with her address, together 
 with the details of her mother's violence and the discom- 
 fiture of Noel. She was exceedingly anxious, too, to hear 
 the result of his visit to his lawyer. Alwyne, meantime, 
 was in a state of great perplexity and distress. He had 
 driven with a confident heart to his lawyer's chambers, 
 but had issued thence crestfallen and despairing. For, 
 after hearing all that Alwyne could tell him, the man of 
 law decided that the marriage was legal and binding, in 
 spite of certain irregularities, and that Noel had only to 
 satisfy the court of chancery on the subject of the young 
 lady's fortune, after which he could carry her off as soon 
 as he pleased. And then the lawyer gave him a signifi- 
 cant hint about the danger of tampering with a ward in 
 chancery. 
 
 Alwyne fumed and fretted himself nearly into a fever. 
 This self-willed young man could not endure to be 
 thwarted, and told himself that he loved Dulcie passion- 
 ately, madly, and that without her he could not live. His 
 one desire now was to see her ; so, when he received her 
 letter, he wrote off by return of post imploring her to 
 manage an interview somehow or other, and promising to 
 tell her all that he had done in the mean time. The all 
 did not amount to much, unless he had reckoned up the 
 ragings and cursings which formed a considerable item in 
 his day's employment. Dulcie, he vowed to himself, must 
 
190 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 and should be his. His intentions were strictly honorable: 
 what did he ask better than to make her his wife ? but, 
 since Fate would not allow that, why, then but ho did 
 not permit himself to dwell on the alternative. 
 
 Dulcie now began to cast about in her mind how the 
 meeting was to be effected. She had become so versed in 
 duplicity that she no longer had any scruples: indeed, 
 she argued to herself that she had been driven to it by 
 her mother's harsh and unkind treatment. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie had accepted an invitation for them both the 
 week following to a smart garden-party four miles distant, 
 and was looking forward to it with some little excitement. 
 This would be Dulcie's opportunity. She would feign ill- 
 ness on the day, having previously apprised Alwyne of 
 her intention, only cautioning him not to come unless it 
 should be a thoroughly clear day. 
 
 Meantime, she behaved in so exemplary a way that 
 Mrs. Leslie's fears were set at rest, and she wrote most 
 encouraging letters to Mrs. Vernon. Dulcie, she said, 
 seemed extremely happy in the country, was very amia- 
 ble and cheerful, and gave her no trouble or anxiety what- 
 ever. She appeared quite reconciled to her fate, now she 
 was no longer in fear of being claimed by Mr. Trevor. 
 The day of the garden-party arrived. When Dulcie camo 
 down to breakfast, she complained of a slight headache, 
 but made light of it, and declared that a turn in the gar- 
 den would no doubt put her right. As the morning wore 
 on, however, she became gradually worse, and by lunch- 
 time she had retired to bed, pulled down the blinds, and 
 answered Mrs. Leslie's tender inquiries in a faint and lan- 
 guid voice. She was repeating her little ruse at Nice 
 with perfect success. 
 
 This sudden illness was a severe blow to Mrs. Leslie, 
 who had been looking forward to chaperoning her pretty 
 ard elegant cousin at the party. The day, too, was lovely, 
 everything that could be desired. 
 
 Mrs. Leslie proposed staying at home to nurse Dulcie, 
 but of this she would not hear, averring that it was 
 simply one of the ordinary headaches to which she was 
 at times subject, and that the only remedy was complete 
 quiet. So at four o'clock Mrs. Leslie drove off in her 
 pony-carriage rather sad and disconsolate. No sooner 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 191 
 
 had the sound of wheels died away than Dulcie sprang up, 
 put on her prettiest frock, recurled her fringe, and, going 
 down-stairs, placed herself at the drawing-room window, 
 which commanded a view of visitors arriving. Twenty 
 minutes later, she beheld Alwyne coming up the drive, 
 and flew to open the door for him. If his visit could be 
 made without the knowledge of the servants, whose of- 
 fices were all at the back of the house, so much the better. 
 
 A minute later he was in the drawing-room, and she 
 was in his arms. To do Dulcie justice, she really felt that 
 she belonged to Alwyne, and looked upon herself as en- 
 gaged to him. Her real husband she regarded as a dis- 
 agreeable detail which she did her best to forget. 
 
 Some considerable time was spent in expressions of de- 
 light at meeting, and in Dulcie's description of the firm- 
 ness by which she had baffled her mother and routed 
 Noel : then suddenly she stopped, and, looking eagerly in 
 Alwyne's face, cried, 
 
 " What does your lawyer say ?" 
 
 This was the moment that Alwyne had dreaded. 
 Evading a direct answer, he renewed his impassioned 
 protestations with increased fervor; but Dulcie, bent on 
 hearing the answer for which she hoped, put them aside, 
 and repeated her question earnestly. 
 
 Alwyne hesitated. He could not tell her a lie on the 
 subject, and yet, with any shadow of truth, he could not 
 bid her hope. 
 
 Dulcie trembled. 
 
 " Do you mean to say," she whispered, with white lips 
 and a terrified look, " that nothing can be done ?" 
 
 " Nothing, I am afraid," replied Alwyne, gloomily, 
 " short of his knocking you down and running away with 
 another woman." Then, seating himself beside her and 
 taking her hand, he began again hotly to protest his love. 
 He urged all those arguments common to young men 
 when passion gets the better of honor : he talked the spe- 
 cious nonsense about marriages unblessed by the Church 
 but sacred in the sight of God, which has befooled silly 
 women to their undoing ; he vowed eternal fidelity ; he 
 pictured a Paradise in foreign lands of which they were to 
 be the Adam and Eve: he did and said everything, in 
 fact, that he could think of to persuade Dulcie to run 
 
192 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 away with him. But Dulcie's heart had turned to stone 
 within her. She was not of those who think the world 
 well lost for love's sake : she understood quite enough of 
 such matters to realize the fate of a woman who commits 
 the error that Alwyne would have had her commit, and she 
 was the last girl in the world to sacrifice herself in such a 
 manner. She loved Alwyne to the best of her poor ability, 
 but the man did not exist for whom she could bear scorn 
 and contumely. All the imprudences she had been guilty 
 of had been committed in the belief that she was to be 
 Alwyne's wife : never for one instant had the thought of 
 being his mistress crossed her brain. Now despair over- 
 came her: she sat and wept helplessly; whilst he was at 
 his wits' end to console her. She scarcely heard his im- 
 passioned words : a dull grievous sense that all was at an 
 end between them overwhelmed her. From henceforth 
 she was widowed and hopeless: she would not be Noel's 
 wife, she could not be Alwyne's. 
 
 Alwyne had not said to himself in so many words that 
 he intended to play the villain ; he only declared that he 
 could not live without her; and now he was trying to 
 gloss over the wrong and to persuade her that their mani- 
 fest duty was to live for each other. He did not really 
 anticipate a very hard task in persuading Dulcie, and he 
 quite meant to consider her his wife to the end of their 
 natural lives. But he painted his charming pictures to 
 dull ears. Dulcie kept on thinking and realizing, as he 
 talked, of the agonizing loss she had sustained, but was 
 not moved for one instant to any thought of consenting. 
 
 And, just when Alwyne felt that his passionate plead- 
 ing must conquer, she looked up at him, her eyes dim 
 from much weeping, and said, 
 
 " You must go now, and I shall never see you again." 
 
 He sat staring as one stupefied : he did not believe for 
 a moment that she seriously meant what she said. 
 
 " You are not in earnest !" he cried. 
 
 " I am," she answered, between her sobs. " I would 
 have done anything, sacrificed anything, to be your wife, 
 but you say it is impossible. If you really loved me, you 
 you would never think of anything else." 
 
 Alwyne protested that he did love her; that it was 
 because he loved her he could not give her up ; that if 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 193 
 
 she loved him she would feel, as he did, that life apart 
 was not to be borne. 
 
 But here the obstinacy which had baffled Mrs. Yernon 
 and Noel came in, to the confusion of Alwyne, and, though 
 she wept piteously, she was not to be brought to make 
 any concession. She could never love any one else ; if 
 ever the time came when she was free, she would be his, 
 but only his lawfully and honorably. 
 
 Then Alwyne lost his temper, and reproached her 
 violently, and cried too with rage and disappointment, 
 and swore that she was sending him to the devil, and that 
 he would go there with all possible expedition, and then 
 perhaps she would be sorry. 
 
 As she remained unmoved by all this, excepting that 
 she continued to weep copiously, he at last rushed from 
 the room and house, violently banging the door behind 
 him, and frightening the servants, who up to this time 
 had been unconscious of his presence in the house. 
 
 By the time her cousin returned from the garden-party, 
 Dulcie was really ill in bed from the effects of her excite- 
 ment. In the course of the evening Mrs. Leslie was in- 
 formed that a gentleman had been to see Miss Yernon, 
 arid had left the house with a bang that nearly brought 
 the house down. She was seriously alarmed : she had not 
 believed that Dulcie would deceive her; but now she 
 realized that her staying at home was merely a ruse, and 
 trembled lest Mrs. Yernon should discover how she had 
 been outwitted. Well, it should not happen again : she 
 only trusted that nothing serious would come of this. 
 
 She went at once to Dulcie, who lay pale and inert, 
 with closed eyes. 
 
 " Dulcie," she said, in a low voice, " you have done very 
 wrong to deceive me in this way. What am I to say to 
 your mother if she finds it out ?" 
 
 The girl's tears fell afresh. 
 
 " You need not be afraid," she answered, dolorously. 
 " I shall never see him again. It is all over ; and, oh ! I 
 am the most miserable girl alive !" 
 
 Then Mrs. Leslie felt sorry for her, and pressed her 
 hand kindly and besought her to relate what had hap- 
 pened. And Dulcie replied that there was no longer any 
 hope of a divorce ; but she was too proud and too cunning 
 i n 17 
 
194 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 to reveal what more had passed between them on the 
 subject. 
 
 Next day she received an impassioned letter from Al- 
 wyne, begging her forgiveness, yet declaring that he could 
 not live without her. 
 
 She put his letter in the grate, burned up every morsel 
 with wax matches, and made no reply of any kind to it. 
 After three days came his parting shaft. " You never 
 loved me. You will see to what you have driven me J" 
 
 "Good gracious!" cried Mrs. Leslie, a few mornings 
 later, at breakfast, as she was looking over the " Morning 
 Post." 
 
 "What?" asked Dulcie, listlessly. 
 
 Her cousin handed her the paper with a shocked look, 
 and she read, 
 
 " We are authorized to announce that a marriage has 
 been arranged, and will shortly take place, between Mr. 
 Alwyne Temple, of Blank Court, Blankshire, and Lady 
 Lucy Quickset, second daughter of the Earl and Countess 
 of Hedgerow." 
 
 Dulcie's hand trembled ; her face was very white as sho 
 returned the paper to Mrs. Leslie. 
 
 " I suppose it is the best thing he could do," she said, 
 trying to command her voice. 
 
 Then she rose, left her unfinished breakfast, and went 
 to her room. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 HERE I must exert the author's privilege of putting 
 back the clock and return for the moment to some of the 
 other characters who have figured in these pages. 
 
 We left Mrs. Chandos with a headache ; Sir John Ches- 
 ter with a heart-ache, partially relieved for the moment 
 by the unexpected kindness of his lady-love ; Mrs. Her- 
 bert in the role of benevolent godmother, and Mrs. Pier- 
 point at her wits' end to know what to do with her wilful 
 and turbulent-spirited brother ; Mrs. Chester in sore dis- 
 tress of mind and full of fear of the wiles of the wicked 
 siren, and Lilah irritable and peevish to the last degree at 
 what she considered every one's neglect of her. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 195 
 
 When Mrs. Yernon and Dulcie left, and Jack took up 
 his quarters at Cannes, her temper became unbearable, 
 and at the end of a week she worried her mother until the 
 poor lady was obliged to consent to taking her back to 
 England. Lilah hated being abroad, she declared; she 
 hated foreigners; she hated the hotel; she even hated tho 
 roses and the sunshine, and insisted that, instead of feel- 
 ing better, she was much, much worse, and would very 
 likely die if she were not restored at once to her dear 
 home. 
 
 Perhaps, in her secret heart, Mrs. Chester was not 
 sorry for a pretext to get her son away from the dangers 
 and temptations which beset him, and when Lilah passion- 
 ately and persistently demanded to be taken back to Eng- 
 land she wrote to Sir John to acquaint him with his sister's 
 desire. 
 
 The letter was a severe blow to Jack, who was basking 
 in sunshine, both actual and metaphorical, at Cannes, and 
 his first impulse was to feel angry with Lilah and even to 
 rebel against having his pleasure curtailed by what he 
 knew to be simply her caprice. Indeed, he had to fight a 
 pretty stern battle with himself before his kind heart and 
 the recollection of his dead father's injunction triumphed 
 over the inclination to refuse submission to her selfish and 
 arbitrary will. But he did triumph, and, with a very sore 
 heart, bade adieu to the two dear ladies at the Yilla Blank. 
 In one way he was almost as much attached to Mrs. Herbert 
 as to Eeine. She had a wonderful art of making him ap- 
 pear to the best advantage ; in her presence he was never 
 tongue-tied nor awkward, and Heine admitted that there 
 was a great deal more in him than she had suspected. She 
 rallied Mrs. Herbert on his devotion to her, and declared 
 that they were so much in love with each other that it 
 was positively embarrassing to be the third person ; and 
 Mrs. Herbert did not attempt to deny the impeachment, 
 but merely declared that she would give anything to adopt 
 him as her son, upon which Eeine gibingly replied that 
 Mia was making use of a very common subterfuge, only 
 that, unfortunately, it was such an old and hackneyed one 
 that it deceived no one. Mrs. Herbert smiled, and pro- 
 tested no more. 
 
 When Jack took a sorrowful farewell of her, she prom- 
 
196 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 ised to write to him, and bade him be sure to come to 
 London and see her as soon as she returned there. And 
 when, in the following April, she wrote to him announcing 
 her arrival, he put himself in the train the very next day 
 with a joyful heart, and was whirled away to the big city. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert received him with open arms ; he had a 
 delightful tete-d-tete dinner with her that very evening, 
 and, during the three days of his sojourn, spent the greater 
 part of the time in her company. 
 
 Eeine was in Paris, and likely to remain there for at 
 least another month. Captain Bernard, she informed him 
 with unfeigned pleasure, had at last succeeded in drink- 
 ing himself to death, and, though she would not buoy Jack 
 up with false hopes, she still encouraged him not to de- 
 spair, and promised to help him if he would yield implicitly 
 to her guidance. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert, who felt unequal to and disliked the 
 trouble of having a large acquaintance, was an extremely 
 stanch and loyal friend to those she liked and took an in- 
 terest in. "Friendship," she was wont to say, "is the 
 great resource and pleasure of middle age : its ties, un- 
 like those of love, are welcome and pleasant; they are 
 elastic, and will stretch to any extent ; it is impossible for 
 them to gall. Friendship is not like love, a sudden in- 
 stinct that draws together two people who have nothing 
 in common but passion ; it must be founded on a similarity 
 of tastes and ideas, on mutual affection and esteem. If 
 my lover does an unworthy or a cruel action, I may hate 
 the act, but be unable to refrain from loving him ; if my 
 friend committed it, he would no longer be ray friend, for 
 my affection could not blind me to his unworthiness, and, 
 although I might still keep him as an acquaintance, his 
 hold on my heart would be gone. But, unless my judg- 
 ment had wandered very far astray, I should never have 
 chosen for a friend one who was capable of wounding and 
 outraging my susceptibilities." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert, then, having admitted Jack to her friend- 
 ship, was ready to do everything in her power to help 
 him. She was convinced of the excellence of his heart 
 and temper; his behavior to his mother and sister assured 
 her of that, and his extreme fondness for and goodness to 
 animals was a very strong link between him and his new 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 197 
 
 friend. All the ideas which he expressed when they con- 
 versed intimately together were pleasing to her ; he was 
 open, straightforward, honest, abhorred everything mean, 
 cruel, or cowardly, was absolutely devoid of the cheap 
 cynicism which many young men of the day think it 
 smart to affect, either on the subject of women's virtue or 
 the general untrustworthiness of the whole human race. 
 He could believe, admire, and love with a fresh and honest 
 heart ; and nothing would have induced Mrs. Herbert to 
 air in his presence any of the advanced views which she 
 sometimes advocated in the presence of a sympathetic 
 listener. 
 
 " People who believe everything are happy and enviable," 
 she said. " I think it a positive crime to attempt to take 
 from any one a particle of faith, although in my own eyes 
 it may seem to be only obsolete superstition. I would far 
 rather see a slight lack of intelligence or disinclination to 
 intellectual research in a young man than the brilliant 
 talents which so often go to make an iconoclast of him." 
 
 And Jack never doubted for one instant that Mr. Her- 
 bert believed every word of the Bible from beginning to 
 end, but imagined that she deplored as deeply as he did 
 the malign influence of Henry Bertram, which had per- 
 verted the ideas of the purest and most innocent woman 
 in the world. He was exceedingly discomposed one day, 
 when seated in Mrs. Herbert's drawing-room, by the but- 
 ler throwing open the door, and announcing, " Mr, Ber- 
 tram." Jack had not been five minutes in the room : he 
 could not therefore take his hat and go, but had to remain, 
 and join in conversation with the dangerous atheist. 
 Never had he received a greater shock of surprise than 
 as he sat and listened to Mr. Bertram's conversation, it was 
 so polished, so amusing, so thoroughly good-natured and 
 tolerant on every subject that was mooted, so full of in- 
 dulgence for the shortcomings of others. It happened 
 that Mrs. Herbert brought up two topics of considerable 
 interest which were then occupying the public mind, and 
 she spoke with a great deal of energy and some fire in 
 denouncing the wrong-doers ; but Henry Bertram, whilst 
 not palliating the crimes themselves, made such generous 
 and intelligent allowance for possible circumstances and 
 motives not apparent to those who only saw results, that 
 
 17* 
 
198 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 he ended by persuading Mrs. Herbert and Jack, who had 
 warmly supported her, to take a more lenient view of the 
 case. 
 
 Little by little Jack felt his prejudice melting away, and 
 when Bertram rose to take leave he found himself giving 
 a hearty and cordial hand-shake to the man whom he had 
 looked upon as the arch-enemy of every good and noble 
 sentiment. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Herbert, smiling, as the door closed 
 upon him, looking up at Jack with a perfect comprehen- 
 sion of his change of feeling, " and what do you think of 
 the monster?" 
 
 Jack looked, as he felt, puzzled. 
 
 " I never was so surprised in any one," he said, honestly, 
 after a moment's pause. " To hear him talk, he seems 
 such a good chap. If one did not know " 
 
 " You have seen him to-day as he is always," said Mrs. 
 Herbert. " He is the kindest-hearted, most charitable 
 creature living. If he believed every syllable that is 
 written in the Scriptures, he could not more thoroughly 
 act up to the principles they inculcate." 
 
 " I can't understand it," remarked Jack, perplexed, and 
 scarcely liking to confess that he had always imagined 
 unbelievers to be wicked, immoral wretches, capable of 
 committing the blackest and most dastardly crimes, and 
 to whom charity and generous impulses were unknown. 
 " Was he always an atheist ?" 
 
 " On the contrary. His father was a bishop, and he 
 was brought up most strictly. He declares that the in- 
 tolerance and narrow-mindedness which he saw in his 
 youth so revolted all the generous instincts of his nature 
 that the moment he was able to emancipate himself he 
 flung off the cloak of religion, and has, according to his 
 own account, been happy ever since." 
 
 " I don't understand it," repeated Jack, still puzzled. 
 " I don't see how people can do right if they don't believe 
 in God." 
 
 " Henry Bertram says," returned Mrs. Herbert, " that 
 he cannot see why you want a God to teach you that it is 
 wrong to lie and steal and oppress the helpless, when 
 your own natural instincts tell it you so plainly. ' Do 
 you think,' he says, * I would say to my boy, if I had one, 
 
ONCE AGAJft. 199 
 
 "Do not lie and steal and be cruel and injure others, be- 
 cause God will damn you and send you to hell if you do" ? 
 No! I should say, "Be honest, kind, truthful, just, that 
 you may respect yourself and help your fellow-creatures 
 and make them happier; that when you die you may 
 have been of use in your generation, and have helped the 
 world to progress towards a happier and more enlightened 
 Btate ; that whilst you live you may be able to hold up 
 your head among your fellow-men ; that you may keep 
 your heart soft, and not be arrogant and bitter and hard 
 to those who don't think as you do." ' 
 
 " Well," said Jack, " but is not that very much what 
 Christianity teaches ?" 
 
 " Yes," answered Mrs. Herbert, " what it ought to teach, 
 and what it is supposed to teach ; only with the love of 
 God for its motive. But just look at all the different sects 
 and parties ! * See how these Christians love each other !' 
 Still, for my own part, I can make allowance for a certain 
 amount of bigotry and narrow-mindedness. If you are 
 very much in earnest and believe honestly that there is 
 only one way of being saved, you must nail your colors to 
 the mast and stick to fixed principles. For the most part, 
 tolerance means indifference. If you with all the energy 
 of your heart and soul believe in a certain thing, you can- 
 not say, l Perhaps it's true, and perhaps it isn't : after all, 
 it does not much matter.' " 
 
 Here another visitor was announced, and Jack took his 
 leave without having had an opportunity of saying a word 
 about Heine. 
 
 In the interests of her favorite, Mrs. Herbert thought 
 it desirable to make the acquaintance of Jack's mother 
 and sister, and Fortune was not long in favoring her with 
 an opportunity. Lilah was more delicate than ever, and 
 Mrs. Chester brought her to London to consult an eminent 
 physician. When they had been three or four days in 
 town, Mrs. Herbert, after ascertaining that a call from her 
 would be acceptable, paid her visit late in the afternoon. 
 The Chesters were staying in apartments, as Lilah disliked 
 the noise of a hotel. Mrs. Herbert found them in tribula- 
 tion : the chimney smoked ; the landlady was disobliging ; 
 Lilah was in a state of extreme nervous irritability. 
 Mrs. Herbert, who was not, as a rule, fond of strangers or 
 
200 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 of being put out of her way, took pity on the two help- 
 less ladies, and, having also an eye to Jack's interest, in- 
 sisted positively that they should give up their rooms and 
 come to her comfortable house next day, and, in spite of 
 Mrs. Chester's protestations, would take no denial. The 
 result was admirable. Lilah had never been so happy 
 and comfortable before. Mrs. Chester was weighed down 
 by gratitude, and Mrs. Herbert won in the mother and 
 daughter two admiring and devoted friends. She was 
 obliged to promise a return visit to them at their country 
 home, and this led to an arrangement which gave pleasure 
 to all parties. 
 
 The dower-house on the estate was let, but the tenant 
 was in the habit of travelling during July, August, and 
 September, and subletting the house for these three months 
 if a desirable occupant could be found. The house was 
 charmingly furnished, and had a lovely garden. Mrs. 
 Herbert's custom was to rent a place in the country dur- 
 ing the summer and autumn, and the Chester family im- 
 plored her to come and take up her abode at the dower- 
 house. 
 
 Mrs. Chester was aware that Mrs. Herbert was the 
 friend of Mrs. Chandos, but, having heard no mention of 
 that lady for several months, had ceased to feel any anx- 
 iety or misgivings about her. Mrs. Herbert had not once 
 mentioned Eeine's name in the presence of either Mrs. 
 Chester or Lilah, and, before they came to see her, had, 
 with a slight qualm as though she were guilty of some 
 treachery, locked away the beautiful miniature of Keine 
 which always stood on her writing-table along with the 
 handsomely-bound volumes of poems which were also wont 
 to occupy a prominent place in her boudoir. Truth to 
 tell, she and Jack entered into a little conspiracy which 
 would have made Eeine furious had she known it, to avoid 
 all mention of her, and of her sayings and doings, before his 
 relatives. 
 
 Eeine always spent at least a month with Mrs. Herbert 
 at her summer resort, and Jack, with a beating heart, 
 looked forward to the time when his idol would be even 
 at his very gates. 
 
 It was June before Mrs. Chandos came to London and 
 took up her residence in her own pretty little house. She 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 201 
 
 had almost forgotten Jack's existence, but when she met 
 him at Mrs. Herbert's she behaved very kindly and cord- 
 ially to him, and rallied her friend more than ever about 
 her latest infatuation. Mrs. Herbert laid down the 
 strictest rules for Jack's guidance, and, by repeating them 
 over and over again, succeeded in impressing upon him 
 the absolute necessity of following them if he ever hoped 
 for success. True, she could not exercise the control over 
 his eyes that she did over his tongue, but Eeine did not 
 appear to remark his occasional glances of devotion, and, 
 as long as he refrained from putting his feelings into 
 words, was quite willing to be friendly with him. In- 
 deed, she took a considerable liking to him, and he was 
 often allowed to be in her company when she and Mrs. 
 Herbert were together. 
 
 Henry Bertram not unfrequently made a fourth at din- 
 ner or for a party to the pla} r , and when Jack had fully 
 convinced himself that this pleasant infidel had no designs 
 on Eeine's heart he became immensely attached to him, 
 and Mr. Bertram heartily reciprocated the young fellow's 
 good feeling, being thoroughly pleased with his honest, 
 open, and guileless nature. Mrs. Herbert had even con- 
 fided her plot to him for the bringing together of this 
 pair, and he, when he had seen and narrowly observed 
 Jack, was by no means inclined to oppose or throw cold 
 water upon it. 
 
 He was sincerely attached to Eeine ; he knew that she 
 was an unhappy woman, and he was ready to welcome any 
 scheme that might make her life healthier and happier. 
 He was always trying to combat that tendency to morbid 
 feeling which was the chief cause of her discontent and 
 despondency, and he agreed with Mrs. Herbert that a 
 lively and adoring young husband would be an excellent 
 antidote to gloomy and pessimistic thoughts. 
 
 Eeine, acute though her instincts usually were, did not 
 suspect the trap that was being laid for her by her devoted 
 friends : the idea would have seemed to her so preposterous 
 and absurd that it did not occur to her to entertain it. 
 She was in a happier mood than she had been for a long 
 time : the death of Captain Bernard was an unspeakable 
 relief to her; she was no longer haunted by the fear of 
 meeting him, or of hearing some disgraceful story about 
 
202 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Mm. She now realized that she was absolutely free, the 
 mistress of her own fate and life as far as any mortal can 
 be. She consented willingly to spend some time with Mrs. 
 Herbert at the dower-house, being in blissful ignorance of 
 the fear and horror which she inspired in the maternal 
 breast of Mrs. Chester. 
 
 During her stay in town she saw a good deal of Mrs 
 Yernon, who was in a really pitiable state of wretchedness 
 and embarrassment. She had conceived a positive dislike 
 to her daughter, and declared it to be impossible that the}' 
 should live any longer under the same roof. Knowing 
 Heine's discretion, it was an immense relief to her to dis- 
 cuss the miserable affair, and Eeine sympathized very sin- 
 cerely with her aunt. It was out of the question, Mrs. 
 Vernon declared, that she should continue to go about 
 with Dulcie as though she were a marriageable girl ; and 
 to live in a state of constant suspicion of some new treach- 
 ery and duplicity would be intolerable. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was beyond measure indignant with Noel 
 for his cowardice ; but he had sailed for India, and was 
 out of reach of her remonstrances or anger. She lived in 
 daily fear, she declared, of Dulcie's folly bringing her into 
 irretrievable disgrace, and it was with heartfelt thankful- 
 ness that she read the announcement in the " Post" of 
 Alwyne's intended marriage. But until it was an accom- 
 plished fact she averred that she should not know a mo- 
 ment's peace, since it might only be a fresh ruse of the 
 pair, who seemed equally devoid of honorable instincts, to 
 throw dust in her eyes and the eyes of the world at large 
 in order that they might carry out their own abominable 
 designs. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert was acquainted with the Hedgerows, and 
 Reine elicited from her, without any breach of her aunt's 
 confidence, that the engagement was a bona-fide one, that 
 the family were pleased with it, and that Alwyne appeared 
 to be a very devoted and attentive lover. 
 
 Dulcie remained for the present with Mrs. Leslie, as her 
 mother had no desire to see her, and Mrs. Yernon em- 
 ployed all the tact she possessed to account to her friends 
 for her daughter's absence from London in the very 
 height of the season. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 203 
 
 CIIAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 MRS. HERBERT took possession of the dower-house early 
 in July. Reine was not to join her until a month later, 
 having promised to spend some weeks with another inti- 
 mate friend in Hampshire. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert, who never liked to be quite alone, es- 
 pecially in the country, took with her as companion pro 
 tern, the daughter of an old friend whom stern vicissitude 
 had compelled to earn the bitter bread of dependence. Her 
 experiences had been peculiarly unfortunate, her lot having 
 fallen among vulgar and tyrannical people, and she could, 
 although she rarely did, relate stories of the treatment 
 she had suffered which would hardly have seemed credible 
 to ordinary people. There are hundreds let us hope 
 thousands of houses where governesses and companions 
 are treated with kindness and courtesy, but there are 
 others where the behavior of the employers is such as 
 they would not dare to show a servant, on pain of being 
 left to wait upon themselves. In these days, when thou- 
 sands of gently-nurtured girls have no alternative but to 
 earn their own bread, when the market is so terribly over- 
 stocked with the commodity of unemployed gentlewomen, 
 it is a case either of starving or enduring ; and if ladies 
 are cruel and overbearing the unhappy dependant must- 
 submit, or run the chance of being for months without a 
 situation, perhaps suffering absolute want. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert, who had been very kind to Grace's family, 
 invited her to spend a month at the dower-house. She 
 was a tall, graceful girl, not exactly pretty, but exceed- 
 ingly ladylike, with beautiful hands and feet and an un- 
 mistakable air of breeding. -She adored Mrs. Herbert, 
 and would have done anything in the world for her. She 
 used to say, a dozen times in the day, 
 
 " You must please not be so kind to me, or it will make 
 the change so dreadful when I go away." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert was delighted with the dower-house. The 
 present possessor, seeing what a desirable tenant he had 
 secured in her, left out all his china, pictures, and pretty 
 
204 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 knick-knacks, and, as she said, it was quite like going to 
 one's own home. There was a wealth of flowers in the 
 garden and conservatories, and Grace used to devote a 
 great deal of her time to arranging them in the big china 
 bowls; for Mrs. Herbert loved to have flowers about her, 
 and scouted the old-fashioned idea of their making a room 
 unhealthy. 
 
 Sir John came every day to the house, under the pre- 
 tence of wanting to know if she was quite comfortable, 
 and if there was nothing he could do for her, and seemed 
 quite disappointed that his good will was not put to the 
 proof. 
 
 There was constant friendly intercourse between the hall 
 and the dower-house. Lilah took a great fancy to Grace, 
 who read, sang, and talked to her, and felt a genuine 
 pleasure in lightening the burden of the poor little suf- 
 ferer. 
 
 After ten happy days Mrs. Herbert was sensible of the 
 first crumpled rose-leaf. She saw that poor Grace was 
 fast falling in love with Sir John, and it troubled her 
 seriously. " How can one ever be sure, with the best in- 
 tentions in the world," she said to herself, " that one is 
 doing a kindness? I have brought Gracie here thinking 
 to give her a month's rest and happiness, and it is quite 
 likely that I shall be the means of causing her the worst 
 heartaches she has ever had in her life, poor child !" 
 
 For Jack, with his natural kind and refined instincts, 
 behaved with much more attention to Grace than he would 
 have done to most girls, on account of her dependent 
 position, and it would have been quite pardonable on her 
 part if she fancied that he was attracted towards her. 
 Truth to tell, the young man was so anxious to be alone 
 with Mrs. Herbert to talk about his beloved that he was 
 mortally afraid of showing that the presence of a third 
 person was irksome ; and so, whenever Grace appeared, 
 he was at great pains to conceal his chagrin, and in the 
 goodness of his heart a little overacted his part. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert reflected seriously upon the situation, and, 
 after some heart-burning, came to a decision. Something 
 must be done before it was too late, and she felt that the 
 wisest course would be to confide the real facts to Grace. 
 "With her usual tact, she selected her opportunity when 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 205 
 
 they were sitting together in the twilight after dinner, re- 
 flecting that the dusk would conceal any emotion that her 
 recital might bring to the girl's cheeks and eyes. 
 
 She began by praising Sir John, his thoughtful kind- 
 ness, his manliness, his good looks, for she thought him 
 good-looking, although he had no very strict claim to 
 being called handsome. By the vivacity and ardor with 
 which Grace agreed to and echoed her encomiums, a not 
 very subtle person would have got an inkling of the truth, 
 and, for once, it was rather a source of pain to Mrs. Her- 
 bert to have her praises so eagerly assented to. 
 
 " Who would think," she went on, almost hating her- 
 self for the stab she was inflicting, "that Sir John was 
 the victim of a hopeless love ?" 
 
 A moment's silence followed, in which the last speaker 
 acutely felt what her listener was suffering. 
 
 " It is a strict secret," Mrs. Herbert continued, with an 
 effort, " and if I confide it to you you must promise faith- 
 fully not to divulge it, nor to let him think you have any 
 suspicion of it." 
 
 " Of course," answered poor Grace, in a hard, strained 
 voice that she had the utmost difficulty in controlling, and 
 a pang went through her heart as though the conscious- 
 ness of a dire misfortune had come to her. She had not 
 thought, imagined, hoped anything, and yet this revela- 
 tion came upon her like a thunder-clap. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert went on with her story in as natural a 
 voice as she could command, and Grace listened whilst the 
 light waned and her own heart grew dark and chill too. 
 She had once seen Eeine and admired her immensely ; but 
 now she felt dislike of her growing in her breast, and in 
 little more than a fortnight she, the poor despised gov- 
 erness and companion, would be ousted from all this hap- 
 piness, and the beautiful, gifted, fortunate Mrs. Chandos, 
 who already (as Grace thought) had all this world's good 
 things, would be queening it in a Paradise, with the man 
 who possessed every manly grace and virtue for her slave. 
 Oh, how cruel the world is! how cruel life is for some 
 people ! and how others are heaped with gifts and bless- 
 ings, with love and happiness! At this moment Grace 
 would have scoffed had any one told her that Heine Chan- 
 dos was a less happy woman than herself. 
 
 18 
 
206 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert's tale was told. The room had grown 
 quite dark, and silence fell upon the pair. 
 
 " I think we will not have lights just yet," said Mrs. 
 Herbert, after a long pause. " I feel a little sleepy," 
 she added, settling herself back in her chair ; and Grace 
 went away into the garden, and, sitting on a bench, 
 looked at the vast heaven and the silver stars, and mar- 
 velled at the cruelty of her lot, until her sight became dim 
 and misty with tears. 
 
 Neither that night nor at any future time was the sub- 
 ject recurred to either by her or Mrs. Herbert. Poor 
 Grace had an intuition why the story had been told her, 
 and was careful to let her friend see that she perfectly un- 
 derstood and appreciated the motive of Sir John's kind- 
 ness to her and was in no way misled by it. 
 
 As August drew near, and the time for Eeine's visit 
 approached, both Jack and Mrs. Herbert felt a little 
 uneasy. Each know full well what a shock the news 
 would be to Mrs. Chester, and each had a sense of guilt at 
 their conspiracy and of fear lest it should be detected. 
 Mrs. Herbert had promised to broach the news, and rarely 
 had she felt more uncomfortable at a task. To her intense 
 relief, a circumstance altogether unexpected came to her 
 aid, and she was not slow to take advantage of it. 
 
 Mrs. Chester had written two or three times to Mrs. 
 Yernon during the last few months, pressing her to bring 
 Dulcie and pay them the long-promised visit, and at last 
 Mrs. Yernon had accepted. Alwyne Temple's marriage 
 had taken place, and there was no longer anything to be 
 dreaded from the thought of meeting him. To be alone 
 with her daughter was insupportable to Mrs. Yernon, and 
 she had therefore accepted several invitations to country- 
 houses, and fixed the beginning of August for her visit to 
 the Chesters. 
 
 Mrs. Chester came down to the dower-house to an- 
 nounce the news to her friend, and Mrs. Herbert at once 
 rejoined, with great aplomb, 
 
 " That will be charming. I have just written to Mrs. 
 Yernon's niece, begging her to come to me. If she ac- 
 cepts, we shall be quite a family party." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert spoke with so innocent an air that poor, 
 guileless Mrs. Chester was Completely taken in by it; but 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 207 
 
 the news was a severe shock to her, although she did her 
 best to conceal what she felt. The one woman on earth 
 she feared at her very gates ! The poor lady went home, 
 fell on her knees, and prayed as earnestly that her dear 
 son might be delivered from Heine's wiles and snares as 
 though Mrs. Chandos had been the Scarlet Lady in propria 
 persona. 
 
 Jack was at immense pains to hide his jubilance, but 
 his heart was full of joy, and he seemed to tread on air. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert was looking joyfully forward to Heine's 
 arrival, but a pang shot through her kind heart every 
 time she thought of Grace's departure and the sad change 
 her life would undergo when she left the dower-house. It 
 was an immense relief to her when, one morning, Mrs. 
 Chester came to make the proposition that Miss Waltham 
 should be offered the post of companion to Lilah for three 
 months. The idea was Lilah's own : she had been seri- 
 ously concerned at the thought of losing her new friend, 
 and it had occurred to her that it would be delightful to 
 have Grace all to herself, not as a visitor, but as her own 
 chattel and apanage. Mrs. Chester had demurred a little 
 at first to the idea of taking a new inmate into the family; 
 but Lilah had appealed to Jack, and he had heartily ap- 
 proved of and concurred in it. At all events, there could 
 be no harm in trying it. 
 
 Grace caught eagerly at the proposal. Like her sex, 
 she clung to the presence of the beloved, even though she 
 knew that it would cause her infinite suffering. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon and Dulcie arrived two or three days before 
 Eeine. It was impossible for the Chesters not to remark 
 how much changed Dulcie was since the winter. She 
 looked sad ; she made little effort to talk ; and though she 
 forced a stereotyped smile when spoken to, it was so mani- 
 festly artificial as to inspire no idea of pleasure or mirth 
 in the beholder. Dulcie was, indeed, utterly miserable. 
 What affection she had she had given to Alwyne : his 
 very masterfulness had exercised a potent charm over her 
 weak nature ; it had been happiness to submit to him and 
 to his influence. The memory of Noel filled her with fear 
 and repugnance. A sense of dislike to her mother over- 
 spread her heart. She felt with indignant revolt that the 
 latter bad no pity for her, no sympathy with her grief; 
 
208 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 that, if she could, she would at any moment force her into 
 the arms of Noel ; that she would gladly welcome any- 
 thing that would relieve her of her, Dulcie's, presence. 
 This was quite true. Mrs. Vernon felt nothing but impa- 
 tient scorn of her daughter. Dulcie's presence had be- 
 come wellnigh intolerable to her: the fact of having to 
 take about a seemingly marriageable daughter under false 
 pretences was an odious fraud which she beyond expres- 
 sion hated being compelled to connive at. 
 
 Until Alwyne's marriage had become an accomplished 
 fact, Dulcie had not seriously believed that it would take 
 place. She thought he meant to frighten and to punish 
 her : she was so certain that he loved her, she could not 
 believe he would willingly place an insuperable barrier 
 between them. When she read the announcement of his 
 marriage in the paper, it had broken whatever of heart 
 and spirit she possessed. 
 
 Although all the members of the Chester family re- 
 marked the change in Dulcie, it was only sharp little 
 Lilah who connected it with Alwyne's marriage. She 
 had seen at Nice that Dulcie was in love with her cousin, and 
 had declared that Mrs. Yernon only left them and returned 
 to England in order to get rid of Alwyne ; and, although 
 she was extremely puzzled to know why so eligible a 
 young man had been rejected by Dulcie's mother, she felt 
 certain in her own mind that the change in Dulcie was to 
 be attributed to Alwyne's marriage. She spoke purposely 
 of Alwyne and his bride in Dulcie's presence, watching 
 her the while with lynx eyes, and she noted, with a cer- 
 tain pride in her own discrimination, that a faint color 
 came to the girl's cheeks and that she showed some slight 
 embarrassment. 
 
 Lilah, with a desire of offering consolation to the victim 
 of her scalpel, spoke in a disparaging way of Lady Lucy, 
 declared that she was fast and horsey and that there was 
 no doubt she had a temper, in which case she and Alwyne 
 would soon come to blows, as he had the very worst tem- 
 per in the world and was so spoiled and selfish that he 
 could not bear the least contradiction. Indeed, she, Lilah, 
 pitied any poor wretch who had the misfortune to be his 
 wife. 
 
 Dulcie made no remark in answer, although she bitterly 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 209 
 
 resented Lilah's words in her heart ; but she had always 
 looked upon her as a peevish, sharp-tongued, disagreeable 
 little creature. 
 
 Sir John did his utmost to amuse and cheer Dulcie. 
 Always kindly and benevolently disposed, he was now so 
 brimful of happiness that he burned to make every one 
 about him happy too, and could not tolerate the idea of 
 her being miserable. So much attention, indeed, did he 
 show her that Mrs. Chester's hopes began to revive and 
 poor Grace suffered keen pangs of jealousy, thinking that 
 perhaps after all Mrs. Herbert had been mistaken in sup- 
 posing his heart to be given to Mrs. Chandos. 
 
 But this impression did not last a moment after she had 
 seen him in Eeine's presence. Then she knew beyond a 
 doubt that Mrs. Herbert had told her the simple truth. 
 There was an expression in his eyes, a ring in his voice, 
 when he spoke to Mrs. Chandos, that would have betrayed 
 him to the merest tyro in love's ways. In spite of Mrs. 
 Herbert's warnings, he could not conceal the delight he 
 felt in Eeine's presence. In London it had been different; 
 but now that she was here, here in his own house, he felt 
 as though he had a new prerogative to love her and to be 
 happy. Whether Keine read what was written so legibly 
 in his face or no, she made no sign, but treated him with 
 frank kindness and without a shade of embarrassment. 
 She was in excellent spirits, delighted to be once more 
 with Mrs. Herbert, of whom she was exceedingly fond, 
 charmed with the dower-house, in unusually good health 
 and spirits, and quite in tune to enjoy the simple pleasures 
 of the country. Both she and Mrs. Herbert loved to be 
 in the air and were fond of driving, and there were plenty 
 of pretty drives in the neighborhood. 
 
 Jack was constantly at the house, and Eeine still affected 
 to laugh at her friend and to rally her upon his attention ; 
 and, as Mrs. Herbert wished to give him every opportunity 
 of being in Eeine's presence, she smilingly accepted the 
 impeachment. 
 
 " There is one thing, my dear boy," she said confidently 
 to Jack, for by this time they were on the most familiar 
 and friendly terms, " There is one thing that I positively 
 dare not do for you, and that is to leave you alone with 
 Eeine. If I did, her suspicions would be aroused at once : 
 o 18* 
 
210 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 BO, much as I hate being third, I must for the present con- 
 tinue to play that obnoxious part." 
 
 Of course Jack had the good manners to assure her that 
 never, under any circumstances, could her society be 
 aught but delightful ; and she smiled, and said that per- 
 haps some day she might be able to convince him *! :> the 
 contrary, and that she ardently desired the advent of that 
 time. 
 
 He was compelled to make constant pretexts for being 
 in the company of his two dear ladies, and, to that end, 
 suggested frequent picnics and excursions, and, though 
 this form of entertainment was not especially grateful to 
 either Mrs. Herbert or Eeine, they were amiable enough to 
 sacrifice themselves with a good grace to the general weal. 
 
 So two or three young men and maidens from the 
 neighborhood were bidden to swell the party, and one of 
 the former, an extremely eligible youth, fell forthwith 
 desperately in love with Dulcie, to her extreme discon- 
 certment as well as to the annoyance of her mother. To 
 be ambitious and to have a pretty daughter whom various 
 men of position and fortune were burning to make their 
 own, and to have her secretly married to an obscure young 
 soldier with whose lot she declined to cast in her own, was 
 a dispensation so unbearable that one can scarcely wonder 
 if it drove poor Mrs. Yernon to the verge of madness. 
 
 And presently a new complication ensued. Alwyne, 
 whose place was some thirty miles distant from his cousin's, 
 wrote to say that he and his wife had arrived there, and 
 would drive over in his phaeton, sending on horses half- 
 way, and spend a couple of nights at the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Chester, on receipt of this communication, felt 
 slightly embarrassed. Kemembering what had happened 
 in the winter, she thought it probable that a meeting 
 might neither be agreeable to the Yernons nor to Alwyne. 
 She called her son into council. 
 
 " Alwyne knows that the Yernons are here," answered 
 Jack. "I was writing to him the other day, and men- 
 tioned it. I dare say it is just a little bit of bravado on 
 his part, to show them that he did not take his rejection 
 at all to heart ; but, of course, before we invite him and 
 his wife here we must find out whether Mrs. Yernon and 
 her daughter object to meeting him." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 211 
 
 So Mrs. Chester put the matter as delicately as possible 
 to Mrs. Yernon, and that lady, with a bland and serene 
 face, declared that it would give them great pleasure to 
 meet Mr. Temple and to make Lady Lucy's acquaintance. 
 
 In her secret heart she did not like the idea at all. Be- 
 lieving Alwyne to be absolutely unprincipled and her 
 daughter idiotically weak, she felt no certainty whatever 
 as to the result of a meeting between them. She deter- 
 mined, however, to keep Argus-eyes upon both of them, 
 and, as the visit was to be so short, she hardly thought 
 much danger could accrue from it. In the role of bride- 
 groom, too, Alwyne would be compelled, for decency's 
 sake, to show a great deal of attention to his bride. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI Y. 
 
 DULCIE did not hear of the approaching visit until that 
 evening at dinner, when Lilah made allusion to it. 
 
 Her heart fainted within her : she turned waxen white, 
 and could not eat another morsel. No one looked at her 
 or seemed to remark her discomposure^ and as soon as 
 dinner was over she went to her room. She felt as 
 though she would rather do anything in the world than 
 meet Alwyne under these new circumstances, now that it 
 was assured beyond all assurance that henceforth he could 
 be nothing to her or she to him. 
 
 Her marriage in the registry-office had seemed an un- 
 .eal kind of thing which might by some means or other 
 be got over ; but he had been married in church before the 
 eyes of the world, and his ties were irrevocable, knitted 
 by the Church, by law, by society. How would he meet 
 her? Did he know she was here? Surely not, or he 
 would hardly have been so cruel as to put her to the pain 
 of seeing him under these changed and hopeless circum- 
 stances. Even now she clung to the belief that he must 
 still love her, and had only married from pique or despair. 
 She sat a long time at her open window, looking out at 
 the moonlit garden, but seeing nothing, thinking only 
 her miserable thoughts, until a tap came at the door, and 
 
212 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Grace asked softly whether she would not come down and 
 join in a round game. 
 
 She did not dare refuse the summons, but accompanied 
 Grace to the drawing-room and took the chair that had 
 been placed for her next Sir John. She played mechani- 
 cally, like one in a dream ; but Jack insisted on her bank- 
 ing with him, directed her play, and did his best to avert 
 attention from her obviously distraite manner. Her 
 mother glanced at her with covert scorn and resentment, 
 incensed at her folly in wearing her heart so plainly on 
 her sleeve. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon rarely now saw or spoke to Dulcie in 
 private, but she took occasion that evening to follow her 
 to her room. 
 
 " I suppose," she said, in a hard voice, " that you are 
 not particularly anxious to give people the impression 
 that you are pining for Mr. Temple : therefore it would be 
 as well in future to exercise a little more control over 
 yourself, and not to wear the willow quite so plainly as 
 you did to-night. If you have any self-respect, you will 
 not, when he arrives, give him the gratification of seeing 
 how mortified you are by his marriage." 
 
 Dulcie neither looked at nor replied to her mother ; a 
 sullen resentment overspread her heart; and, after a 
 moment's pause, Mrs. Yernon turned and left the room. 
 
 Alwyne had informed his aunt by letter that he and 
 Lady Lucy would arrive in time for dinner. They were 
 a little late, and every one went to dress except Mrs. 
 Chester and Sir John, who waited to receive them. Dulcie 
 thus escaped meeting Alwyne until the party assembled 
 for dinner. Mrs. Herbert and Mrs. Chandos came from 
 the dower-house, and two men from the neighborhood had 
 been asked, to lessen the great preponderance of the fair 
 Bex. 
 
 The line which Alwyne had selected was very soon 
 manifest. He greeted Dulcie as though she were the 
 merest acquaintance, Mrs. Yernon with distant hauteur, 
 and, having once exchanged with her the necessary greet- 
 ing, never looked at nor spoke to her again during the 
 evening. 
 
 He was delightful to the ladies from the dower-house, 
 pleasantly patronizing to his aunt and Lilah, but his par- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 213 
 
 ticular attentions were reserved for his bride, of whom it 
 seemed as though he could not make enough. He scarcely 
 took his eyes off her ; if he was not speaking to her, he 
 brought her name unceasingly into the conversation ; his 
 directions to the servants about " her ladyship's" wants 
 and comforts were a little more ostentatious than was 
 compatible with good taste. 
 
 As for Lady Lucy, she accepted his attentions with per- 
 fect good humor, if a little cavalierly, and chatted away 
 after her own somewhat slangy fashion with great fluency 
 and amiability. She was rather pretty, and perfectly un- 
 affected ; had her hair cut short like a boy, laughed rather 
 loudly, and talked a great deal to Sir John about horses, 
 racing, and equine matters generally. 
 
 After dinner, Alwyne hovered about her, insisted on her 
 singing, stood by the piano in rapt attention during the 
 somewhat mediocre performance, frowning if he heard 
 the smallest whisper among the company. He was look- 
 ing very handsome and distinguished, and his manner, a 
 trifle dictatorial and self-important to every one else, was 
 charming to his wife. 
 
 Sharp-eyed Lilah was perhaps the only one who quite 
 saw through him. 
 
 " I think," she confided afterwards to Grace, " that 
 Alwyne is more detestable than ever. That was his 
 put-on manner to-night, and was only done to aggravate 
 bulcie Yernon and to make out that he did not care two 
 straws about her having refused him. So snobbish of 
 him, too, to keep on about ' her ladyship/ letting every 
 one see how proud he is of having married an earl's 
 daughter." 
 
 Grace, who only saw in Alwyne a very handsome young 
 man, devoted to his wife, thought Lilah very unjust ; but 
 she did not say so, having already discovered that it was 
 unproductive of comfort or harmony to contradict the 
 little tyrant. 
 
 Poor Dulcie was cut to the heart. She suffered all that 
 Alwyne's revengeful spirit desired that she should suffer ; 
 his manner convinced her that she was ousted from his 
 heart, and that the devotion she had once inspired was 
 transferred to his wife. Yet, she thought bitterly, since 
 he was so happy and triumphant, he might have had a 
 
214 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 kind word for her: he need not have treated her with 
 such marked and cruel indifference. She wept bitterly 
 far into the night ; she was suffering the most poignant 
 anguish she had ever felt ; and, for the first time, the 
 thought dawned across her that she too had been cruel, 
 and had caused bitter and unnecessary pain to Noel by 
 her heartless treatment of him. 
 
 The next day there was a picnic, and a tolerably large 
 party assembled at the hall about mid-day. Dulcie's 
 latest admirer was of the party, and testified his love-lorn 
 condition in the most ingenuous manner. 
 
 Now, strange as it may seem, Alwyne, whose one 
 object had hitherto been to evince in the most marked 
 manner his absolute indifference to Miss Yernon, was 
 vastly displeased to see the post which he had so con- 
 temptuously disclaimed any wish for, occupied by some 
 one else. It quite distracted him from his attention to his 
 wife, and produced a disagreeable effect on his temper, 
 making him perverse and contradictory and disposed to 
 quarrel with every suggestion made for the general welfare 
 and pleasure. 
 
 Sir John drove Dulcie, Lilah, Grace, Dulcie's admirer, 
 Mr. Lister, and another man, in the break, and, imagin- 
 ing that the devoted bridegroom would not like to be 
 parted from his adored one, had arranged that they should 
 drive in Alwyne's phaeton. Lady Lucy insisted on taking 
 the reins, and during the greater part of the way Alwyne 
 grumbled and found fault with her coachmanship and 
 exhibited himself in an altogether different fashion from 
 that he had done the previous evening. But Lady Lucy 
 seemed absolutely indifferent to his ill humor, and simply 
 laughed at him and bade him "shut up" and not be a 
 brute. 
 
 During the al fresco luncheon Alwyne's displeasure in- 
 creased at seeing the slavish attentions of George Lister 
 to Dulcie. She accepted them gently enough, for she was 
 HO abjectly miserable that her one thought was to conceal 
 her pain from the eyes of those present ; and she there- 
 fore feigned an interest in his conversation which she was 
 very far from feeling. By the end of luncheon Alwyne's 
 wrath had reached boiling-point, and, with his usual wilful 
 disregard of what any one might think, he approached 
 
ONCE AGAIN 215 
 
 Dulcie and invited her to walk with him to see some view 
 in the neighborhood. Lister, however, showed no inten- 
 tion of quitting her side : so, after they had walked a 
 few paces, Alwyne turned sharply round upon him and 
 said, 
 
 "My dear chap, I dare say you know the old saying 
 that ' two is company.* Miss Yernon is an old friend of 
 mine, and I have not spoken to her for an age ; whereas 
 you have had the privilege, no doubt, every day lately. 
 Perhaps you will let me escort her now, and when I 
 bring her back I promise not to interfere with your 
 claims." 
 
 Lister looked furious. 
 
 " If Miss Yernon wishes to be rid of my company, I 
 will go at once," he said, appealing eagerly to Dulcie; 
 but she remained silent with downcast eyes. He was 
 therefore compelled to take her silence as a proof that his 
 society was not welcome ; and, after a moment's pause, he 
 turned on his heel, desperately vexed and wounded. 
 
 Sir John and Eeine, who were both witnesses of this 
 little episode, felt extremely uncomfortable on Lady Lucy's 
 account, and proceeded in concert to make themselves 
 agreeable to her in order to divert her attention from her 
 husband's strange behavior, and Mrs. Herbert, with quick 
 intuition, ably seconded them. But Lady Lucy was evi- 
 dently not one whit disconcerted or displeased at Alwyne's 
 absence, and laughed and chatted away in the best of 
 spirits. Lister attached himself to Lilah and Grace, as 
 being the nearest approach to the rose, and the other 
 young men and maidens paired off and were soon lost in 
 the sylvan arcades. Mrs. Chester and Mrs. Yernon were 
 not of the party, having thankfully relegated to the ladies 
 from the dower-house the duties of chaperonage. 
 
 Now that Alwyne had carried off Dulcie in triumph, he 
 did not appear to have very much to say to her. She was 
 trembling in every limb ; her eyes were averted from 
 him ; her embarrassment was evident. Eemarking his 
 power over her, Alwyne received the necessary stimulus 
 to his revengeful instincts. 
 
 "I thought," he said, in a tone of cruel banter, "that I 
 was doing Lister a kindness in taking you away from him. 
 You know it's deuced hard on men to go on losing their 
 
216 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 hearts to you under the impression that you are" " fair 
 game," he was going to say, but changed it to " eligible. 
 
 What has become of Mr. ? I forget his name; and 
 
 how much longer are you going to keep him in the back- 
 ground ?" 
 
 The brutal bad taste of his remark was less obvious to 
 Dulcie than his cruelty. Tears trembled on her lashes and 
 fell : he saw them, but they only goaded him on to an in- 
 creased desire to hurt her. 
 
 " It really is an infernal shame," he continued. " I sup- 
 pose you intend to let this wretched devil Lister break his 
 heart about you. Do you mean to tell him the truth, or 
 shall you wait until Mr. What's-his-name pounces upon 
 him from behind a tree or somewhere? By Jove! you 
 made me miserable enough, I know ; and if I had not met 
 Lucy, who's the dearest girl in the world, I might have 
 blown my brains out, or gone to the devil, or God knows 
 what!" 
 
 Dulcie had very little dignity, but she was stung into 
 replying, 
 
 " It is most fortunate that you did meet her." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " it is. But I don't suppose such luck is 
 in store for every man; and I do say, as I said before, that 
 it is an infernal shame your going about sailing under false 
 colors. Of course as long as a man does not see or know 
 of any other fellow hanging about you, he always thinks 
 he has a chance." 
 
 " I have never given Mr. Lister the smallest encourage- 
 ment," cried Dulcie, indignantly. 
 
 " I don't know what you call encouragement," retorted 
 Alwyne. " I should call your behavior to him at lunch 
 very decided encouragement. Perhaps you don't consider 
 that you encouraged me ?" 
 
 Dulcie was silent. She felt unutterably miserable : she 
 dared not say to him what was in her heart : " You know 
 that I loved you, and that I hoped to be your wife in 
 time." He was married: it was no use raking up the 
 past or confessing her humiliation. If he could forget so 
 soon, it ill beseemed her to show that she remembered. 
 
 But Alwyne's appetite for revenge grew in exercising it, 
 and he went on. 
 
 "Where is your husband now?" he asked. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 217 
 
 Even a worm will turn. Dulcie, who had no wit, no 
 readiness whatever at cut and thrust in repartee, was 
 goaded beyond endurance. 
 
 " If you only brought me here to say these things to 
 me," she cried, " I will go back to the rest of the party. 
 You are married ; you are happy : leave me and my misery 
 alone !" 
 
 " Oh. by all means," returned Alwyne, in a lofty tone. 
 " I beg your pardon : I will not presume to mention your 
 affairs again. Still, as we have come so far, we may as 
 well go on and see the view that I was supposed to show 
 you." And for the rest of the way he discoursed entirely 
 about his wife and her family, the delightful trip they had 
 made in their honeymoon, the beauties of his own place, 
 his horses, his dogs, on everything, in fact, that tended 
 to his own self-exaltation and to show Dulcie what a loss 
 she had sustained in him. Their tete-a-tete lasted somo 
 three-quarters of an hour. Never had Dulcie experienced 
 such bitter mortification. She was not shrewd enough to 
 see that, had Alwyne felt the indifference he professed, he 
 would not have been at such pains to testify it to her, but 
 would rather have been disposed to be the more kind and 
 considerate. 
 
 The pair rejoined their companions in very different 
 frames of mind. Alwyne was jubilant in the extreme : 
 the gratification of his revenge had warmed his heart and 
 made him almost boisterously good-humored. He threw 
 himself down at his wife's feet, called her " little woman," 
 " darling," and various other endearing epithets, and she 
 received his advances with the same good-tempered indif- 
 ference with which she had taken his absence. 
 
 As for Dulcie, she could not command her face to any 
 show of cheerfulness, and after what Alwyne had said she 
 was positively terrified of appearing to give the smallest 
 encouragement to George Lister. And suppose, she 
 thought, Alwyne betrayed her, and the fact of her secret 
 marriage were to get abroad. She had no guarantee that 
 he would not confide her dreadful secret to his wife, and 
 she no doubt would tell every one, and perhaps make a 
 jest of it. Then she, Dulcie, would be eternally disgraced 
 and undone. Why had she not taken advantage of being 
 alone with him to implore him to keep her secret ? She 
 K 19 
 
218 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 must do so yet ; but when would she have another oppor- 
 tunity ? 
 
 This thought entirely engrossed her mind, so that she 
 did not even hear what George Lister was saying to her, 
 or take any account of the tender reproaches he was 
 pouring into her ear. At first on her return with Alwyne 
 he had tried to sulk with her, but, finding that she did 
 not even appear to remark this exhibition of his resent- 
 ment, he abandoned it, and endeavored to appeal to her 
 better feelings. Both tactics were equally unsuccessful. 
 He therefore, after the nature of his kind, waxed more 
 deeply in love at every fresh proof of her indifference. 
 
 How should she procure another interview with Alwyne 
 in order to throw herself upon his clemency and to en- 
 treat his silence ? 
 
 This thought occupied her the whole afternoon. 
 
 It had been arranged that all the members of the picnic- 
 party should dine at the hall that evening, and after they 
 had boiled their kettle and drunk smoky tea with apparent 
 relish they prepared to return home in the same order in 
 which they had come. Dulcie was not near enough to 
 Alwyne to exchange a word with him. 
 
 As she was descending to the drawing-room before din- 
 ner, she saw him on the stairs in front of her. 
 
 a Mr. Temple," she said, in a low voice, accelerating her 
 speed. 
 
 He turned. 
 
 " I must speak to you," she whispered, in a hurried, 
 agitated voice, coming up with him. 
 
 At this moment steps were heard in the corridor above 
 them. 
 
 " I will meet you in the garden after dinner," he said. 
 " By the limes. I will go out the moment we leave the 
 dining-room." 
 
 Dulcie would have demurred, but there was no time. 
 And, after all, she did not much mind how or where she 
 met him, so long as she could prevail upon him to keep 
 her secret. 
 
 When the ladies left the dining-room she went to her 
 room to wait until it was time to keep her tryst. 
 
 The evening was lovely. The long twilight had not 
 yet faded out ; there were still rosy gleams athwart the 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 219 
 
 western sky. Presently she crept down-stairs, and, going 
 out through the French window of the morning-room, 
 took her way to the limes. There was a bench fieneath 
 the largest of them, and there she seated herself and 
 waited with what patience she might for the coming of 
 her whilom lover, now turned into a bitter and revenge- 
 ful foe. 
 
 Poor Dulcie ! all joy and hope had gone out of her life : 
 she saw nothing before her but wretchedness and despair. 
 
 A step on the gravel, and Alwyne, flushed, triumphant, 
 handsome, stood before her. He was a little excited at 
 the situation ; he had a pleasant sense that he was doing 
 something a trifle hazardous and not quite right, and he 
 had. besides, a delightful feeling that he was scoring over 
 Lister. He had come with no wrong intent of any sort, 
 but, as he looked at Dulcie, her fairness, which was of the 
 type he most admired, smote him with a sudden sense of 
 loss, and he felt something of the old tenderness for her 
 creeping back to his heart. 
 
 " Well," he said, in a softened voice, with signs of melt- 
 ing in his handsome eyes, " I have come. What can I do 
 for you?" 
 
 And with that he sat down on the bench beside her, 
 and, swayed by sudden impulse, took her hand. Her one 
 thought was to propitiate him, and she did not attempt to 
 draw it away. She had so utterly relinquished all idea 
 that he cared for her that his action was without any sig- 
 nificance. 
 
 She looked at him with appealing eyes : her voice 
 faltered and trembled. The evidence of her weakness 
 touched all his senses. Lucy had no weaknesses. 
 
 " Oh," she almost gasped, " I implore you to have pity 
 on me and not to betray my dreadful secret ! If any one 
 knew it, I should die outright." 
 
 And here she fell to weeping. 
 
 " My poor little girl, don't cry !" said Alwyne, greatly 
 touched. "Of course I won't. What do you take me 
 for?" 
 
 He clasped both her hands in his, and looked tenderly 
 in her face, feeling repentant for his cruelty of the after- 
 noon. 
 
 "I was a brute to-day," he went on, penitently, "but I 
 
220 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 did not mean it. I swear no one shall ever hear the least 
 word from me. You know," his tone growing very soft, 
 " I was awfully fond of you, and, though of course that is 
 all over now, I could not help feeling savage when I saw 
 that ass Lister making love to you." 
 
 Considering that it was all over, his gaze was rather 
 ardent, his manner extremely tender, and the pressure of 
 his hands not altogether indicative of a burnt-out flame. 
 But propinquity is admittedly dangerous. 
 
 " Oh," cried poor Dulcie, feeling this moment as though 
 he were the only friend she had in the world, "do not bo 
 unkind to me any more ! If you knew how wretched I 
 am, you would be sorry for me." 
 
 " My poor dear little girl !" uttered Alwyne, genuinely 
 touched. And, without any evil intent, he yielded to the 
 strong temptation that seized him, and, putting his arm 
 round her, drew her head tenderly on his breast. And at 
 this precise moment, George Lister, with furious eyes, 
 stood before them, crying, in a voice hoarse with rage, 
 
 "By God! this is too bad !" 
 
 CHAPTEK XXV. 
 
 ALWYNE and Dulcie sprang to their feet, the man full 
 of wrath, the girl of terror. 
 
 " D n you ! what do you mean by coming spying here ?" 
 cried Alwyne, and he aimed a blow at Lister which sent 
 him reeling. Eecovering himself, George sprang upon h!s 
 foe like a bull-dog, and in a moment the two were engaged 
 in mortal combat. 
 
 Dulcie shrieked aloud, and her shrieks brought speedy 
 aid in the person of Jack, who had missed the two men, 
 and was searching for them to join in a dance which had 
 been proposed in the drawing-room. 
 
 Horrified at the sight which greeted him, he flung him- 
 self upon the combatants. 
 
 " Are you mad ?" he cried. " Do you want to raise the 
 whole house ?" 
 
 Quivering with rage, perhaps not wholly unmixed with 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 221 
 
 shame, the two men stood panting and glaring at each 
 other. 
 
 " Pray, Miss Vernon, go in at once !" said Jack ; and, 
 terrified as she was, Dulcie could not fail to remark the 
 stern displeasure of his tone. She crept away, feeling the 
 most guilty and miserable wretch in the world. What 
 awful Nemesis perpetually dogged her footsteps and led 
 her into the most appalling situations ! An agonized fear 
 smote her that Lister would tell what he had seen, that 
 this terrible affray would soon be public property, and that 
 she was for evermore disgraced and ruined. Wild visions 
 of flight sped across her brain : she would never be able 
 to face her mother if this fearful story were made known 
 to her. Cowering and terrified, trembling in every limb, 
 she took her way to her room. 
 
 Meantime, Jack, full of righteous wrath, was giving the 
 combatants a piece of his mind, and they received it very 
 much as hounds with guilty consciences take a rating. 
 
 " Upon my soul," he cried, " this is a nice gentlemanlike 
 thing, to maul each other like two costermongers before a 
 lady ! And you, Alwyne, with a wife ! A pretty figure 
 you will cut in this disgraceful business ! For God's sake 
 get away quietly to your own room, and stop there till I 
 come to you ! George, I must get you in the back way 
 somehow." 
 
 For poor Lister's nose was ignobly dripping blood be- 
 yond the powers of a handkerchief to control, and his 
 shirt-front bore fearful testimony to the fray. 
 
 Jack succeeded in getting his guest by the back stair- 
 case to his own room, and, when his friend's nose was suf- 
 ficiently stanched to make conversation possible, he sternly 
 requested an explanation. 
 
 "The scoundrel!" cried George, with many adjectives 
 and expletives. " Only married a month, too ! And God 
 knows," with a gulp in his throat, " how I loved that girl ! 
 My greatest hope in the world was to marry her. I missed 
 her out of the drawing-room, and then I saw him sneak 
 off, and I was determined he should rot be alone with her: 
 so in a minute or two I went after them, and there I found 
 the blackguard with the girl in his arms." 
 
 "Well?" said Jack, who was horrified in his mind, 
 thinking of poor Lady Lucy as well as of Dulcie, and 
 
 19* 
 
222 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 cursing Alwyne in his heart for an unprincipled scoun- 
 drel. 
 
 " Well, my feelings got the better of me, and I con- 
 fronted them and cried out that it was too bad, and he 
 
 started up and struck out at me. But, by , he has not 
 
 heard the last of it I I'll fight him. By I will I" 
 
 " I don't think you will," returned Jack, coolly. " If 
 you are a gentleman, as until to-night I took you to be, 
 you won't bring disgrace and misery upon two poor inno- 
 cent women, at all events," correcting himself, " upon 
 one." 
 
 "It wasn't her fault, I swear!" cried George, flaring up 
 in her defence : " it was his. He always was an infernal 
 blackguard about women : you know he was, though he 
 is your cousin." 
 
 Jack had not the smallest inclination to defend Alwyne, 
 with whom he was furious. 
 
 " Look here, George," he said, quietly. " Miss Yernon 
 is under my roof, and, as my guest, any one who causes 
 trouble or annoyance to her has to answer to me. You 
 have got to swear on your honor as a gentleman, before 
 you leave this room, that you will never breathe a word 
 to living soul about having seen her in Alwyne's arms. 
 If you have any further quarrel with him, the whole 
 thing is bound to come out; and that I swear it shall 
 not." 
 
 Lister was a young fellow of honorable instincts. 
 
 " Do you suppose," he said, reproachfully, " that I would 
 hurt a hair of the girl's head ?" 
 
 And then, poor boy, overcome by his feelings, he buried 
 his face in his hands and gave a convulsive sob. 
 
 "I did love her so!" he went on, presently; and Jack, 
 greatly touched, his honest heart full of sympathy, laid a 
 kind hand on Lister's shoulder, saying, 
 
 " It is awful hard lines, poor old chap. Don't think too 
 badly of the girl," he went on, after a pause. " You know 
 there is no doubt she was very fond of Alwyne last winter, 
 and so was he of her, and then, for some reason or other, 
 no one knows why, her mother interfered and sent him 
 about his business. And I dare say it was only some little 
 explanation they were having, and perhaps neither meant 
 any harm : only you know it is awfully dangerous for 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 223 
 
 people to be out in the moonlight together, and I wish to 
 heaven," wound up Jack, vigorously, " that you had had 
 the sense to keep out of the way." 
 
 " I wish I had, now," groaned George. 
 
 " Well, I must go back to the drawing-room and make 
 the best story I can," said Jack. " I suppose I had better 
 order your trap and say you've gone home with a head- 
 ache." 
 
 "Yes," responded Lister. "I'll get in at the stables. 
 Send my coat up to me here to cover myself up with." 
 
 " All right. I'll ride over and see you to-morrow. And 
 you swear to keep this dark ?" 
 
 " I swear, but only for her sake. By George, I should 
 like " 
 
 But Jack cut him short by leaving the room. 
 
 The ladies were waiting in wondering expectation for 
 the arrival of their swains. Jack put on the most cheer- 
 ful air he could muster. 
 
 " I am afraid we shan't manage a dance to-night," he 
 said. " Lister has gone home seedy, and I can't persuade 
 Alwyne to leave his cigar," he added, mendaciously, 
 hating himself for having to tell even so trifling a lie. 
 
 " I will go and fetch him," cried Lady Lucy. " How 
 lazy of him ! Where is he ?" 
 
 " I saw him last in the garden," answered Jack, fearful 
 lest she should seek him in his room. 
 
 Lady Lucy ran off to the garden, accompanied by the 
 only remaining man, and Jack went to his cousin's room 
 to see what traces he bore of the fray. 
 
 One glance at him showed that he would develop a fine 
 black eye by the morrow, and so disconcerted was Jack 
 by this discovery that he forgot to reproach him. 
 
 11 What the deuce are you going to say to your wife ?" 
 he cried, anxiously. " You must invent something. Say 
 you tumbled over the roots of a tree. You must never let 
 out one word of this to a soul. Lister is gone ; he will 
 hold his tongue ; now you had better think how to make 
 your story good. I can't stop, or people will begin to 
 fancy there's something up." 
 
 As he left the room, it occurred to Jack that there was 
 yet another person to be thought of. Dulcie was proba- 
 bly still in fear and trembling and uncertain what course 
 
224 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 events had taken. He paused to think. He did not like 
 the idea of going to her room, but still less did he like 
 that of writing to her and sending the note by a servant. 
 
 He went on tiptoe to the corridor where her room was, 
 and tapped softly at the door. She opened it with a 
 scared look, and his heart was touched by compassion in 
 a moment. 
 
 " Come down-stairs/' he whispered, gently. " Not a 
 soul will ever know a word of what has happened ; and I 
 hope you feel that you can trust me." 
 
 Without another word, he sped noiselessly away and 
 returned to the drawing-room. 
 
 But Dulcie's nerves were too sorely shaken to admit of 
 her reappearing in public that night. Believed of her 
 worst terrors, she hastened to disrobe, and when Grace 
 came to look for her she pleaded fatigue and indisposition 
 and announced her intention of going to bed at once. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon had been extremely uncomfortable mean- 
 time. The simultaneous disappearance of Alwyne and 
 her daughter had filled her with apprehension, and when 
 Grace brought word that Dulcie had gone to bed with a 
 headache she was by no means reassured, remembering 
 what had come of her pretended headache on a previous 
 occasion. 
 
 She, however, refrained from going to see Dulcie : it 
 was impossible, she felt, despairingly, to contend with or 
 overcome her folly : so she left her to her fate. On in- 
 quiring of Morton later on, she elicited that Dulcie really 
 seemed extremely unwell ; but she contented herself with 
 recommending the maid to see that she had all she 
 wanted. 
 
 Lady Lucy raced all over the grounds in pursuit of the 
 recalcitrant Alwyne, but in vain. Then she sought him 
 in the smoking-room, with no better success. Finally she 
 proceeded to his dressing-room ; and here she found him. 
 He was so horribly frightened and felt so guilty that it 
 had the effect of making him extremely amiable. 
 
 " Why, Alwyne," cried her ladyship, " what on earth 
 have you done to your eye ?" 
 
 He affected to treat the matter in a light and airy 
 manner. 
 
 " The fact is, my dear girl," he answered, pleasantly, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 225 
 
 " that I went out to have a smoke, and came a most infer- 
 nal cropper over the roots of one of those confounded old 
 trees and hit my eye against a garden-seat. It's rather a 
 mercy I didn't put it out." 
 
 " Poor dear boy !" said Lady Lucy, kindly. " But, you 
 know, it rather serves you right for not coming in to 
 dance when we wanted you." 
 
 " Well, I can't come now, anyhow," he returned, still 
 quite pleasantly. " I'm afraid I shall have a horrid black 
 eye to-morrow. Such a nice respectable sort of thing, 
 too !" he added, forcing a laugh. 
 
 " It is rather awkward," she assented. " But every one 
 will know you can't have got it fighting." 
 
 And she laughed cheerfully, without the smallest arriere- 
 pensee. 
 
 " You had better go down again, Lu," remarked Al- 
 wyne, " and don't make any fuss about it. It will only 
 worry my aunt." 
 
 Lady Lucy returned to the drawing-room, and naively 
 related the story of Alwyne's accident with her own little 
 theory of retributive justice, but also with many expres- 
 sions of wifely compassion. 
 
 The party soon after broke up, to Sir John's unspeak- 
 able relief. For once he could even say good-by to Mrs. 
 Chandos without wishing to detain her. When the last 
 guest was gone, he went back to Alwyne. He had never 
 set up for being a censor of morals ; he was never down 
 upon any one ; but he had a deep and indignant sense that 
 his cousin had behaved like a villain to a woman under 
 his roof, and he intended to have an assurance that there 
 should be no recurrence of the love-passages of this even- 
 ing. Jack was very diffident, as a rule, about interfering 
 or giving advice : he had, however, a very strong sense of 
 honor, and this gave him the necessary resolution to say 
 out straightly what was in his mind. 
 
 As he entered the room, Alwyne saw by the look in 
 his eyes and the unusual sternness of his manner that 
 there was to be a reckoning between them. But for the 
 fact of his having a wife and the horrible fear of her get- 
 ting to know what had happened, he would probably have 
 brazened the matter out ; but now he hastened to say, in 
 his most propitiatory manner, 
 
226 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 "This is a duced unlucky business, Jack, and I am 
 awfully sorry for my share in it." 
 
 "It is something more than unlucky," said Jack, 
 warmly. " It is utterly disgraceful ; and I don't see what 
 excuse you can make for it in any way." 
 
 " Look here, Jack," cried Alwyne, " I give you my word 
 of honor that I meant no harm, and that there would have 
 been none if that blundering ass Lister had not come 
 playing the spy." 
 
 "You mean you would not have been found out," re- 
 torted Jack, indignantly. 
 
 " Listen, my dear old chap !" cried Alwyne. " I will 
 tell you exactly what happened. You know how awfully 
 fond I was of that poor little girl last winter, and that I 
 wanted to marry her. Well, I couldn't : I cannot explain 
 why to you, but there was a very good reason. I admit 
 that I proposed to Lucy out of pique, but I am extremely 
 fond of her ; she's a real good sort, and I would not do 
 anything wrong by her, for the world. Wait a bit !" as 
 Jack looked incredulous. 
 
 " I must own I was rather unkind to poor Dulcie Yer- 
 non to-day, and said some nasty things to her at the pic- 
 nic, and she took it dreadfully to heart, and when we met 
 on the stairs going down to dinner she said she had some- 
 thing she wanted to say to me, and I proposed meeting 
 her under the limes when we came out from dinner. Well, 
 when we were there, the poor little thing began to cry, 
 and I felt awfully sorry for her, you know, Jack, it does 
 upset one to see a woman cry, and I swear to you upon 
 my soul that without the very least thought of harm to 
 her or Lucy, just out of sheer good feeling, I put my arm 
 round the poor little girl to comfort her, and then I looked 
 up and saw that fool Lister standing gibbering in front of 
 us like an ape. So I lost my temper and let out at him." 
 
 " Ah !" said Jack. " I thought it was understood that 
 gentlemen did not brawl and strike each other before a 
 woman." 
 
 " Oh, I grant I was wrong," admitted Alwyne ; " but I 
 was so infernally provoked." 
 
 "And suppose," suggested Jack, "that I had not by 
 good fortune come along, or that any of the servants, 
 hearing Miss Yernori scream, had rushed out : a pretty 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 227 
 
 business it would have been for you and your wife and 
 her!" 
 
 " Oh, well," returned Alwyne, " thank God it turned 
 out as it did. You don't think," eagerly, " that any one 
 suspects anything." 
 
 "I don't know that any one does," returned Jack: "but 
 things have a nasty way of leaking out. However, I 
 shall do my best, you may depend, to keep it quiet. And 
 now, if you will take my advice, you will order your 
 phaeton to-morrow morning directly after breakfast, and 
 not wait till the afternoon. The sooner you put a good 
 distance between yourself and Miss Yernon, the better for 
 all parties concerned." 
 
 " Yes, that will be the best thing, no doubt," assented 
 Alwyne, with a good grace. " But, my good fellow, don't 
 run away with any mistaken notion that I am still in love 
 with Dulcie Yernon, or that I am not devoted to Lucy." 
 
 Jack made no answer to this, but, bidding his cousin 
 good-night, left him with anything but a light heart, and 
 secretly cursing his selfishness. It was all very well for 
 him ; but what about the poor girl ? 
 
 It was no feigned indisposition on Dulcie's part that pre- 
 vented her going down to breakfast the next morning. 
 Fear and agitation had kept sleep from her eyes : in spite 
 of Jack's reassuring words, she felt no confidence that this 
 dreadful affair would remain a secret, and her cheeks were 
 hot with shame at the recollection of the compromising 
 situation in which George Lister had seen her. How 
 could she hope or expect that an angry man, burning with 
 jealousy, would keep her secret or put any but the worst 
 construction on her conduct? Poor Dulcie told herself 
 over and over again that she had meant no harm; she 
 hardly knew how it came to pass that Alwyne's arm had 
 stolen round her ; she only knew that she had been un- 
 utterably miserable, and that Alwyne's kindness and his 
 caress had soothed her. 
 
 This morning her head ached and throbbed : she could 
 not raise it from the pillow. 
 
 Alwyne, on the contrary, appeared at breakfast in the 
 most cheerful and amiable of moods, laughed at his own 
 misfortune, and was thoroughly pleasant all round. His 
 wife's maid had confectioned him a black silk patch which 
 
228 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 concealed the discolored orb, and he declared that, as ho 
 could not see to drive with one eye, he must trust his life 
 and limbs to Lucy's coachmanship. 
 
 Lilah's sharp eyes scarcely quitted him, and she con- 
 fided to Grace afterwards that Alwyne seldom made him- 
 self so agreeable unless he had a guilty conscience ; and, 
 indeed, she formed a tolerably shrewd guess that some 
 fracas had occurred in which he, Lister, and Dulcie ha 1 
 been engaged. 
 
 When the bride and bridegroom had departed, amidst 
 much bustle and commotion, and with many friendly ex- 
 pressions on all sides, Jack ordered his horse arid betook 
 himself to visit the other combatant. He found him with 
 his good looks somewhat impaired by a swelled nose and 
 a bump on his forehead. Moreover, he was in a state of 
 the deepest dejection. 
 
 " I was so awfully fond of that girl !" he groaned, al- 
 most in tears. " I had made up my mind to marry her 
 if she would have me; and now, of course, all that is 
 over." 
 
 Jack chivalrously did his best to explain away Dulcie's 
 momentary weakness, and then went so far as to say, 
 
 " I am afraid Miss Yernon does not mean to marry. If 
 she had, she would, I think, have taken Alwyne, whom 
 she really seemed to like, last winter." 
 
 " I don't suppose I ever had a chance," returned Lister, 
 despondently ; " but, even if I had, I should have given 
 up the idea after this." 
 
 " My dear chap," said Jack, diffidently, only anxious to 
 make the best of the matter for Dulcie, " I suppose one 
 can hardly expect to marry a woman who has never liked 
 any one else." 
 
 " No, I dare say not," answered George, moodily. " But 
 I draw the line at a married man. If a girl will go on 
 with him, she isn't to be trusted : you mark my words. 
 I shall go up to London to-morrow when I look a little 
 more respectable," walking up to the glass and inspecting 
 himself, " and I shan't come back until she has left you. 
 Send me a line, Jack, will you ?" 
 
 " All right," he replied, cheerfully ; then, after a moment's 
 pause, " I say, George, I dare say Miss Yernon feels rather 
 bad about what happened. I should like to be able to give 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 229 
 
 her your word of honor that that it is quite safe with 
 you." 
 
 "Do, by all means," answered George: "there's my 
 hand on it. And and, Jack," faltering, " you might tell 
 her how awfully fond I was of her." 
 
 " No, no," cried Jack ; " let us hope you will he able to 
 tell her that yourself one of these days. Good-by, George." 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVI. 
 
 " THAT was rather a mysterious affair last night, was it 
 not?" Mrs. Herbert remarked to Eeine, as they sat in two 
 lounging-chairs under the shade of a big tree in the gar- 
 den. " Mr. Lister suddenly taken ill, Mr. Temple tumb- 
 ling over a tree, and your cousin disappearing altogether." 
 
 " Yes, it was," returned Eeine, a thoughtful frown draw- 
 ing her brows together. She felt slightly embarrassed by 
 her knowledge of Dulcie's affairs, for she had not a secret 
 in the world of her own from Mrs. Herbert, and would 
 gladly have discussed this with her, but for a sense of 
 honor, which restrained her from confiding her cousin's 
 dilemma even to so discreet a lady as Mrs. Herbert. 
 
 On her part, Mrs. Herbert never imagined for a moment 
 that there was any secret in the case, or that she was 
 causing the smallest embarrassment to Eeine by mention- 
 ing the matter. They were accustomed to speak of every- 
 thing to each other without reserve. 
 
 " Mr. Lister seemed extremely put out in the afternoon," 
 resumed Mrs. Herbert, " when Mr. Temple so coolly car- 
 ried the young lady off. It is fortunate that Lady Lucy 
 is not of a jealous disposition, or she might not have been 
 very well pleased at her husband's behavior. Dulcie is a 
 pretty, sweet-mannered girl. I am not surprised at men 
 losing their hearts to her; but I do wonder a little at her 
 obduracy. I suppose Mr. Temple was very devoted to her 
 last winter, and she seemed to like him. Why did she 
 not marry him ?" 
 
 " My dear Mia," returned Eeine, disingenuously, " who 
 
 20 
 
230 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 can answer for the caprices of a woman, still less a girl ? 
 And, besides, she might have liked him very much with- 
 out feeling any inclination to marry him." 
 
 " Perhaps it runs in the family to object to marriage," 
 remarked Mrs. Herbert, apparently occupied in contem- 
 plating the stones in one of her rings. 
 
 " The experience of some of its members would not be 
 calculated to tempt others to try it," rejoined Eeine. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert promptly changed the subject, assuming 
 from the tone of her friend's voice that the subject was 
 not agreeable to her. 
 
 " I think," she said, " that Sir John behaved with great 
 tact and discretion last night." 
 
 Heine smiled maliciously. 
 
 " Anything serves to give you an opportunity for glori- 
 fying the beloved object, Mia," she observed. " How weak 
 you are about that young man !" 
 
 " I am very fond of him, certainly," assented Mrs. 
 Herbert. 
 
 " I shall not be surprised at any time," resumed Eeine, 
 " to hear that you are about to become Lady Chester." 
 
 " Poor dear boy ! What a fate for him !" smiled Mrs. 
 Herbert. " No ! but if he were an impecunious orphan 
 I should be strongly tempted to adopt him." 
 
 " Talk of an angel and you hear his wings," laughed 
 "Reine. " Here comes your paragon !" 
 
 Jack was advancing swiftly towards them, his face 
 lighting up with pleasure as he approached. 
 
 " You must stop and lunch with us," said Mrs. Herbert, 
 and he accepted gladly. " And now," she continued, doing 
 something quite opposed to her usual practice, " I am go- 
 ing to ask you two to entertain each other for a quarter 
 of an hour. I have two letters that I positively must 
 write, and if I do not write them before lunch there is 
 very small chance of their being ready by post-time." 
 
 Eeine had quite a friendly feeling for Jack now, and had 
 forgotten that he had once been accused of being in love 
 with her. So she was quite unembarrassed at being left 
 alone with him, and not disposed to suspect any treach- 
 ery on the part of her friend. 
 
 " How is your cousin this morning ?" she asked. " Has 
 he recovered from his accident ?" 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 231 
 
 "Ho has rather a black eye," returned Jack, "but it is 
 covered up with a patch ; so there is not much to be seen. 
 They started directly after breakfast, and are half-way 
 home by now." 
 
 " And the rest of your party ?" inquired Eeine ; " are 
 they all well?" 
 
 "Quite, thanks," he answered, "except Miss Vernon, 
 who is still suffering from headache and was not able to 
 <x>me down to breakfast." 
 
 Eeine looked at him rather fixedly, and said, suddenly. 
 
 " Was Dulcie in the garden last night when Mr. Temple 
 met with his accident?" 
 
 " Was she not in her room ?" asked Jack, seeing some- 
 thing of an engrossingly interesting nature which caused 
 him for a moment to turn his face away from Mrs. 
 Chandos. 
 
 Many women under the circumstances, seeing what a 
 poor figure Jack cut at dissembling, would have plied him 
 with questions and have tried to wring the truth from 
 him; but Eeine could appreciate loyalty and respect a 
 man for not betraying a confidence; so she simply an- 
 swered, "Ah, yes, I suppose she was," and proceeded to 
 compliment him upon the success of yesterday's picnic. 
 
 " Have you been writing any poetry lately ?" Jack ven- 
 tured to ask, presently. 
 
 "You will be glad to hear that I have not," smiled 
 Eeine, with a trifle of malice in her tone. " I know that 
 you do not approve of my verses." 
 
 Jack flushed crimson. 
 
 " Why do you say that ?" he cried, in great distress. 
 " I think them most beautiful. Only," hesitating, " only 
 I wished so much that you would write something some- 
 thing happier, as if you took a cheerful view of life." 
 
 " Something comic ?" suggested Eeine, taking pleasure 
 in teasing him. "Do you think I could write the words 
 for a good music-hall song, or something of that sort?" 
 Then, seeing how dreadfully pained he looked, she added, 
 " No ! my muse is a sorrowful one, and must always be so. 
 It is a good sign that I have not been writing lately, for 
 it proves that I have not been unhappy." 
 
 " I am so glad to hear you say that !" he returned, with 
 more ardor than the occasion seemed to require. " You 
 
232 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 ought always to be happy. You were never meant for 
 anything else." 
 
 " When I was a child," said Eeine^ not appearing to 
 observe the intensity of his expression, " I had my horo- 
 scope cast by an old man who lived in the village close by 
 my grandmother's place. It was written on a dirty piece 
 of paper, and contained abstruse and rather ill-spelt refer- 
 ences to various planets. The only part of it which I re- 
 member is the prediction that I was to be ' immersed in 
 sorrow and trouble while young, but happy in old age.' 
 So I am rather looking forward to that halcyon time, in 
 the hope that, as the first part of the prophecy has been 
 correct, the last may also be realized." 
 
 "But you will have a long time to wait for that," 
 remarked Jack. 
 
 " Not so very long," she answered, indifferently. " Now/' 
 smiling, " be good enough not to rack your brain for a 
 compliment : there is nothing I dislike so much. By the 
 way," with a swift change of tone, " have you heard our 
 news ? Do you know that we are to have a guest at the 
 dower-house ?" 
 
 With a lover's proneness to jealousy, Jack felt a twinge 
 at this announcement. He did his best to conceal it, and 
 said, 
 
 " Eeally," in an interested voice. 
 
 " Gruess !" commanded Eeine, smiling ; and he guessed 
 with perfect correctness. 
 
 " I think by your looking so pleased that it must be 
 Bertram," he replied. 
 
 " How clever of you !" laughed Eeine. " Yes, it is 
 Henry Bertram. Mia and I have been quite excited ever 
 since we had his acceptance this morning." 
 
 Jack did not look quite as though he shared their satis- 
 faction. True, his fears had slumbered in London, but 
 they were quite ready to spring up again. A man has 
 such opportunities in the country and staying in the same 
 house with a woman. 
 
 "It will be very delightful for him, no doubt," said 
 Jack, in a somewhat embarrassed tone. 
 
 " And for us too," returned Eeine. " He will bring us 
 all the very latest news and gossip : it will be equivalent 
 to a week's visit to London, not in this dull time, but in 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 233 
 
 the height of the season. He always hears everything, 
 and has a wonderful talent for retailing it." 
 
 " I should not have thought you were fond of scandal," 
 remarked Jack, in a slightly aggrieved tone. 
 
 " I did not say scandal : I said gossip," returned Eeine. 
 " Please to note the distinction." 
 
 " A distinction without a difference," said Jack, whose 
 feathers were ruffled at the thought of an interloper in his 
 Eden. 
 
 " A distinction with a very great difference," insisted 
 Eeine. " Gossip is good-natured, scandal is ill-natured. 
 No one ever heard Henry Bertram say anything ill-na- 
 tured. You know, Sir John, that you never did." 
 
 " No, certainly," replied Jack, " I cannot say that I ever 
 did." 
 
 " I thought you liked him," observed Eeine, rather un- 
 kindly. " And yet you do not seem at all pleased to hear 
 he is coming. We were going to ask you to come and 
 help us entertain him ; but I am afraid you will not care 
 to come." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to come," cried poor Jack, with 
 energy, seriously alarmed at the thought of being ousted 
 from Paradise. " And I hope that he will come up to us, 
 too. My mother will, I know, be charmed to see him. 
 She talked so much about him after meeting him at Mrs. 
 Herbert's." 
 
 " She has no idea what a terrible wolf in sheep's cloth- 
 ing he is," laughed Eeine. " However, he has never de- 
 voured a lamb yet." 
 
 " Except you," thought Jack, sorrowfully, looking hard 
 at her; and Eeine, being a thought-reader, divined hia 
 glance at once. 
 
 " No one," she said, with warmth, " ever heard him say 
 a word to shock a person's prejudices. He never speaks 
 of his belief or his unbelief before any one whose opinions 
 do not coincide with his own." 
 
 "Still, he does not believe in anything," replied Jack, 
 with an obstinate design of falling foul of Bertram, since 
 Eeine had appeared so delighted at the prospect of his 
 coming. 
 
 " At all events," retorted Mrs. Chandos, " if his views 
 do not coincide with those of many ' professing Christians/ 
 
 20* 
 
234 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 as they are called, his actions are, as a rule, worth fifty of 
 theirs." 
 
 It was rather fortunate that at this moment the lunch- 
 eon-bell rang, and the pair, somewhat ruffled, took their 
 way to the house. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert saw in an instant that her favorites were 
 not quite in harmony, and exerted herself to restore cor 
 dial relations. 
 
 " I hope," she thought, " that foolish boy has not been 
 trying to improve the'occasion by declaring his passion." 
 But she was soon enlightened as to the cause of his 
 despondent mien. 
 
 " I have been telling Sir John our delightful news," said 
 Eeine, being considerate enough, however, to choose a 
 moment when the servants had left the room, " and he 
 does not in the very least share our enthusiasm." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert immediately ranged herself on Jack's side, 
 thinking it very unkind of Eeine to torment him. 
 
 " Perhaps he does not express it in so exaggerated a 
 manner as you do, my love," she remarked. " But I am 
 quite sure Sir John will be pleased to see Henry, for they 
 are the best of friends, and I am looking forward to his 
 helping us to entertain our guest. A man cannot be always 
 with women : he wants a friend of his own sex to smoke 
 with and talk to about sport and other congenial topics. 
 I know Sir John will be delighted to give him a mount 
 and show him the country." 
 
 Jack's face brightened in a moment. As long as he was 
 not to be left out in the cold, the best horse in his stables 
 was at Bertram's service, and he was ready to show him 
 any amount of hospitality. 
 
 " And four is such a pleasant number," proceeded Mrs. 
 Herbert. " I have a great deal to say to Henry, and it 
 will be your task," with a mischievous glance at Eeine, " to 
 rescue Mrs. Chandos from the disagreeable part of third." 
 
 " Indeed, my dear Mia," returned Eeine, with spirit, "if 
 you think you are going to have the monopoly of Mr. Ber- 
 tram you are very much mistaken. And," maliciously, " I 
 really cannot undertake to console Sir John for your neg- 
 lect, or to be made a pis oiler for him." 
 
 "How unkind you are!" said poor Jack's eyes, quite 
 plainly ; but Mrs. Herbert laughed. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 235 
 
 " You are too modest, my dear ; but still you must not 
 expect always to carry everything before you, and when 
 you have the misfortune to be in company with a woman 
 so much younger and more attractive in every way than 
 yourself, you must be prepared for an occasional re- 
 verse." 
 
 " I will endeavor to adapt myself to circumstances," re- 
 turned Eeine, trying by an assumption of extreme gravity 
 to spoil her friend's little joke. Harmony was, however, 
 completely restored by this time, and the three repaired 
 to the garden to drink coffee, and Jack remained in great 
 contentment until Mrs. Herbert's horses came prancing 
 round to the door, when, with a thousand apologies and 
 much expressed astonishment at the rapid flight of time, 
 he took his leave. 
 
 As he rode up the drive on reaching the Hall, he caught 
 sight of Dulcie sitting alone in the garden. He left his 
 horse at the stables and went to join her. She greeted 
 him with a smile that was a very poor make-believe of 
 mirth, and he felt quite concerned to see how wan and 
 white she looked. 
 
 " I am afraid you are not at all well," he said, in a very 
 kind voice, sitting down beside her. He could never bear 
 to see a woman suffer, and he saw at a glance that Dulcie 
 was suffering both in mind and body. 
 
 She put her hand to her forehead with a weary gesture. 
 
 " My head aches," she said. " That is why I stayed at 
 home. The others have all gone out." 
 
 " I am so sorry !" returned Jack. " Can I not do any- 
 thing for you ?" 
 
 She hesitated a moment; then, gaining confidence from 
 the extreme kindness of his tone, she said, 
 
 " Have you seen Mr. Lister ?" 
 
 " Yes," he replied, anxious to say anything that might 
 relieve her mind. " I was over there this morning. He 
 is going up to London to-morrow or next day, and and 
 he gave me his word of honor as a gentleman that noth- 
 ing should come out about last night." 
 
 " Oh !" gasped Dulcie, with intense relief. " And do you 
 think he is to be trusted ?" 
 
 " I am sure of it," returned Jack, cordially. 
 
 Dulcie looked up at him, and then away again. 
 
236 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " I do not know what you can think of me," she said, 
 blushing painfully, " but indeed " 
 
 " I do not think anything," Jack interrupted, hastily. 
 " I have no wish to pry into other people's affairs. No 
 doubt it was all a misunderstanding; but please do not 
 explain it to me. I am quite sure it is better not to dis- 
 cuss it. Don't you think," abruptly changing the subject, 
 "that it would do you good to have a little fresh air? 
 Come for a drive with me. I'll have my phaeton round 
 in half an hour, if you will." 
 
 Yes, Dulcie said, she would be very glad to go with 
 him. Her own company had become intolerable to her, 
 and she was only too thankful to be taken out of herself. 
 So Jack went back to the stables, and she strolled into the 
 house to get her hat. 
 
 During the drive Jack laid himself out to the utmost 
 to amuse her, and, seeing through his kind intention and 
 feeling extremely grateful to him, Dulcie smiled and talked, 
 and affected a gayety she was far from feeling. Still, the 
 effort did her good, and she returned to the hall in a very 
 much more cheerful frame of mind than that in which she 
 had left it. All the evening she kept up a semblance of 
 good spirits, and Sir John was so constantly at her side 
 that his mother was delighted, and had serious hopes that 
 he was getting weaned from his allegiance to the danger- 
 ous Mrs. Chandos. 
 
 His kindness was not lost upon Dulcie, who put no mis- 
 construction upon it. She could not help contrasting him 
 with Alwyne, and thinking how unkind and inconsiderate 
 the latter had been towards her. And then her thoughts 
 went back to Noel, and, for the first time for many months, 
 she wished that the accident had not happened, that she 
 had gone away with him whilst she loved him, and that 
 she had never met Alwyne. No doubt she would have 
 been perfectly happy now as Noel's wife, and in India she 
 would have been adored and made much of. And now 
 what had she to look forward to ? She hated being with 
 her mother, who looked upon her as a burden, and she 
 wished that she had consented to marry Noel, as her 
 mother had desired, and gone away out of the country 
 with him. She could not have been more miserable than 
 fihe was now ; nay, she could not have been half so miser- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 237 
 
 able. She was fond of him once : why should she not 
 come to care for him again, now that there was no longer 
 any hope of Alwyne ? And, remembering Alwyne's osten- 
 tatious attentions to his wife, and the pains he had been 
 at during that walk in the wood to mortify and vex her, 
 the thought occurred to her that, after all, he was hardly 
 worth wearing the willow for. 
 
 But she went to sleep that night without seeing a way 
 out of her misery, and thankful only for one thing, that 
 her secret was not betrayed, and that the disgrace she 
 had feared had not overtaken her. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 HENRY BERTRAM had arrived, had been welcomed with 
 cordial delight by the ladies at the dower-house, and now, 
 having done justice to an excellent dinner, was sitting 
 with them on the veranda outside the drawing-room win- 
 dows. 
 
 " Here indeed is the happy valley !" he exclaimed, with 
 a sigh of bien-etre ; " here, far from the world, from its 
 cares, ambitions, worst of ail, its pleasures, might a 
 man's heart know rest ! I feel at this moment as though 
 I never want to see a town again, but could spend the re- 
 mainder of my life in serene contemplation, always pro- 
 vided," smiling, "that I might have the same delightful 
 objects to contemplate." 
 
 " Think so as long as you can, my dear Henry," returned 
 Mrs. Herbert. " We are flattered to have inspired these 
 sentiments in you, if but for half an hour ; and, as you 
 will only give us the pleasure of your company for so short 
 a time, we shall take the greatest pains to keep up the 
 illusion : shall we not, Eeine ?" 
 
 " I trust," said Bertram, fervently, " that you have not 
 been making plans to amuse me ; because I consider the 
 very most delightful thing in life is to do nothing in pleas- 
 ant company." 
 
 " Oh," said Eeine, teasingly, " Mia has filled up every 
 hour for you. She will not allow me any of your society, 
 
238 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 for fear I should bore you, and with break of day Sir John 
 Chester is to arrive with fleet steeds, and you are to scour 
 the country with him and be shown every show-place, ruin, 
 view, and object of interest in the county." 
 
 Bertram made a gesture of mock dismay. 
 
 " How much of this is fact, and how much the imagi- 
 nation of the poetess?" he asked of Mrs. Herbert. 
 
 " It is like the inspiration of most poets," laughed his 
 hostess, " truth seen either through a magnify ing-glass, 
 or like a face reflected in a spoon, anything but actual 
 fact, and yet inspired by fact. Sir John has offered to 
 place his stables at your disposal, and it is for you to ac- 
 cept or decline as your fancy dictates." 
 
 " I like that lad, and shall be glad to meet him again," 
 remarked Bertram, not unmindful of what Mrs. Herbert 
 had confided to him of her match-making plans. 
 
 " Oh, pray," cried Eeine, " do not set Mia off on the 
 subject of her paragon. I hear of nothing but his perfec- 
 tions all day long when you are not here : for pity's sake 
 let us have a new theme now !" 
 
 " Do not believe her !" interrupted Mrs. Herbert. " But 
 if I do speak well of him," turning to Mrs. Chandos, 
 " pray what do I say that is more than true ?" 
 
 " I humble myself in the dust, Mia," returned her friend. 
 " I admit that he is the handsomest, the wittiest, the most 
 heroic, the most pattern young man altogether in the 
 three countries, nay, in Europe, in the whole world. 
 Will that content you ?" 
 
 "Not at all. Exaggerated praise is contempt in dis- 
 guise. I never said more than that Sir John was very 
 amiable and kind-hearted, and the best son in the world." 
 
 " You will see, Henry," said Eeine, maliciously, " that 
 we shall dance at the wedding yet. Indeed, I suppose it 
 will be your pleasing task to give the bride away." 
 
 " I hope we shall all be at his wedding," remarked Mrs. 
 Herbert, " and that his wife will be worthy of him." 
 
 " How unkind of you ! Poor young man ! As if he is 
 not much happier now than he could possibly be with a 
 wife to torment him!" 
 
 " Why should she torment him, pray ?" asked Mrs. 
 Herbert. " If she were a nice woman, she would be de- 
 voted to him." 
 
OXCE AGAIN. 239 
 
 " She would probably not be a nice woman," retorted 
 Heine. "Nice people never marry each other: one is 
 always infinitely better than the other. I tremble to 
 think of the sort of woman Henry would marry if he 
 took unto himself a wife." 
 
 "Have no fear, my dear," returned Bertram, gayly. 
 " Henry's wife is not yet born. Marriage under some 
 circumstances is a very desirable estate, but, though I 
 recommend it to my friends, I have never yet desired it 
 for myself. Perfect liberty, absolute freedom, is my idea 
 of well-being; and even the most elastic fetters would 
 seem bonds to me." 
 
 " It is very cruel of you to say that to Mia and me," 
 smiled Eeine. " Devoted as we are to each other, I am 
 sure we are quite capable of quarrelling a entrance if you 
 showed any disposition to throw the handkerchief to 
 either of us." 
 
 u Quite !" echoed Mrs* Herbert. " Now, after this con- 
 fession, tell us about Cowes." 
 
 " What shall I tell you ? One Cowes fortnight is pre- 
 cisely like another, except for any difference the weather 
 may make. Nine people out of ten are profoundly bored 
 or extremely uncomfortable, cooped up in yacht-cabins or 
 fifth-rate lodgings. Men dawdling about and yawning, 
 women who hate and fear the sea running horrible risks 
 of mal de mer for the sake of being en evidence, all their 
 eager eyes converging to the lode-star of royalty, all dying 
 to be distinguished by a word of notice, or, mingled bliss 
 and anguish, an invitation on board the royal yacht. But 
 only fancy the horror of succumbing to nausea under august 
 eyes. There were the usual number of pretty women 
 and wonderful toilets in the club gardens and at the 
 dances ; the usual practical jokes at the expense of a cer- 
 tain lady; the usual flirtations; the usual scandals; the 
 usual everything." 
 
 " And what was the latest scandal ?" inquired Mrs. Her- 
 bert. 
 
 " The most engrossing topic of conversation was Lady 
 Blanche's engagement to young L. It is a regular case 
 of Titania and Bottom. He appears to be an irreclaima- 
 ble lout, without birth, breeding, or money, a confirmed 
 drunkard, I fear, and she is the sweetest little creature 
 
240 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 possible and absolutely infatuated about him. He treats 
 her in the most cavalier manner, and she hangs upon his 
 every word and look with an adoring expression that is 
 positively painful to see. I am afraid that her mother, 
 who is sadly weak, will not be able to prevent her from 
 marrying him." 
 
 " It is shocking !" observed Mrs. Herbert. " I really 
 feel thankful that I have no children. They are almost 
 certain to choose the very people to fall in love with that 
 one most objects to, and the instant you thwart them they 
 forget all your devotion, and regard you simply as an 
 enemy to be detested and circumvented, possibly to be 
 treated with coldness and disdain." 
 
 " That is very true," assented Heine, with a sigh, think- 
 ing of Dulcie and Mrs. Yernon. 
 
 " I do not know," remarked Bertram, cheerfully, " that 
 we have any right to expect our children to see with our 
 eyes and judge with our minds. You and I," turning to 
 Mrs. Herbert ("we cannot include Reine as a contempo- 
 rary) know how very differently we think and feel on 
 many subjects from what we did twenty years ago. To 
 be tenacious of one's loves and one's opinions is very 
 natural to the best sort of youth ; and I suppose none of 
 us would very much value affection that could be diverted 
 from us at the will of a third person." 
 
 " I suppose not," assented Mrs. Herbert. " But it is very 
 melancholy to see young people digging pit-falls for them- 
 selves, which, if they tumble into, they will hardly ever 
 get out of during the rest of their lives. However," 
 lightly, " as we are none of us blessed with olive-branches, 
 we need not make ourselves vicariously melancholy with 
 such reflections." 
 
 Mr. Bertram turned to Eeine. 
 
 " Has this charming place not inspired your muse ?" he 
 asked her. " Are we not to have ' Yerses from the Dower- 
 House' ?" 
 
 " No ; I do not intend to write verses from anywhere," 
 she replied, a trifle pettishly. 
 
 " What ! never any more ?" 
 
 " No ; I am disgusted at being misunderstood, and tired 
 of being called improper and blasphemous and athe- 
 istic." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 241 
 
 " All great people have been misunderstood, my queen," 
 said Bertram. 
 
 "Do not think I am posing for &femme incomprise. It 
 is a part I particularly dislike. And indeed," with a 
 proud gesture of her head, " I do not wish to be under- 
 stood by the general world. What it thinks is a matter 
 of supreme indifference to me." 
 
 " I will tell you." interrupted Mrs. Herbert, " why her 
 pen has been idle. She has been much happier of late ; 
 and I never knew Eeine inspired unless she was un- 
 happy." 
 
 " ' Prosperous nations have no history.' Eeine, happy, 
 writes no poetry. Then I will not wish for more," an- 
 swered Bertram, with an affectionate glance at Mrs. Chan- 
 dos. " I would rather she were happy than the most 
 famous woman of her time." 
 
 " Happy !" echoed Eeine. " Happy is a very big word. 
 I exist, and I am not absolutely miserable. The sun 
 shines. I breathe pure air. I have Mia's society, which," 
 with a smile, " is amusing when I can get her to vary the 
 theme of her remarks, and now I have you : so that yes, 
 really to-night I am next door to being happy : I am 
 content." 
 
 " Would anything make you happy ?" Bertram asked. 
 ' Can you conceive a state of bliss ?" 
 
 " That is the worst of it," she replied : " I can. I im- 
 agine bliss so perfect that all reality must inevitably fall 
 far short of it." 
 
 " That is the penalty of imagination," he returned. " I, 
 who am a poor, prosaic earth-worm, am always happy, 
 and the little cares and worries of life only make a foil to 
 its bright side for me." 
 
 " You will have gout some day," smiled Eeine, " and 
 then melancholy will mark you for her own." 
 
 " It is humiliating to think how men's minds are gov- 
 erned by their stomachs," he answered, laughing, " that 
 it is not to one's heart or brain one owes ideas and im 
 pulses, but to the greater or less perfection of one's powers 
 of assimilating and digesting food." 
 
 A note was here brought to Mrs. Herbert, with an in- 
 timation that a reply was awaited. 
 
 She read it smiling. 
 L 23 
 
242 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " Do not look at her whilst she reads," whispered Eeine ; 
 " it is from the beloved one." 
 
 " Here is a charming proposal for to-morrow," said Mrs. 
 Herbert, refolding her missive and returning it to its en- 
 velope. " Sir John wishes us to drive over to B , 
 
 which we have not yet seen. There is a delightful little 
 inn where he proposes to order lunch, and he will drive 
 one of us in his phaeton and the other two are to-go in 
 my victoria." 
 
 " An excellent idea," replied Eeine, promptly. " Henry 
 and I will go in the victoria, and that will give me the 
 opportunity of the tete d-tete for which I am so anxious. 
 You, of course, Mia, will go with Sir John." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert smiled in reply. 
 
 "Do you approve the project?" she inquired of Ber 
 tram. 
 
 " With all my heart," he responded, cordially. 
 
 So the invitation was accepted, and Sir John bidden to 
 come to the dower-house with his phaeton at noon on the 
 following day. 
 
 Mrs. Chandos rallied her friend upon the imprudence of 
 showing herself in public with Sir John. However, by 
 some strange means for which the author cannot account, 
 the next day it was Eeine who occupied the seat by Sir 
 John, whilst Mrs. Herbert and Bertram bowled away in 
 the victoria. 
 
 It was a heavenly day, with a balmy west wind tem- 
 pering the sun's ardor. Jack looked radiantly happy, and 
 Eeine, who was extremely fond of horses, felt a certain 
 amount of pleasure in sitting behind the handsome, 
 spirited chestnuts she had so often admired. But scarcely 
 had they set out upon their journey when an incident 
 occurred which went very near to spoiling their day's 
 pleasure. About a mile from the dower-house they 
 passed a group of cottages. Some twenty yards farther 
 on a couple of children were playing on the bank by the 
 road-side. Just as the phaeton came up to them, the 
 imps, as is the delight of mischievous children, ran across 
 the road under the horses' noses. Jack pulled them up 
 on their haunches ; Eeine uttered a low cry ; there was a 
 yell, and one of the children lay in the road, with its head 
 one inch from the front wheel. If the near horse had not 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 243 
 
 ehied, the head would have been under it. There was an 
 awful moment whilst the servant jumped out and Jack 
 was pacifying the plunging horses, whose every move- 
 ment endangered the child : then, as the man dragged it 
 away and took it up in his arms, Jack cried, with a white 
 face, 
 
 " Good God ! William, is he killed?" 
 
 A lusty yell gave an instant and satisfactory answer to 
 his question. 
 
 " Bring him here and put him on my lap," cried Eeine, 
 trembling ; and the man reluctantly obeyed, having regard 
 to the lady's nice dress and the soiled and dusty condition 
 of the urchin. 
 
 " He's not hurt, Sir John, the young rascal !" said the 
 indignant groom. " Serve him right if he was. He's 
 been up to it afore, and all but got Bob thrown the other 
 day on Black Bess." 
 
 Jack and Eeine were carefully examining the scream 
 ing child, but only found a slight cut on his head, where 
 a stone had struck him as he fell. 
 
 " There, my little lad, don't cry," said Jack, kindly. 
 " Look at this !" And he produced a half-crown from his 
 pocket, at which the tears promptly ceased to flow and 
 the yells subsided. 
 
 " Go to their heads, William." The horses were quiet 
 now. "Do you mind holding the reins a moment?" to 
 Mrs. Chandos ; and Jack got out, lifted the child down, 
 and, taking him by the hand, led him towards the cot- 
 tage. 
 
 "He does not seem hurt," remarked Keine to the 
 groom. 
 
 "No, ma'am, not he," returned William, unfeelingly. 
 " I expect the horse's shoulder just ketched hirn and spun 
 him round. They're alwa} 7 s up to it, the young villains ; 
 and if he had been run over, it would just have bin a 
 warnin' to the others." 
 
 Meantime, a woman came running out of the cottage, 
 having been apprised by the other urchin, who had swiftly 
 taken to his heels, of the catastrophe, and, seeing that her 
 treasure was not injured, she proceeded to abuse and 
 threaten him volubly, alternately offering deep apologies 
 and courtesies to the young squire. 
 
244 ONCE AGAIN 
 
 " There, Mrs. Wilson, don't scold him this time !" said 
 Jack, good-naturedly. " He's been well frightened, and I 
 don't suppose he will do it again." 
 
 "He want a good hidin', he do, Sir John; and that's 
 what his father '11 gi 'un when he come home." 
 
 "No, no, not this time! You must promise me not to 
 say anything more this time ; but if it happens again, why, 
 then he's to have a good thrashing. Do you hear that, 
 my little man? Now, don't forget! Promise me you'll 
 never do it again." 
 
 And the blubbering urchin was understood to give an 
 undertaking to refrain from risking life and limb in future. 
 
 Strange what great effects small incidents cause in the 
 human mind! Jack's good nature and tenderness to the 
 child made Eeine feel better disposed towards him than 
 she had ever been up to this moment, and in her heart she 
 compared him very favorably with two other men whom 
 she had known intimately, her husband and her father, 
 who, under similar circumstances, would have been very 
 far from showing or feeling any pity or softness towards 
 the mischievous cub. 
 
 She was more charming to him than she had ever been, 
 a fact of which Jack was delightedly conscious, al- 
 though he did not guess the cause. Had he done so, he 
 would have seriously contemplated endowing the good- 
 for-nothing urchin with a ten-pound note in addition to 
 the half-crown. How short the eight miles seemed ! the 
 milestones had surely been moved nearer together: how 
 exhilarating was the west wind ! how glorious the sun- 
 shine ! how lovely the clouds floating like swans on the 
 bosom of an azure lake ! Surely there was never such a 
 congenial parti carre as the one which lunched in the 
 pretty, old-fashioned parlor of the Golden Bull, or loitered 
 afterwards in the streets of the quaint old town. 
 
 Jack had something on his mind that he was anxious to 
 Bay to Keine. It was not on his own account, but on that 
 of Dulcie, for whom he felt unfeignedly sorry. He had 
 delayed broaching the subject until the return journey, 
 for, good fellow that he was, he was dreadfully diffident 
 about interfering in matters which did not concern him, 
 and horribly afraid of seeming to take a liberty. 
 
 -About half-way home he suddenly lapsed into silence, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 245 
 
 seemed rather distrait, and was much occupied with re- 
 moving flies real and imaginary from the sleek sides of his 
 chestnuts. At last he broke out suddenly : 
 
 " I should so like to say something to you, Mrs. Chan- 
 dos, only only I should be so awfully distressed if you 
 were to think I was taking a liberty." 
 
 Heine wondered a little what this preamble might mean, 
 but he hastened on, lest she should be led into any mis- 
 taken idea of his intention : 
 
 "It is about your cousin, Miss Yernon. Of course I 
 don't know it may be only my imagination ; but I can't 
 help fancying that she is not very happy, poor little 
 girl!" 
 
 And here he glanced diffidently round at Eeine, to 
 observe whether his remark was taken in good part. She 
 looked thoughtful, for the knowledge of Dulcie's secret 
 oppressed her. 
 
 "No," she said, hesitatingly, "I fear she is not quite 
 happy. She is a good deal changed of late." 
 
 " I don't think," Jack hurried on, " that she and her 
 mother quite hit it off, if you'll excuse my saying so. It 
 seems to me as if she wanted a friend to give her a little 
 advice, one she wouldn't be afraid of, and that she could 
 confide in." 
 
 And Jack's eyes plainly intimated that Heine was the 
 person of whom he was thinking. 
 
 In his heart he believed that Dulcie was fretting after 
 Alwyne. Eeine was under the impression that her mar- 
 riage and the dislike she had conceived for her husband 
 caused her misery. Jack did not like to hint his sus- 
 picions, and Keine could not tell him what she knew. 
 
 " I am very fond of Dulcie," she said, presently. " I 
 would gladly do anything I could to make her happier ; 
 but I am very much afraid my power falls far short of my 
 will." 
 
 " Oh, no," cried Jack, eagerly. " If you would talk to 
 her, if you would persuade her that it's no use crying 
 about spilt milk, that what's done can't be undone, and that 
 there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it." 
 
 Jack's words were homely, but they afforded his listener 
 a very clear exposition of his views. She saw that he 
 attributed Dulcie's sadness to regret for his cousin. 
 
 21* 
 
246 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 IT was some little time before Eeine answered Jack's 
 eager speech. No doubt he knew something of which 
 she was ignorant, something that had reference to the 
 mysterious disappearance of the three young people at 
 the hall that evening, but he would not betray Dulcie, 
 and she had not the smallest desire to make him do so. 
 
 "It beats me," Jack pursued, seeing that she did not 
 reply to him, "why, if she liked Alw} r ne and he was so in 
 love with her, Mrs. Vernon did not let them marry each 
 other." 
 
 " My aunt may have had good reasons for objecting," 
 answered Eeine, very much at a loss what to say. 
 
 " Oh, of course we know Alvvyne has been rather 
 spoiled," returned Jack, " and I can quite understand a 
 mother being doubtful about his making a good husband : 
 still, he really isn't a bad chap at heart, and with a nice 
 amiable girl, who would give in to him, I think he would 
 turn out all right. Still," with a troubled sigh, " it's no 
 use going back to that now." 
 
 Eeine knew that it was idle to discuss a subject on which 
 they were at cross-purposes : so she said, 
 
 " I will come up to-morrow and have a little talk with 
 Dulcie, and try if I can be of any use to her." 
 
 " Do ! do !" cried Jack. " That will be awfully good of 
 you !" 
 
 He spoke as though it were his cousin, not Eeine's, for 
 whom he was pleading, and his tone expressed supreme 
 confidence in the success of her mission. 
 
 As they passed the scene of the morning's adventure, 
 Jack pulled up at the cottage to inquire whether any fur- 
 ther injury to the boy had been discovered, and was greatly 
 reassured when he came out, holding on to his mother's 
 apron, abashed in spirits by the jobation he had received 
 from his parent, but not a pin the worse otherwise. 
 
 Mrs. Chandos related the incident at dinner. 
 
 " I suppose," she said to Bertram, " that there will be 
 no holding Mia after this, but I am bound to admit that 
 her paragon showed to advantage to-day." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 247 
 
 "Of course he did, dear boy," replied Mrs. Herbert, 
 secretly delighted at Heine's praise : " he always does what 
 is kind and nice." 
 
 " Have I not admitted it ?" said Eeine. " You must not 
 expect me to prostrate myself and worship the young man 
 because he was good-tempered under rather trying circum- 
 stances." 
 
 "The young monkey deserved a whipping!" remarked 
 Bertram. " There is nothing so dangerous. The best 
 horse I ever had was thrown down and broke his knees 
 by being violently pulled up to save the neck of an imp 
 of a child who rushed out in front of him. I remember 
 that I swore pretty freely, and felt very little compassion 
 for the child, on the occasion." 
 
 "All's well that ends well," said Eeine. "We have 
 really had a charming day, and for once an excursion has 
 not bored me. And you, Henry ?" 
 
 " I shall mark this day with a white stone," he answered, 
 smiling. 
 
 The next morning Eeine walked up to the hall. They 
 were to dine there in the evening, but she knew that she 
 would have no opportunity of speaking privately to Dulcie 
 then. First she sought her aunt, told her of her inten- 
 tion, and asked permission to disclose to Dulcie that she 
 was aware of her secret. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was in a state of intense irritation. 
 
 " It is impossible," she exclaimed, " that I can go on 
 being worried in this way. Dulcie is absolutely devoid 
 of self-respect. She goes about looking wretched. I am 
 certain every one in the house knows that she is pining 
 after that odious young Temple. I have not the least 
 doubt that some disgraceful scene occurred the other night 
 when those three were absent from the drawing-room, 
 which probably every one except myself is aware of. I 
 will not ask any questions, for fear of being driven to ex- 
 asperation. I assure you, Eeine, that I would gladly give 
 up half my income if I could send her out to join that 
 wretched young man in India. If he had not been desti- 
 tute of every spark of manly feeling, he would have in- 
 sisted on taking her. As to going on in the way we are 
 doing now, it is impossible. I should soon be in a mad- 
 house. The constant strain of governing my feelings and 
 
248 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 seeming to smile and observe nothing, is more than human 
 flesh and blood can endure." 
 
 " Poor auntie," said Eeine, soothingly, " it is indeed very 
 trying for you. Let me speak to Dulcie and hear what 
 she says. I cannot help pitying her too." 
 
 " Pitying her!" cried Mrs. Vernon, with exasperation. 
 " What is there to pity ? Her own folly and her unpardon- 
 able duplicity have brought all this upon her. Have I not 
 watched over her from a child ? Has any girl had more 
 care or kindness bestowed upon her ? and yet at the very 
 first opportunity she forgets affection, duty, everything, 
 and overwhelms me with disgrace and misery." 
 
 " It is a terrible grief for you," Reine replied, sympa- 
 thetically. " We must try and see some way out of this 
 dreadful dilemma. Let me go to her now and hear what 
 she has to say." 
 
 So Mrs. Chandos proceeded to her cousin's chamber, and 
 was fortunate enough to find her there. 
 
 " My dear child," she said, kissing her affectionately, 
 " this is a terrible state of things. I want to talk to you 
 about it : you know you may trust me, do you not ?" 
 
 She felt that with her cousin the only way was to at- 
 tack the subject boldly, for the girl always took refuge in 
 fence and subterfuge when it was possible. 
 
 Dulcie shot a frightened glance at her, but did not an- 
 swer. 
 
 Eeine sat down and took her hand. 
 
 " My dear," she said, softly, " what is to become of your 
 future? You are very unhappy: your poor mother is 
 almost distracted about you : you cannot go on in the way 
 you are doing now." 
 
 " Mamma is heartless and cruel," cried Dulcie, bursting 
 into tears. " I only wish I could get away from her." 
 
 " Then, my dear child, why did you not get away when 
 you had the opportunity ? I will tell you at once that I 
 know about your marriage ; then there need be no disguise 
 between us." 
 
 Dulcie hid her face and continued to weep. The most 
 trying person of all to deal with is the one who declines 
 to enter into a discussion, but leaves you to have all the 
 conversation to yourself. 
 
 Eeine was not daunted : knowing her cousin's peculiar 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 249 
 
 disposition, she continued to hold one of her hands, and 
 went on speaking very gently : 
 
 " You know, dear child, you must have been very much 
 attached to Mr. Trevor before you could agree to such a 
 serious step as a clandestine marriage with him ; and if, 
 poor fellow, he has done nothing since to forfeit your re- 
 gard, as indeed he has had no opportunity of doing, it is 
 unreasonable that you should take a dislike to him with 
 out cause." 
 
 Dulcie answered not a word. 
 
 " Surely," Reine continued, after giving her an oppor- 
 tunity to speak, of which she did not avail herself, " surely 
 if you loved him ten months ago you might get to care 
 for him again ; he is quite devoted to you : and would it 
 not be better to be with him than to lead this life, which 
 is most distressing both to yourself and to your mother?" 
 
 At last Dulcie opened her lips. 
 
 " I wish I was dead !" she said, bitterly. 
 
 " But, my dear, there is no chance of your dying. What 
 you have to do is to try and make the best of your life. 
 You cannot get away from the fact that you are married 
 to Mr. Trevor. It is your duty to be with him ; and why 
 should you not be happy and make him happy, instead of 
 making yourself and him miserable? And you know, 
 Dulcie, it is hopeless as well as wrong to allow yourself to 
 dwell on the thought of any other man." 
 
 " I do not," cried Dulcie, with more energy than she had 
 yet shown. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Reine, softly, " that you have given 
 the impression that you are not quite indifferent to Mr. 
 Temple." 
 
 Dulcie averted her eyes, but said nothing. 
 
 " Think," pleaded Reine, " how painful all this must be 
 for your poor mother ! You should not forget, dear, how 
 devoted she has been to you all her life. Try, for a mo- 
 ment, to put yourself in her place. Think what she must 
 have felt when she discovered your marriage, what a 
 blow to all her hopes, how bitter to know that her only 
 child could so deceive her !" 
 
 Dulcie listened in moody silence: she would neither re- 
 ply nor defend herself. 
 
 " Think," pursued Reine, after a moment's pause, " what 
 
250 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 an embarrassing position it is for her to take about an ap- 
 parently eligible daughter who attracts attention and ad- 
 miration, and to feel that she is aiding a deception. Think 
 of her annoyance last winter when Mr. Temple persisted 
 in regarding her as the wilful destroyer of his hopes. 
 Think of her vexation every time a fresh suitor appears. 
 There is Mr. Lister now making himself unhappy about 
 you. If he knew the truth he would not have thought of 
 you for a moment. Eemember that your mother is a 
 woman with a very strong sense of honor, and all this dis- 
 simulation is extremely painful and annoying to her." 
 
 Still no answer. Heine began to get a little impatient, 
 but struggled to conceal it, and spoke more kindly still. 
 
 " Dear Dulcie, you know this state of things cannot go 
 on : you have no right to make your mother miserable." 
 
 Dulcie burst out at last : 
 
 " All I want is to get away from her. Why cannot I 
 live with Anna Leslie ? I would rather be a governess 
 than go on living with mamma." 
 
 " You forget how people talk," answered Eeine. " What 
 would they say if you, the only child of a devoted mother, 
 left her house and went to live elsewhere ?" 
 
 " Mamma hates me," said Dulcie ; " I know she does. 
 And it is only because I have disappointed her ambition. 
 She was always dinning it into my ears that a girl ought 
 to make a good marriage. But for that I dare say I 
 should never have been tempted to do what I did. It was 
 all her fault." 
 
 " No," replied Eeine, firmly, " it was not your mother's 
 fault. It is quite natural that she should wish you to 
 marry well." 
 
 " She would not let me see Noel. She made me write 
 and tell him that I was not to see him again." 
 
 " And now," Eeine could not resist saying, " it is you 
 who will not see him. Perhaps your mother was not so 
 wrong in not attributing any great importance to your 
 fancy for him." 
 
 Dulcie turned away pettishly. 
 
 " Oh, of course if you take mamma's part it is no good 
 my saying anything more. Every one is against me." 
 And she subsided into tears again. 
 
 There was no more to be said after this. Eeine tried in 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 251 
 
 vain to pacify her, and soon after took her leave, with the 
 unpleasant consciousness of having utterly failed in her 
 mission. Jack was waiting to escort her home. 
 
 " Have you seen Miss Yernon ?" he asked, eagerly, as 
 they walked together down the drive. 
 
 " Yes," said Eeine, assuming a light-hearted air that she 
 was far from feeling. " We have had a little talk together. 
 I think her depression is caused by some little worry of 
 which I cannot tell you, but which is not connected with 
 the cause you supposed." 
 
 Jack felt a shade disappointed. He did not think that 
 Mrs. Chandos was trying to throw dust in his eyes, but 
 he did think that her cousin had deceived her, for he 
 could not forget the scene in the garden and Lister's 
 account of what he had witnessed. But he had far too 
 much gentlemanlike feeling to insist, and, seeing that Mrs. 
 Chandos showed no disposition to confide in him, he said, 
 cheerily, 
 
 " I hope it will be all right, and that she will soon get 
 over her worries. It is wonderful how small things can 
 vex one sometimes." 
 
 Heine thoroughly appreciated his delicacy of feeling in 
 seeming to fall in with her views, and they chatted away 
 amicably together as they pursued their way to the dower- 
 house. She was fast coming round to the good opinion of 
 him which she affected to deride in her friend, and con- 
 trasted him constantly in her mind with those other two 
 men at whose hands she had suffered so much, her father 
 selfish, exacting, irritable, her husband violent and coarse. 
 Both these had had their home manner and their company 
 manner, like a good many more of their sex, could be 
 delightful in society and keep their ill temper for home 
 consumption ; but Sir John was always the same, kind, 
 cheery, anxious for the comfort of those about him, and 
 thoroughly unselfish. He was as courteous to his mother 
 and sister as to every other lady, and betrayed none of 
 the rude familiarity, the oblivion of small politeness, with 
 which some sons and brothers distinguish between the 
 women who belong to them and those who are not of 
 their kin. That evening the party from the dower-house 
 dined at the Hall, and quite accidentally some wrong im- 
 pressions were given to several of the company. 
 
252 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 It happened that Lilah had one of her headaches and 
 was not well enough to appear at dinner. Eeine, who felt 
 particularly sorry for the poor little invalid, and whose 
 sympathetic nature made her ever anxious to soothe and 
 relieve suffering, asked permission to go and see her. 
 
 " I have been thought," she said to Mrs. Chester, " to 
 have some mesmeric power in my fingers, and once or 
 twice I have been successful in alleviating pain." 
 
 Mrs. Chester hesitated, divided between the desire not 
 to seem unappreciative of her guest's kindness and the 
 fear that Lilah might decline with scant graciousness to 
 receive a comparative stranger. She thanked Eeine cord- 
 ially first, and then said, with some diffidence, 
 
 " Poor dear Lilah is a little inclined to be fretful in her 
 Buffering. I hope you will not be vexed if she " 
 
 Here Mrs. Chester paused. 
 
 " I will come away at once," interposed Heine, " if my 
 presence seems unwelcome to her." 
 
 Mrs. Chester led the way to Lilah's pretty sitting-room, 
 which it was her great pleasure to adorn and decorate. 
 It was full of pretty things, contributed, for the most part, 
 by her mother and brother. 
 
 She was lying on a couch, looking wan and weary, her 
 brows contracted by suffering, and an expression of queru- 
 lous discontent on her poor little white face. She was not 
 asleep, but, as the door opened softly, she did not unclose 
 her eyes, but gave herself a pettish twist expressive of 
 resentment at the intrusion, although she was wont to be 
 extremely indignant if she fancied herself forgotten or 
 neglected. She thought it was her mother and Grace, 
 and vouchsafed them no notice. Heine stole softly to the 
 back of the couch and laid her fingers gently on the hot 
 brow. 
 
 " Who is that?" cried Lilah, opening her eyes wide in 
 an instant. Eeine did not remove her hand. Mrs. Ches- 
 ter looked a little frightened. She feared Lilah was going 
 to be ungracious. 
 
 " It is I," whispered Eeine, softly. 
 
 Lilah did not shake off the touch, as her mother ex- 
 pected, but merely sighed and said, 
 
 " Ah, I knew it was different from any one I was used 
 to." Then, after a minute, " Thank you : I like it." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 253 
 
 Eeine continued to pass her slim fingers lightly to and 
 fro on, not over, the brow and head of the little sufferer, 
 and gradually the weary, discontented expression died out 
 of Lilah's face, to the unspeakable delight and gratitude 
 of the mother. When Heine saw that her charm was 
 working, she whispered to Mrs. Chester, 
 
 " Will you not go back to the drawing-room and leave 
 me here ?" 
 
 " I am so afraid of your tiring yourself," replied Mrs. 
 Chester, with divided feelings of gratitude and politeness. 
 
 " I can go on for hours without getting tired," said 
 Eeine. "You see it is no effort: I scarcely move my 
 arm." 
 
 "Yes, mother, go," interrupted Lilah. "And don't let 
 any one come in. I think I shall go to sleep." 
 
 Mrs. Chester prepared to obey. 
 
 " Do not send any one until I ring or go down to the 
 drawing-room," urged Eeine ; and Mrs. Chester, with 
 whispered thanks, retired on tiptoe. 
 
 In twenty minutes, Lilah was fast asleep ; but still 
 Eeine remained at the head of the couch, almost imper- 
 ceptibly moving her fingers to and fro. Nothing in the 
 world gave her so much pleasure as to soothe pain : it was 
 long since she had spent so pleasant an evening as this, 
 in the darkened chamber, with Lilah sleeping serenely 
 under her touch. 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Chester was on tenter-hooks in the 
 drawing-room lest Mrs. Chandos should be tiring herself, 
 and it required the strongest assurances from Mrs. Her- 
 bert that if there was one occupation more delightful to 
 her friend than another, it was the one in which she was 
 at present engaged. As for Jack, his heart was suffused 
 with delight and tenderness at the thought of this divine 
 trait of goodness in his idol : would not his mother soon 
 come round to his way of thinking when it was proved 
 to her what an angel Mrs. Chandos was ? He was seated 
 next Dulcie, playing a round game, and the joy that was 
 in his heart smiled'in his face, and he looked so tenderly 
 at and spoke so softly to her that three of the party 
 present gave him credit for entertaining feelings for Dulcie 
 which were really bestowed on Eeine. A pang shot 
 through poor Gracie's jealous heart, Henry Bertram said 
 
 22 
 
254 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 to himself that, for once, Mrs. Herbert's penetration had 
 been at fault, and Mrs. Chester hugged herself with a 
 delighted belief that he was at last awaking to the attrac- 
 tions of this dear girl. Her affection for Dulcie had never 
 wavered : she had always thought of her as a suitable and 
 charming wife for her dear son. As time wore on and 
 Mrs. Chandos did not make her appearance, Mrs. Chester, 
 after fidgeting about a good deal, went up again to Lilah's 
 room, in spite of her prohibition. 
 
 Gentle as was her entrance, Lilah unclosed her eyes, 
 but not peevishly or fretfully this time. Her face wore a 
 smile. 
 
 " Oh, I have had such a beautiful sleep !" she said, and, 
 raising herself on her elbow, she turned to look at Eeine. 
 
 " How kind you are ! my headache is quite gone. 
 Thank you so much ! Will you kiss me ?" 
 
 Eeine kissed her very kindly. 
 
 u I am so glad, my dear, to have done you good. When 
 your head aches again, you must send for me." 
 
 Mrs. Chester could scarcely find words in which to ex- 
 press her gratitude, she was so happy about both her 
 children to-night, and they were the one thought and care 
 of her existence. 
 
 Lilah made Eeine promise that she would come very 
 soon again to see her, and kissed her once more at parting, 
 a very unusual show of affection on the part of the 
 little invalid. 
 
 The card-party had broken up when Eeine entered the 
 drawing-room, and Mrs. Herbert's carriage was just being 
 announced. 
 
 " It is such a glorious night !" said Eeine. " Mia, should 
 you mind if I were to walk home with Henry ?" 
 
 " Eeally, my dear, I hardly know," laughed Mrs. Hor- 
 bert. " It is moonlight, and you are so romantic." 
 
 " Don't you think Henry's prosaicness will counterbal- 
 ance my romance?" asked Eeine, gayly. 
 
 " Perhaps," assented her friend. u Well, I suppose I 
 must give my consent." 
 
 As Jack was putting Mrs. Chandos's cloak round her, 
 he whispered, with enthusiasm, 
 
 "How good you have been to poor little Lilah! How 
 can we thank you enough ?" 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 255 
 
 All bis admiration came streaming through his blue eyes, 
 and Eeine would indeed have been blind had she failed to 
 observe it. The clasp in which he held her hand told 
 even more tales. 
 
 Mrs. Chandos was not altogether displeased. She had 
 begun to feel a very sincere liking for the kind-hearted, 
 amiable young fellow. 
 
 Jack stood on the steps, looking longingly and rather 
 sadly after the retreating figures of Bertram and Eeine. 
 He would have given worlds to have walked back with 
 them, but was deterred from offering his company by the 
 fear of seeming intrusive. He was not jealous of Ber- 
 tram now, and thought him the best fellow in the world, 
 but in his honest, diffident heart he could not help feeling 
 a painful consciousness of his own inferiority to the clever 
 man of the world, and thinking how very much more 
 congenial Bertram's companionship must be to Mrs. Chan- 
 dos than his own. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 LILAH could talk of nothing but Mrs. Chandos and her 
 marvellous mesmeric powers. She made the various mem- 
 bers of the household try their hands at mesmerizing her, 
 but dismissed them all with impatient contempt. Johnnie, 
 she declared, had the nearest approach to the mesmeric 
 touch, but he was leagues away from Mrs. Chandos. We 
 may imagine how delighted he was at this compliment, 
 and with what pleasure he sat and listened to Lilah's 
 praises of his dear lady. He did not say very much in 
 respose : the fact was, he was afraid of saying too much. 
 
 Two or three days later Mrs. Chandos again paid a visit, 
 to Lilah in her boudoir, by particular request of the young 
 lady, not to exercise the office of healing medium on this 
 occasion, but to have what Lilah called a nice talk. 
 
 " I have a great favor to ask you," said the girl, when 
 Reine had been with her a few minutes, " a great favor. 
 Dear Mrs. Chandos, will you promise to grant it ?" 
 
 " I think I may promise," smiled Reine. " I do not sup- 
 pose you would ask anything very impossible of me." 
 
256 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Lilah lowered her voice, and said, coaxingly, 
 " I want to read your poetry. Will you lend it to me ?" 
 Reine hesitated. She felt that she could not comply 
 with this request, and for the first time the thought 
 struck her unpleasantly that she would not like this 
 young girl to read what she had written. She had been 
 indignant with critics who had found fault with the moral 
 tone of her verses ; she had declared that it was absurd 
 to suppose that authors and poets were to be trammelled 
 in their writings by the consideration whether what they 
 wrote was suited to school-girls ; but at this moment it 
 smote her sharply to think that her poetry was not what 
 she would care to put into Lilah's hands. 
 
 Lilah saw her hesitation, and said, quickly, 
 " You are thinking that mamma would not like it. But 
 mamma is not to know. She has such old-fashioned ideas, 
 and thinks everything dreadful. But," confidentially, " I 
 have read heaps of things she does not know of. I found 
 a volume of Swinburne's poems once in a hotel, some one 
 had left it behind, and I took it to bed with me and read 
 every word. Oh, it was lovely ; but I am quite sure yours 
 could not be half so improper as those, could they ?" 
 
 " My dear," said Eeine, gravely, without replying to the 
 latter part of Lilah's remarks, " I could not think of lend- 
 ing you my poems if your mother disapproves of them. 
 But how do you know that she does? Has she read 
 them ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied Lilah. " She got them at Nice, and 
 was in an awful state of mind about them. I don't mind 
 telling you, because it will make you laugh. She was in 
 the greatest fright that Johnnie was going to fall in love 
 with you, and she thought you did not believe in anything 
 and would take him headlong to perdition, and they had 
 an awful scene about it. You know I would not tell you 
 this, only I thought it would amuse you, because, of course, 
 though we think there is no one like our dear, darling 
 Johnnie, you would not look at him, because he is not 
 clever like you." 
 
 One might have imagined that, as Lilah was a shrewd 
 little person, she would have been aware that her words 
 could not i us]) ire any very pleasurable emotion in the 
 breast of her hearer ; but there was a curious little twist 
 
ONCE AQAIN. 257 
 
 in her nature that made it agreeable to her to shoot occa- 
 Bional arrows at friends as well as foes. 
 
 Keine experienced one of the most disagreeable sensa- 
 tions she had ever known in her life. To feel that she was 
 looked upon in such a light by so excellent, if narrow- 
 minded, a woman as Mrs. Chester, was mortifying to her 
 in the extreme, conscious as she was of her own purity 
 and rectitude of intention and principle. To be regarded 
 in the light in which it was evident Mrs. Chester regarded 
 her was a bitter blow both to her vanity and her heart. 
 It cost her one of the greatest efforts she had ever made 
 in her life to smile and assume a tolerably indifferent tone 
 as she said, 
 
 " I am very sorry, my dear, but, under the circumstances, 
 I cannot possibly do what you ask. I would on no account 
 lend you any book without your mother's sanction, far less 
 one of which you tell me she disapproves so strongly." 
 
 Lilah had a suspicion that she had been indiscreet, and 
 tried to make amends. 
 
 " I hope you are not vexed," she said. " I ought not to 
 have said anything about it. But mamma is so dreadfully 
 religious and so strict in her ideas that she thinks every 
 one who does not believe the Bible right through from 
 beginning to end must be lost. I have often," looking a 
 little frightened at her own words, " thought there were 
 things in it which were unnatural and contradicted each 
 other, and, oh ! I should so like to talk about it to some 
 one clever who understands these things. Life is so un- 
 fair and hard on some people : I don't see how one can be 
 expected to think it is all right, and to be thankful for 
 one's misery." 
 
 " My dear child," said Eeine, compassionately, " if you 
 do not want to be very unhappy, do not encourage doubts 
 or begin to ask questions. Believe what you have believed 
 and been taught in your childhood, or you will prepare a 
 great deal of misery for yourself. We poor mortals cannot 
 discover the truth for ourselves, and we are far more likely 
 to be happy if we submit our judgment, even a little 
 against the grain sometimes, than if we insist on knowing, 
 or rather trying to know, the why and wherefore of every- 
 thing. We never shall know it ; no one has ever known 
 it; and a hundred clever minds will evolve a hundred dif- 
 r 22* 
 
258 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 ferent theories from a lifetime of research. Few women 
 can swim out boldly into the sea of speculation : most of 
 us only succeed in wetting our feet with the little waves 
 on the shore and making ourselves thoroughly uncom- 
 fortable." 
 
 " When did you first begin to have doubts ?" asked Lilah, 
 eagerly ; but Mrs. Chandos refused altogether to continue 
 the discussion. She was extremely glad when, a few 
 minutes later, Mrs. Herbert came into the room with 
 Grace, and soon afterwards they took their leave. During 
 the remainder of the afternoon, and at dinner, Keine was 
 silent and distraite: truth to tell, Lilah's arrow was rank- 
 ling terribly in her mind. Mrs. Herbert saw that some- 
 thing had vexed her friend, but made no remark, hoping 
 that Eeine would tell her what was passing in her mind. 
 When they were sitting together in the veranda, and Keine 
 still made no sign, she said, 
 
 " It is not kind of you, my love, to have secrets from 
 me. What has vexed you ?" 
 
 Eeine did not answer for a moment; then she said, with 
 a ruffled gesture, 
 
 " Yes, I am vexed. horribly vexed. It is, I dare say, 
 a very slight and unimportant matter ; perhaps it is only 
 my vanity that is hurt, but it is hurt, and I cannot help 
 feeling annoyed and disgusted." Then, with a slight in- 
 crease of color in her cheek, she repeated to her friend 
 what Lilah had said. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert was extremely indignant. 
 
 " I never liked that girl," she said. " She is a spiteful 
 little cat, and always has her claws out ready to scratch." 
 
 "Poor little thing!" said Eeine, kindly. "I do not for 
 a moment suppose she meant to hurt me." 
 
 " Nonsense !" returned Mrs. Herbert. " She is anything 
 but stupid, and it is only very stupid people who hurt the 
 feelings of others without being aware of it. I have not 
 the smallest doubt that jealousy prompted her in what she 
 said." 
 
 " Indeed, dear Mia, I think you are too hard on her. It 
 was a little want of tact, perhaps, but nothing more. I 
 really cannot help laughing," but she looked more angry 
 than amused, " at the idea of that excellent woman being 
 alarmed lest her son should be entrapped by such a dan- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 259 
 
 gerous creature as myself. It is something new to me to 
 be looked upon as a sort of Scarlet Lady." 
 
 And Eeine gave an abrupt, contemptuous little laugh, 
 quite unsuggestive of mirth. She was working herself up 
 into a state of anger and felt the want of a victim. Her 
 strong sense of justice passed into abeyance for the time. 
 
 " I beg, Mia, that you will not invite Sir John here again 
 whilst I remain. You see, you little know what daggers 
 you have been planting in the breast of his worthy mother. 
 Fancy me in the role of seducer and corrupter of an inno- 
 cent young country squire." 
 
 By this time she was very angry, and Mrs. Herbert had 
 a melancholy presentiment that all her little ingenious 
 schemes had been overthrown by the odious sister of her 
 favorite. She, too, felt the want of a victim, and made 
 Lilah hers. She resolved then and there to give Sir John 
 a hint of the mischief which Lilah had worked. 
 
 " Do not talk such nonsense, my dear," she said, with 
 some sharpness. " The girl exaggerated : in fact, I dare 
 say she invented the whole story. Nothing, I am sure, 
 could be more cordial than the manner in which Mrs. 
 Chester spoke to me of you and your kindness to Lilah." 
 
 Eeine did not answer for some time: then she said, 
 looking away into the distance and speaking in a thought- 
 ful voice, 
 
 "After all, perhaps it was a mistake to have published 
 those poems. I dare say they have done me a great deal 
 of harm and given people very wrong ideas about me. 
 Imagine," with a smile which had more bitter than sweet 
 in it, " a very religious elderly woman, with all the cor- 
 rect old-fashioned opinions, sitting down in cold blood to 
 pronounce judgment upon my poor * Yerses from the 
 South,' written at fever-heat of passionate misery, the 
 outcome of a vivid imagination worked up to its highest 
 pitch ! No ! I see it now. The folly was not, perhaps, in 
 writing them, because it gave me a kind of relief and 
 happiness, but in sending them out to the world. Mia, 
 you are a sensible woman, why did you not advise me 
 against publishing them ?' 
 
 " "Why should I have done so?" retorted Mrs. Herbert. 
 "They are charming and full of genius, and they have 
 given you fame." 
 
260 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 "Fame worth having !" exclaimed Heine, bitterly. "A 
 handle to every ill-natured person to accuse me of immo- 
 rality and infidelity, and to make a really good woman 
 look with dread and horror upon my possible influence 
 over her son. No ! I will do to-morrow what I have often 
 thought of doing before ; I will buy up all that are to be 
 bought, and make them into a bonfire/' 
 
 " You talk like a pettish child," returned Mrs. Herbert. 
 " I hope you will do nothing of the sort." 
 
 But the very next day Mrs. Chandos, without saying a 
 word to her friend, wrote and gave the order for the call- 
 ing in of her poems. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert did her utmost to soothe Heine's ruffled 
 plumage, but she was perfectly conscious of her want of 
 success and sorely vexed about it. She was more vexed 
 still to observe the change in Heine's manner to Sir John 
 when he next came to the dower-house. He, poor fellow, 
 had been so exulting in her altered demeanor to him of 
 late, and was stupefied when he perceived this lapse into 
 a colder and more indifferent manner than she had ever 
 shown him before. 
 
 " What have I done ?" he cried, in despair, the moment 
 he was left alone with Mrs. Herbert. " How is it possible 
 that I can have offended Mrs. Chandos ?" 
 
 Mrs. Herbert, as she had resolved, told him what Lilah 
 had said to Heine. She really hoped that he would give 
 the little mischief-maker a severe lecture on her indiscre- 
 tion and malice. 
 
 Poor Jack sat stupefied with misery and indignation. 
 To think that Mrs. Chandos, whom he placed on so ex- 
 alted a pedestal, should have been wounded and insulted 
 by a member of his family ; that she at whose feet he 
 humbly worshipped, in full consciousness of his own in- 
 feriority, should have been given to understand that she 
 was not thought worthy of him ! No words could express 
 his bitter mortification. Most men, under the circum- 
 stances, would not have rested until they had wreaked 
 their wrath on the person who had injured them; but 
 Jack knew that he could say nothing to Lilah in anger: 
 whatever she did, her weakness and suffering must shield 
 her from any outbreak of wrath on his part. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert said everything in her power to soothe 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 261 
 
 and comfort him : she was quite vexed to see with what 
 dreadful seriousness he took the matter, as though he then 
 and there abandoned hope forever. 
 
 " What must she think of us!" he reiterated, as though 
 Eeine were a sovereign and he and his family had been 
 found guilty of lese-majeste. 
 
 " She will forget it," said Mrs. Herbert. " Eeine has a 
 generous mind and is not at all vindictive." 
 
 But Jack was not to be comforted. It seemed impossi- 
 ble that she should ever forgive such a wanton insult. 
 For the first time he shrank from seeing her, and reso- 
 lutely declined Mrs. Herbert's invitation to stay to lunch. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert could not forbear telling Heine of his dis- 
 tress, and the latter lady said, not without warmth, 
 
 " My dear Mia, I really think that for once you have 
 been wanting in tact to tell Sir John anything about the 
 matter." 
 
 " Perhaps," retorted her friend, " you are not aware how 
 chilling your manner was to the poor fellow. No one 
 could help remarking it, and he asked me what it meant 
 the moment you left the room." 
 
 " I should be sorry," said Eeine, with a touch of temper, 
 " if he imagined that I cared the very least what either 
 he or his family think of me." 
 
 " You are not generally unjust," rejoined Mrs. Herbert, 
 " and it is unjust to punish a man who is devoted to you 
 for what a peevish, disagreeable little girl said." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert paused, afraid she had gone too far in 
 speaking of Jack's devotion. 
 
 But Mrs. Chandos did not appear to have remarked the 
 expression. 
 
 Meantime, poor Jack was utterly miserable. So miser- 
 able was he that the habitual cheery expression completely 
 deserted his face, and it was patent to every one at the 
 hall that some dreadful misfortune had befallen him. 
 
 Lilah had a sort of frightened intuition of what had 
 happened, and, fearful of explanations, forbore to remark 
 his dejection ; but his mother was seriously concerned, 
 and east wistful glances at him from time to time. In the 
 evening, no longer able to bear the suspense, she waited 
 up after every one else had retired, and went to seek him 
 in his own room. 
 
262 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " My dearest boy," she said, tremulously, all her moth- 
 erly affection gleaming in her eyes, " I fear something has 
 happened to distress you. Pray, my dear," laying a hand 
 tenderly on his arm, " if you have any trouble, do not keep 
 it from me ! Who can feel for you like your mother ?" 
 
 Jack was not so much touched by this tender appeal as 
 he might have been under other circumstances. He could 
 not forget that it was through his mother, if indirectly, 
 that this trouble had come upon him. 
 
 He did not answer for a moment ; then, as she urged 
 him, he said, in a colder tone than she had ever heard from 
 his lips, 
 
 " It is very hard that my own family should take it 
 upon themselves to insult the woman I love best in the 
 world." 
 
 The words contained a double blow to Mrs. Chester. 
 The first was the intimation that he, after all, loved Mrs. 
 Chandos ; the second, the horror of any one having been 
 insulted by her or hers. 
 
 "Insulted!" she exclaimed, trembling with agitation. 
 " What can you possibly mean ?" 
 
 The most veracious people, we know, are tempted to 
 exaggerate at times, and it is possible that Mrs. Herbert 
 unconsciously added a little to Eeine's recital. Jack, car- 
 ried away by his feelings, made the most of what had 
 been told him, and poor Mrs. Chester was positively ap- 
 palled to think that Lilah should have dared to repeat to 
 Mrs. Chandos her opinion of that lady's poetry and her 
 fears for her son. She felt thoroughly humiliated, and 
 scarcely knew what to say to Jack, who stood looking at 
 her with a disturbed and angry face. 
 
 "Indeed!" cried the poor lady, at last. "I could not 
 have believed Lilah capable of behaving in so improper 
 and unfeeling a manner. I shall tell her very plainly my 
 opinion of her conduct, and I must think what apology I 
 can make to Mrs. Chandos for the insult that has been 
 offered her under my roof." 
 
 " No, mother," said Jack, decisively. " Say nothing to 
 Lilah. She is a great sufferer. I do not think we can 
 hold her accountable like other people. And, after all," 
 with some bitterness, " it was true. You said all that, 
 and more, about Mrs. Chandos." 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 263 
 
 His mother was silent. She could not deny it, but she 
 was extremely anxious not to irritate her son or increase 
 his trouble. 
 
 " You must indeed be hard to please," he went on, with 
 some excitement : " a woman who is as good and kind as 
 an angel, and the most perfect and pure-minded lady that 
 ever breathed." 
 
 Poor Mrs. Chester dared not say, as she would fain have 
 done, that these qualities availed nothing against the ab- 
 sence of religion in a woman. Though, since she had seen 
 more of Eeine and observed that she went to church and 
 behaved with great apparent reverence and devoutness 
 when there, her prejudice had been considerably shaken. 
 Still, she could not forget that Mrs. Chandos had written 
 poetry she disapproved of; that she had been divorced 
 from her husband, absolutely blameless though she was in 
 the matter ; and that she was very nearly her son's age, 
 all of which circumstances made her in the mother's opin- 
 ion a most undesirable wife for him. 
 
 But she would not vex him now by discussing these ob- 
 jections, and contented herself by expressing extreme re- 
 gret for what had happened; and finally they parted 
 outwardly on friendly terms but inwardly sore at heart. 
 
 Jack, who was wont to sleep from the moment he laid 
 down his head on his pillow until he was called, passed a 
 troubled night. By morning he had resolved that, how- 
 ever difficult and painful the task, he would express to 
 Mrs. Chandos his grief and regret for the insult she had 
 received. 
 
 He went down to the dower-house soon after breakfast, 
 intending to ask for an interview with Eeine. But when 
 he drew near the house he saw her seated alone under the 
 cedar with a book in her hand. As he approached her 
 and she read his suffering in his face, her kind heart wan 
 touched, and she received him pleasantly. 
 
 He sat down beside her, and she made some trifling 
 general remark with a view of putting him at his ease. 
 He did not answer it : his heart was full of what he had 
 come to say, though his tongue would not all at once give 
 utterance to it. Suddenly he turned to her, the color 
 flushing to his face. 
 
 " Mrs. Chandos," he stammered, " I am not clever at 
 
264 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 words, you must forgive me if I speak bluntly, but I have 
 never in my life been so cut up as at hearing that my 
 sister had said such unpardonable things to you. Poor 
 little girl ! I cannot think she meant any harm, and you 
 are so good and kind that I beg and pray you to forgive 
 her, because you know she is not quite like other people." 
 
 Eeine put out her hand frankly to him. 
 
 " Do not say another word !" she said, smiling a kind, 
 reassuring smile. " I have forgotten it, and am only vexed 
 that you should ever have heard of it." 
 
 " Oh !" gasped Jack, covering her hand with kisses, 
 " you are an angel ! But I cannot forget it. To think 
 that you, whom I love and respect more than any woman 
 in the world, yes," as Eeine made a warning gesture. 
 "yes," passionately, "it must come out! I know I am 
 nothing to you. I know it would be presumption and 
 madness for me ever to think of you, except as some one 
 far above me and out of my reach ; but that does not 
 prevent my loving and worshipping you with all my soul. 
 Do not be angry with me !" as she drew her hand away : 
 " I expect nothing, I hope for nothing, but I beseech you 
 to let me be your friend, your slave, anything, so that I 
 may sometimes see you and be near you." 
 
 " Do not say any more !" uttered Eeine, very gently and 
 kindly. " You shall always be my friend. But now I want 
 to tell you something which I hope will make you hap- 
 pier in your mind. I have never been very proud of my 
 poetry, and I have often thought it might give people a 
 wrong impression about me. I could see after you had 
 read it that you did not approve of it." 
 
 He would have protested, but she silenced him by a 
 gesture. 
 
 "And I can quite understand," she went on, "that it 
 horrified your mother. It was written when I was suffer- 
 ing acutely and looked at things very likely in a morbid 
 and distorted way. Writing soothed me at the time, but 
 I have come to the conclusion that it was a mistake to 
 publish those poems. I wrote yesterday and ordered that 
 all the copies that can be procured are to be bought and 
 sent to me. They will soon be forgotten ; and that is the 
 best fate for them." 
 
 Jack looked at her in mingled wonder and admiration. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 265 
 
 He felt no inclination to dissuade her from such a step : 
 nay, he rejoiced to think that alien eyes should not in the 
 future read the impassioned words she had once written. 
 
 Eeine knew by intuition what was passing in his mind, 
 and, if it gave a slight wound to her vanity, she felt no 
 resentment against him, recognizing as she did the truth 
 and honesty of his heart. 
 
 How he longed at that moment to pour forth all his de- 
 votion and adoration before her ! The most extravagant 
 words would have seemed inadequate to express what he 
 felt ; but he had so great an awe of her, so deep a con- 
 sciousness of his own inferiority, that he dared not let his 
 lips plead for him. But his eyes were eloquent enough, 
 and Reine was rather relieved at this juncture by the sight 
 of Mrs. Herbert coming towards them across the lawn. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 DECEMBER had come : Dulcie was again on a visit to the 
 Fawcetts, and this time, as before, without her mother. 
 They had been little together since they left the Hall, for 
 the strain of their relations had become intolerable to both, 
 and Mrs. Yernon preferred to risk the remarks of her 
 friends, to living in a constant state of irritation and fear. 
 Dulcie had spent the greater part of the autumn with Mrs. 
 Leslie, who, always kind and cheery, felt very sorry for 
 the girl and did her best to amuse and comfort her ; and, 
 after that, she had paid visits to one or two intimate 
 friends. The elder of Mrs. Fawcett's daughters had re- 
 cently married, and Mary, the younger, who had always 
 been fond of Dulcie, was delighted to have her to replace 
 the sister whose companionship she missed so much. 
 
 Dulcie was unquestionably improved by her sorrows. 
 She had always been gentle and amiable, but now she 
 seemed more thoughtful, more sympathetic: there was 
 less of the butterfly about her. 
 
 " I used," Mrs. Fawcett confided to her husband, " to 
 think Dulcie rather silly and flighty; but she has im- 
 proved amazingly since last year. I wish she and Charlie 
 M 23 
 
266 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 would take a fancy to each other. She will have a thou- 
 sand a year when she comes of age, and more than treble 
 that when her mother dies." 
 
 " It would be very handy for Charlie," replied her lord ; 
 " but I fear it is too great a bit of luck to come off." 
 
 It was a fatality that people would always insist on 
 marrying and giving Dulcie in marriage ; but it was hardly 
 an exceptional case, for if a girl is pretty, good-tempered, 
 and has a nice little fortune, she is likely to have as many 
 candidates for her hand as Solomon had wives. 
 
 Mary Fawcett and Dulcie, being great friends, always 
 performed together the rite of brushing out their hair over 
 each other's bedroom fires, as is the wont of friends. 
 
 On the evening when we meet Dulcie again after three 
 months' absence, Mary came into her room waving a silver 
 brush in tbe delightful excitement consequent on having a 
 piece of interesting news to communicate. 
 
 " Oh, Dulcie! I have just been hearing such a bit of 
 news from Charlie ! It is a profound secret : he made me 
 swear not to tell any one, but of course I made a mental 
 reservation in favor of you. He does not want father 
 and mother to know, though it is bound to come out 
 before very long. You remember that young Trevor who 
 was staying here last winter? I used to think he was 
 rather fond of you." 
 
 It was convenient that Dulcie could use her hair as a 
 veil to screen from her friend's eyes the blush that covered 
 her face at the abrupt mention of a name connected with 
 such painful ideas and fraught with such bitter memories. 
 
 " He really is dreadfully unlucky. You know what an 
 awful accident he had in the winter, was thrown out of a 
 hansom and all but killed ; and now he has got into the 
 most fearful scrape in India and will have to leave the 
 regiment." 
 
 Dulcie's heart beat fast. Mary had paused, apparently 
 expecting some sign of interest from her auditor. 
 
 " Well ?" said Dulcie, interrogatively, still keeping her 
 hair over her face and making vigorous pretence of 
 brushing. 
 
 " Well," returned Mary, " it seems that he went out to 
 India in the same ship with his colonel's wife. Charlie 
 has met her. She is a fair, sentimental sort of woman, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 267 
 
 he says, a tremendous flirt, but a good deal older than 
 Noel, and rather good-looking, made up very well, at 
 least. And there has been an awful row, and the colonel 
 has applied for a divorce, and Noel is to be co-respondent." 
 
 Dulcie could not utter a word. Conflicting feelings 
 were chasing each other through her mind. She did not 
 know whether to be glad, sorry, indignant, or disgusted. 
 She had fancied that he was too devoted to her to care 
 for any other woman ; but, with a bitter recollection of 
 Alwyne, she supposed men were all alike, a month was 
 long enough for them to forget one woman in and to take 
 up with another. Perhaps, now, she would be able to 
 free herself from him, and, strange to say, the thought 
 did not give her the rapture that one might have ex- 
 pected. I am not sure that in her heart she did not feel a 
 slightly-increased respect for and interest in her husband. 
 
 Mary had paused, and was evidently disappointed that 
 Dulcie did not take more interest in this very exciting 
 piece of gossip. 
 
 " You don't seem surprised !" she said, in rather a mor- 
 tified tone. 
 
 " I am never surprised at anything a man does," replied 
 Dulcie ; u that is, if it is anything bad." 
 
 " Good gracious !" cried Mary, opening her eyes. " The 
 idea of your talking like that ! As if you had ever had 
 any experience of their badness !" 
 
 " Oh, one hears enough," returned Dulcie. " Here is 
 an instance. This man that everybody thought so nice 
 
 foes and does the meanest thing possible, pretended, I 
 are say, to take care of her on the way out, and then 
 that is the end of it he gets the wretched woman into 
 trouble and ruins her life." 
 
 Dulcie was surprised herself at the angry vehemence 
 with which she spoke. 
 
 " Charlie says," resumed Mary, " that he believes it was 
 all her doing. He says Noel wasn't that sort, but she 
 was known to be a regular flirt, and he thinks very likely 
 her husband wanted to get rid of her, and that it is a 
 plant. Now I suppose, poor fellow, he'll have to marry 
 her ; and a nice thing that will be for him, to be tied to a 
 woman years older than himself. He will have to leave 
 the regiment, which will be an awful blow to him ; and 
 
268 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Charlie hears that he is coming home and going to ex- 
 change." 
 
 " Did your brother tell you anything more ?" asked 
 Dulcie, in rather a husky voice. 
 
 " No : he did not know any more. He has not heard 
 from Noel himself, but thinks he is sure to write, as they 
 are such friends. Yery likely, poor fellow, he is not quite 
 right in his head yet : they thought at one time he never 
 would be. You know he came to our party in the season 
 and had a fit there and was obliged to be taken home in 
 a cab. I think you had left, though, before it happened.'* 
 
 " Yes, I believe we had two or three parties that night," 
 answered Dulcie, hastily, for veracity, as we know, was 
 not her strong point. 
 
 " Anyhow, his career is done for," said Mary, regretfully. 
 " If he had been rich or a swell he might have got out of 
 it ; but, as it is, he hasn't a chance." 
 
 Dulcie sat over the fire long after her friend left her 
 that night, wondering what would happen. The divorce, 
 she supposed, would come on in England, and perhaps all 
 would come out about Noel being a married man, and her 
 name would be dragged in. She felt dreadfully perturbed 
 in her mind, and would have given the world to have had 
 some friend to confide in and of whom she could ask coun- 
 sel. She was indignant against Noel : it was the first time 
 she had recognized the fact that he belonged to her. He 
 had pretended at Brighton to be broken-hearted about her, 
 and a month later he could console himself with a married 
 woman. And he was coming back to England ! Well, in 
 any case, after this he would not dare to approach her : 
 that was one comfort. 
 
 But Dulcie felt wounded in spirit. Little less than a 
 year ago both he and Alwyne had seemed so passionately 
 in love with her that it had appeared impossible they 
 should think of any other woman ; and now one was mar- 
 ried and apparently devoted to his wife, and the other had 
 ruined his career for the sake of a woman who, according 
 to Mary's account, was neither young nor in any way de- 
 sirable. She was glad, Dulcie told herself, with unusual 
 bitterness of feeling, that she was cut off from any more 
 intimate relations with men in the future, and not likely 
 to suifer from their treachery and changeableness. Of 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 269 
 
 course after this she would never have anything to say to 
 Noel. Perhaps if he had not behaved in this shameful 
 way she might in time have been reconciled to the idea 
 of being his wife, but now he had by his own act put that 
 utterly out of the question. Dulcie, who was not natur- 
 ally vindictive, thought that she would like to have the 
 opportunity of telling him what she thought of his be- 
 havior. It was a comfort that that horrid creature who 
 had, no doubt, counted on marrying him would be disap- 
 pointed. Dulcie went to bed extremely perturbed in her 
 mind, and it was a long time before sleep came to soothe 
 her angry and excited feelings. The wrong we do others 
 and the wrong they do us present themselves to us in such 
 very disproportionate lights. 
 
 Dulcie's visit to the Fawcetts came to an end without 
 her hearing anything more of Noel or the impending di- 
 vorce. If Mary heard anything she would be sure to tell 
 her, Dulcie thought ; and she was afraid of asking any 
 question, for fear of exciting suspicion. She went to 
 spend Christmas with Mrs. Leslie. Her mother was far 
 from well : the nervous excitement and irritation of the 
 last twelve months had preyed seriously on her spirits, 
 and she had, besides, suffered for some weeks from a bron- 
 chial catarrh. She had begged Heine as a very great 
 favor to accompany her, at all events for a month or two, 
 to the south of France, and Heine had given up another 
 engagement to comply with her request, feeling seriously 
 concerned about her aunt's health and very sorry for her 
 mental disquietude. 
 
 It had been arranged that Dulcie should divide her time 
 during her mother's absence between Mrs. Leslie and the 
 Fawcetts. It was alleged as the reason for her not ac- 
 companying Mrs. Yernon that she disliked being abroad, 
 and that the climate of the Biviera had not suited her the 
 previous winter. 
 
 Dulcie had not been long with Mrs. Leslie before she 
 confided to her Noel's iniquity, and that sprightly lady 
 took an immense interest in the recital, and reflected to 
 herself that it was quite possible this shocking behavior 
 on his part might pique Dulcie into taking more interest 
 in him, even though at first it might be interest of an ad- 
 verse kind. She made sjreat allowances for him in her 
 
270 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 own mind, which was perhaps a little too liberal and toler- 
 ant in her regard for masculine weakness. She said to 
 herself, 
 
 " But what on earth could the girl expect? He was de- 
 voted to her, and she treated him shamefully and told him 
 plainly that her only desire in life was to get rid of him 
 and marry another man; and yet she is surprised that 
 after this he should presume to look at a woman, instead 
 of spending the rest of his life in regretting her." She 
 put this in a mild way before Dulcie, who refused to admit 
 any excuse for him, though perhaps in her own mind she 
 may have been aware that Mrs. Leslie's ideas were far 
 from unreasonable. 
 
 Her meeting with Alwyne had had one beneficial re- 
 sult. She no longer thought of him in the romantic way 
 that she had previously done, nor could she lay the flat- 
 tering unction to her soul that he was indifferent to his 
 wife or pining after her. She did not confide to Mrs. Les- 
 lie the meeting with Alwyne: her vanity was too sore on 
 the subject, and perhaps her heart, for there is no question 
 that she had given him all that she had of love. 
 
 She spent part of January with Mrs. Leslie at Brighton, 
 and one morning when she had been alone to visit her 
 aunt, who lived near Kemp Town, she, on leaving the 
 house, crossed the road and seated herself on one of the 
 embrasured seats overlooking the sea, similar to that on 
 which the tragic little scene with Noel had been enacted. 
 It was a still morning : the sky was a clear, pale blue, and 
 the sun gleamed golden on the little rippling waves which 
 a faint breeze stirred. Dulcie felt very lonely as she re- 
 called the summer morning when she had been so hard to 
 Noel because of his rival. Yes, she admitted that she had 
 been hard to him, and she remembered for the first time, 
 with a twinge of pity, how sad and miserable he had 
 looked. And what was his offence ? Could he help that 
 dreadful accident which had caused him months of suffer- 
 ing? Then, just as she was growing to pity and to feel 
 some softness towards him, she remembered with a flush 
 about the colonel's wife and how short a time it had taken 
 him to console himself. She shut up her heart against 
 him in a moment, and, rising abruptly, walked hastily 
 home to rejoin Mrs. Leslie. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 271 
 
 Mrs. Vernon had recovered from her bronchitis, but she 
 did not intend returning to England before the end of 
 March. She had met many pleasant friends at Cannes, 
 and was thoroughly enjoying the life. Above all things 
 she appreciated the relief of being away from Dulcie. 
 She no longer felt angry or bitter against her, she was 
 thankful to hear that she was well and cheerful, but she 
 felt that for both their sakes it was better they should be 
 apart until they could again take up the threads of life 
 together. When she allowed her mind to dwell on the 
 matter, which she very seldom did, the future looked as 
 blank and impossible as ever. What was to be the end of 
 it? and would "the wretched husband," as she called 
 Noel to herself, continue tamely to submit to being kicked 
 out of his wife's life, or would he at some time or other 
 assert and vindicate his rights ? She and Keine had talked 
 it over once or twice ; but, as neither knew anything of 
 Noel's nature and temperament, and both had been so en- 
 tirely surprised by Dulcie's unaccountable and unreason- 
 able conduct, they could only indulge in speculations which 
 they felt to be unprofitable. 
 
 Eeine had left her aunt now, and was in Florence. 
 Jack had confided to Mrs. Herbert the little scene that 
 had taken place between him and Mrs. Chandos, and had, 
 with a burning face, recounted his own temerity, and Mrs. 
 Herbert had drawn not unfavorable augury from the fact 
 that, after this rash act of his, Eeine had not snubbed him 
 nor treated him with haughtiness, but had been quite as 
 friendly as before, if not more so. When she saw Eeine, 
 just before she went abroad, Jack's champion ventured to 
 say a word in his behalf, which Mrs. Chandos received 
 with smiling toleration ; but when her friend dwelt on the 
 depths of his feelings the younger lady affected to make 
 light of them and refused to discuss the subject seriously. 
 Still, Mrs. Herbert saw indications that Eeine was getting 
 somewhat weary of a wandering life, and that she felt 
 painfully at times the loneliness of her lot and a yearning 
 towards the ties of home and family. 
 
 February had come, and Dulcie, according to promises 
 exchanged, had returned to spend a month with the Faw- 
 cetts. The first week of her return the house was very 
 quiet, but the one following there was to be a ball in the 
 
272 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 house, a country ball and a hunt ball : so that it would 
 be a very gay time indeed. Charlie Fawcett was in Lon- 
 don, and was to return on the Monday, bringing a couple 
 of friends with him. Two young ladies were to arrive the 
 same day, and the house would be full of guests. Mary 
 was in great spirits, anticipating immense pleasure from 
 the coming gayeties ; and Dulcie, whose spirits were much 
 improved of late, entered cheerfully into her friend's feel- 
 ings, and was ready to talk about the coming festivities to 
 Mary's heart's content. 
 
 Monday came, and Mrs. Fawcett with her daughter and 
 Dulcie were in the morning-room after breakfast. She 
 was writing a letter; the two girls were arranging 
 flowers. 
 
 A telegram was brought in, and Mrs. Fawcett, having 
 glanced over it, communicated its contents to her com- 
 panions without turning her head. 
 
 " It is from Charlie," she said. " * Byng,' " reading aloud, 
 ' { cannot come. Have asked Trevor. Just back from 
 India.' " 
 
 Dulcie trembled violently : she felt as if she must faint. 
 Fortunately, Mary had run to look over her mother's 
 shoulder to make quite sure that she had read the name 
 correctly, and Dulcie had time to compose herself. A mo- 
 ment later she left the room and went up-stairs. She sat 
 down in the nearest chair and looked vacantly into space. 
 What should she do ? How could she possibly avoid this 
 dreadful meeting? It soon became obvious to her that 
 she could not avoid it. It was impossible to make any 
 plausible excuse for leaving the gayeties for which she 
 had expressly come. Perhaps, she thought, Charlie would 
 tell Noel that she was a guest in the house, and then, of 
 course, if he had any gentlemanlike feeling, he would 
 invent a pretext for staying away even at the last 
 moment. 
 
 When she returned to the morning-room she found Mary 
 alone. 
 
 " It is awfully daring of Charlie, I think," said the young 
 lady, " to ask Mr. Trevor here under the circumstances. 
 Mamma will be furious with him when she knows what 
 has happened. I really wonder at him." 
 
 " Yes," returned Dulcie, with what calmness she could 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 273 
 
 muster. " And it is sure to come out sooner or later. 
 Such a disgraceful affair, too !" 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXI. 
 
 WE must retrace our steps in order to pick up one ot 
 the threads of the story and go back to poor Noel after 
 his last interview with the wife who rejected and repu- 
 diated him. He was as nearly heart-broken as ever was a 
 kind-hearted, affectionate young fellow who adored a 
 woman in vain. All the delightful visions which had 
 cheered his convalescent hours, of having his darling 
 restored to his longing arms, were rudely shattered : in 
 vain he reminded himself of his rights, of the fact that 
 she was his lawful wife, and that he could compel her to 
 live with him. But the poor lad had not counted on a 
 captive, an unwilling victim. Surely if any man ever had 
 reason to believe that he was beloved for himself, it was, 
 up to the moment of his terrible awakening, Noel. He 
 was poor, of small social importance, and his bride had 
 given up a happy, luxurious home for his sake, and had 
 been ready to go with him into the wide world, to face 
 poverty with him and to follow whatever fortune might 
 be his. 
 
 Noel was too chivalrous of heart to lay the blame on 
 her; indeed, it is very difficult to make a good-hearted 
 young man believe anything against his idol : he was 
 much more prone to believe that devilish arts and ma- 
 chinations had been practised on her guileless mind, either 
 by Alwyne or her mother. She had probably, in the first 
 place, been influenced against him, and had then fallen a 
 prey to the man who now exercised this dreadful influence 
 over her. And, as we know, these suspicions and surmises 
 were not very wide of the mark. 
 
 There was only one thing for him to do now, and that 
 was to get away. She was his ; but he would not claim 
 her, since she was unwilling : he had no taste for a woman 
 who loathed and revolted against his caresses , he only 
 hungered for her love. The future was a blunk to him : 
 
274 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 on what would happen in the days to come, he could not 
 even attempt to speculate : the only thought which smiled 
 upon him now was that in which he pictured the possi- 
 bility of a soldier's death. Since he might not live for 
 her, how gladly would he die for his love ! But there was 
 the bitterness of leaving her to another; and few men are 
 heroic enough to efface themselves from a woman's life in 
 order that she may repose happily on the breast of a rival. 
 Sore indeed was the poor fellow's heart as he made ar- 
 rangements to leave his country, and with it hope and all 
 he had counted upon to make life dear. A draft of his 
 regiment was on the eve of going out, and it happened 
 that the officer appointed to take it had particular reason 
 for wishing to remain in England, so the exchange was 
 effected easily enough. 
 
 The first person he met on board ship was Mrs. Frank- 
 lin, the wife of his colonel. Noel had never seen very 
 much of her: he was aware that she had the reputation 
 of being given to flirtation, and that her husband was re- 
 ported to be jealous of her. Meeting her in his voyage 
 out inspired him with no feeling of any kind : he was 
 neither pleased nor sorry to find her his travelling-com- 
 panion : all women save one were absolutely indifferent to 
 him. It was not so with Mrs. Franklin. She could not 
 exist without a squire to pay her attention and look after 
 her comforts, and she at once determined that Noel should 
 be her property and laid herself out to captivate him. She 
 had been a very pretty woman, and still preserved her 
 looks by the help of a little judicious recourse to art, not 
 patent to the uncritical eye. She had a caressing and 
 sympathetic manner, and, although she was really a heart- 
 less and selfish little woman, she was clever enough to 
 make men believe her exactly what she chose to seem. 
 She was annoyed to find this good-looking and well- 
 mannered young man afflicted with melancholy ; his sighs, 
 his dejected appearance, his lack of interest in everything, 
 bored her exceedingly ; but, as she intended to enlist his 
 services during the voyage, she reflected how best to gain 
 an influence over him, and selected sympathy as the most 
 suitable card to play on the occasion. 
 
 Noel was like a child in her hands : he was soon ready 
 to dance to any tune which the clever little lady piped, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 275 
 
 and after a few days he could not be happy out of her 
 presence. For, by her pretence of sympathy, she had 
 gradually drawn from him the story of his woes, and in 
 time he confided to her everything except the name of the 
 girl who had made him so profoundly miserable. He be- 
 came cheerful and almost happy after indulging in the 
 unspeakable relief of talking about his woes, for he had 
 been forced, up to the present time, to keep them to him- 
 self. The story was sufficiently strange to be interesting, 
 and Mrs. Franklin encouraged his confidences, and pre- 
 tended ten times more interest in them than she really 
 felt. 
 
 She had the same fair-haired, pretty, feminine type of 
 beauty as Dulcie, and in some ways reminded Noel of his 
 lost love, and he became so devoted to her that he was 
 perpetually beside her, showing her the greatest attention, 
 and anxious to anticipate her every wish. It was, there- 
 fore, not surprising that his behavior gave wrong impres- 
 sions to people who witnessed it. Mrs. Franklin knew 
 quite well that he was not in love with her, but it suited 
 her vanity to let it be thought that he was her slave. 
 
 As for Noel, he felt the sincerest affection for the kind, 
 pretty, tender-hearted little woman, as he thought her, 
 and would have gone through fire and water to serve her, 
 but love, love such as he felt for Dulcie, was furthest from 
 his thoughts. There was no passion in the eyes with 
 which he looked at her ; his pulses never beat a shade 
 faster at the touch of her hand; his feeling was the tran- 
 quil affection he might have had for a beloved sister. 
 
 Mrs. Franklin bestowed confidences on him in return, 
 gave him to understand that she was not appreciated by 
 her lord, and evoked much sympathy from him by the 
 narration of her grievances. She did not bring any 
 serious charge against the colonel, as indeed a cleverer 
 woman than she would have been puzzled to do. The 
 friendly relations commenced on the passage out were 
 carried on after their arrival in India. Noel continued to 
 find his greatest happiness in the society of his colonel's 
 wife, which he constantly sought. Being absolutely free 
 from evil intent, he was unaware that the lady's reputa- 
 tion suffered from his attentions, but she, although not 
 equally ignorant, did not discourage them, being piqued 
 
276 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 into greater warmth of feeling for him by his want of 
 passion for her. She wanted to conquer him and to make 
 him forget Dulcie : it hurt her vanity that he should only 
 regard her as a sister, and that she had no power over 
 him more than friendship gives. A word, a signal, from 
 Dulcie, and he would have had no eyes or ears for any 
 other woman, but would have been ready to overleap any 
 obstacle to get back to her. 
 
 People talked, as people talk everywhere but notably in 
 India, and the colonel got an inkling of it, greatly to his 
 displeasure. Men have different ways of showing and 
 feeling jealousy : some hate the man whom they believe 
 to be their rival, and feel comparatively little rancor 
 towards the woman who causes their misery ; others feel 
 all the bitterness against the woman, and can be perfectly 
 civil and behave with apparent unsuspiciousness to the 
 man whom she seems to favor. The latter was the col- 
 onel's case. He was furious with his wife, but perfectly 
 civil and courteous to Noel, so that the subaltern never 
 for a moment suspected the tornado that was threatening. 
 He did not feel so kindly to his superior officer as he 
 would have liked to do, because he believed him to be 
 harsh and unkind to his wife ; and Noel, being her avowed 
 champion, could not bear the thought of any one vexing 
 her, and was quite ready to fight her battles. 
 
 Mrs. Franklin was careful not to let him know that he 
 was the cause of the frequent dissensions between herself 
 and her husband, as she shrewdly suspected that he would 
 at once insist on the misunderstanding being cleared up, 
 as much out of justice to himself for Dulcie's sake, as for 
 her own. 
 
 Late one evening Noel was sitting with Mrs. Franklin, 
 and she was employed in confiding to him her sorrows, 
 the cruelty of her husband, and her own wretchedness, 
 which she declared herself unable longer to endure. She 
 wept ; she was evidently grievously afflicted ; and tender 
 hearted Noel was miserable at the sight of her tribulation 
 and full of eager desire to console her. He drew his chair 
 close beside her ; he affectionately stroked and clasped 
 the hand that she put in his ; he was so full of tenderness 
 and sympathy that it broke out into words of endear- 
 ment. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 277 
 
 " My poor little darling !" he said, moved to strong feel- 
 ing. " I wish to God I could do something for you ! Can- 
 not I get you away from that brute !" 
 
 And with this, as he was in the act of kissing the hand 
 he held, that brute, who, presumably, had been watching 
 his opportunity, dashed in, aimed a blow at Noel which 
 nearly upset him out of his chair, and prepared to follow 
 it up with another, meantime looking like a madman and 
 pouring forth the most opprobrious epithets on each of the 
 pair. 
 
 Now, it may be all very well for a man with a guilty 
 conscience to make a passive target of himself for the 
 blows of an outraged husband, but Noel's conscience being 
 as clear as the sun at noonday, he had no intention of sub- 
 mitting tamely to chastisement: he was, besides, much in- 
 censed against the colonel for his treatment of his wife. 
 So he promptly got on his legs and showed fight, and, 
 being young and athletic, was more than a match for his 
 assailant. 
 
 Mrs. Franklin shrieked, and, at the sound of hurrying 
 feet, the colonel, not wishing to be found engaged in com- 
 bat with his subaltern, ceased his attack, and, pointing 
 furiously to the door, desired Noel to be gone. But Noel 
 absolutely refused to go until he received an explanation. 
 It was fortunate that at this moment Major Black, who 
 had been with the colonel in another part of the house, 
 appeared upon the scene. He shrewdly surmised the 
 cause of the affray, and, being well disposed to both men, 
 was anxious to act as mediator. 
 
 Mrs. Franklin threw herself hysterically upon him. 
 
 " Oh, save me ! save me ! part them ! part them !" she 
 shrieked, in terror ; and the major, thinking she would be 
 better out of the way, escorted her trembling form to the 
 door and begged her in a friendly tone to seek her own 
 apartment. 
 
 " No, by G !" roared the colonel. " She does not stop 
 under my roof. She shall go out neck and crop with her 
 lover here !" 
 
 Noel, meanwhile, stood his ground with considerable 
 dignity, though the major made a friendly gesture with 
 his head as though advising his departure. 
 
 " Certainly not," said Noel. " 1 do not stir from here 
 
 24 
 
278 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 until I know the meaning of Colonel Franklin's behavior 
 and the reason of his attack upon me." 
 
 The good-natured major reflected that, for a young one. 
 Noel was a pretty cool hand. 
 
 The colonel swore in a manner appalling to listen to. 
 
 "Yow want an explanation!" he shouted, interlarding 
 every word with an oath. " It is not enough that I 
 find you sitting hand in hand with my wife and proposing 
 to take her away from 'that brutej as you were good 
 enough to call me !" 
 
 " If you heard me say that," said Noel, "you must have 
 been listening at the door, which is not quite the action 
 of a gentleman ; and if you can behave like this before a 
 woman who has not done the least harm in the world, I 
 think it is high time she did leave you." 
 
 Here the colonel made a feint of rushing at Noel again, 
 but the major interposed his portly person, for, like the 
 major of tradition, he was portly. 
 
 " Come, come, colonel !" he said, *' command yourself! 
 And you," to Noel, " go, there's a good fellow ! I'll see 
 you by and by." 
 
 " No," repeated Noel, with great determination, " I shall 
 not stir from this room until the matter is cleared up. If 
 the colonel imagines that I have done him any wrong, or 
 that there is anything between Mrs. Franklin and myself, 
 he is entirely mistaken. I have the greatest friendship 
 for her, but I look upon her as though she were my sister, 
 and if he saw me kiss her hand to-night, and heard me 
 speak to her in a manner which he may think too familiar, 
 it was nothing but sheer pity and sympathy at seeing her 
 so distressed and unhappy." 
 
 Not only was the major staggered by Noel's coolness, 
 but the colonel was equally so. He believed him to be 
 brazening it out, and cried, furiously, 
 
 " All right, sir. We will see what sort of account you 
 give of yourself in the divorce court." 
 
 " Divorce court !" echoed Noel. " I think, sir, you must 
 be out of your mind. I take my solemn oath before God 
 that nothing but the purest friendship has ever existed 
 between myself and Mrs. Franklin." 
 
 " Ha, ha ! we shall see ! we shall see !" roared the 
 colonel. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 279 
 
 "Now, Trevor," exclaimed the major, "for God's sake 
 get out of this, like a good fellow. Come round to me 
 presently." 
 
 And Noel, with his head well up, marched out, looking 
 like anything but a guilty lover discovered. 
 
 The colonel was so violent about his wife when his sub- 
 altern had departed that the kind-hearted major was afraid 
 to leave her under the same roof with him, and ended by 
 carrying her off to his wife's protection. Meantime, he 
 implored Franklin, for his own sake and the sake of the 
 regiment, not to have a scandal, and declared that he would 
 thoroughly investigate the matter and come round again 
 in the morning. 
 
 The major was a good deal puzzled about Noel. He 
 knew that he and Mrs. Franklin had been much talked 
 about, and he did not in his own mind think they could 
 be quite as innocent as the young man protested ; but, after 
 his high and lofty bearing, the major said to himself that 
 he must either have spoken the truth or be the most thun- 
 dering blackguard in creation. 
 
 He found Noel waiting for him on his return home. 
 
 " This is a bad business," said the major, shaking his 
 head with a somewhat reproachful meaning in voice and 
 gesture. 
 
 " Yes," replied Noel, " it is a very bad business for any 
 woman to be tied to a maniac like that." 
 
 " Come, come," responded the major, " you had better 
 get off the stilts with me. You know it is a devilish awk- 
 ward position for both you and the lady. You cannot 
 justify sitting hand in hand with her and abusing her 
 husband to her behind his back!" 
 
 "Why, major," cried Noel, "what else could any man 
 with a heart in his body do when he saw the dearest, 
 kindest little woman in the world, the woman who had 
 been his best friend in trouble, but try to comfort her ?" 
 
 " My dear chap," retorted the major, " it is all very 
 well, but a man is not allowed either by law or by public 
 opinion to comfort another man's wife in that sort of way. 
 And you must know quite well that you two have been a 
 great deal talked about of late." 
 
 " Talked about!" uttered Noel, looking blank. 
 
 The major made an impatient gesture. 
 
280 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " You're a devilish good actor, Trevor," he said, " but if 
 I am to be your friend you had better drop that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 Noel looked half astonished, half indignant. 
 
 " I am not an actor, major, and never was one. Neither 
 am I a liar." 
 
 " "Well, well," said the good-natured major, " I cannot 
 understand your being ignorant of what every one else 
 knows. You have been like Mrs. Franklin's shadow ever 
 since you came out ; and of course it has made people 
 talk. I don't say there has been any absolute harm, 
 I hope for everybody's sake there has not, but when a 
 man is always in a woman's pocket, people are bound to 
 talk. Anyhow, the colonel has got wind of it, and, 
 though he's a good-hearted fellow in the main, he's as 
 jealous as the devil. And she's a regular little flirt. This 
 is not the first time there has been a row." 
 
 " She is the best woman that ever breathed," cried Noel, 
 stoutly, "and she's as pure as an angel. Never once, I 
 swear, has a single word passed between us that her hus- 
 band might not have heard, except so far as his own 
 brutal behavior might have made it unpleasant to his ears, 
 like to-night. I was in awful trouble when I met her, 
 and she has been like a sister to me all through. If it 
 had not been for her, I think sometimes I should have 
 been tempted to blow my brains out. Look here, major, 
 I will tell you about it ; but I trust to your honor to keep 
 secret, unless you think, for Mrs. Franklin's sake, the 
 colonel ought to know it. I am married." And Noel 
 blushed like a girl. " I adore my wife, there is not 
 another woman in the world I would look at in that sort 
 of way, and I am separated from her, not through any 
 fault of mine. It has nearly driven me mad. Mrs. 
 Franklin knows all about it, and that is why I have been 
 with her so much, because, like the dear, kind soul she is, 
 she was sorry for me, and would always let me talk to 
 her about my miserable affairs." 
 
 The major gave a sigh of relief. It would have been 
 impossible for the most sceptical mind to doubt the truth 
 of Noel's statement, so simply and unaffectedly did he 
 make it. 
 
 " It only shows," said the major, " how apt people are to 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 281 
 
 jump to wrong conclusions. But the deuce will be to 
 make the colonel believe it. And I don't see how you are 
 to get over the fact of having been found kissing her hand 
 and calling him a brute. Even if he makes it up with 
 her, I don't see how you can stop in the regiment after 
 what happened to-night." 
 
 Noel groaned in spirit. What dreadful Nemesis pur- 
 sued him and made him bring trouble on every woman he 
 cared for? He had thought at first, in the innocence of 
 his heart, that a few words of explanation on his part 
 would suffice to put everything straight ; but he found, to 
 his cost, that you may not, even with the most innocent 
 intentions, call another man's wife darling, and himself a 
 brute, nor kiss her hands and hold them in yours, though 
 you feel to her as a brother and though your heart is as 
 pure towards her as the driven snow. 
 
 The poor major got almost thin in his efforts to mediate. 
 The colonel raged like a wild bull, and would talk of noth- 
 ing but divorce. If Noel had a wife, so much the greater 
 blackguard was he to behave in the way he had done. 
 Mrs. Franklin went away to stay with friends whilst the 
 kind-hearted major and his equally kind-hearted wife did 
 their best to smooth matters down for her with her hus- 
 band and in the regiment. For of course the affair got 
 noised abroad ; and that was how the news travelled home 
 to Charlie Fawcett. 
 
 It was finally arranged that Noel should have leave of 
 absence until he could exchange into another regiment. 
 At this juncture a very unexpected piece of good fortune 
 jumped into the scale which the blind goddess seemed to 
 be holding so unequally. Noel, who had been at his wits' 
 end about matters of finance, received the intelligence that 
 the aunt who had nursed him through his illness had added 
 to her benefactions by dying suddenly and leaving him 
 some six hundred a year. 
 
 Straightway he resolved to go to England. He knew 
 that Alwyne Temple was married, and his heart burned 
 with the hope that perhaps, now that his rival was re- 
 moved, Dulcie might look less coldly upon him. And as 
 he looked at himself in the glass (heaven knows that vanity 
 was the last foible of which he was guilty) and saw his 
 bronzed face with the glow of restored health upon it, and 
 
 24* 
 
282 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 his stalwart, vigorous figure, he thought that he might 
 perhaps have a better chance than the poor, haggard in- 
 valid who had evidently inspired such unpleasing emotions 
 in Dulcie's breast. 
 
 But whatever he might feel of hope or agreeable antici- 
 pation was dashed by the thought that he had, however 
 innocently, brought misfortune on the woman who had 
 been so good to him, and whom he would so fain have 
 protected and defended. He was not even allowed to see 
 her before leaving India, the major and his wife uniting to 
 assure him that nothing could be so fatal to Mrs. Frank- 
 lin's interests as an interview. He wrote her a letter such 
 as the fulness of his heart dictated, and confided it to the 
 major. 
 
 And it was like a gleam of sunshine through black dark- 
 ness when at Malta he got a telegram from that trusty 
 friend : 
 
 " All will yet be well. Am writing you to London. 11 
 
 For Noel's heart was too good to have allowed him to 
 be happy whilst a woman was suffering for his sake, even 
 though he had been going straight to Dulcie's arms. And, 
 as we know, he was far enough yet from that Paradise. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXII. 
 
 NOEI knew that he was going to meet Dulcie, and his 
 heart beat to suffocation at the thought. The previous 
 afternoon he had met Charlie Fawcett in Pall Mall, and 
 they had dined together at a club. Charlie was not long 
 in letting Noel know the rumors that had reached him, 
 and Noel at once gave his friend the correct version of the 
 affair. Charlie was greatly relieved. If there was not 
 going to be a divorce, if Noel had not done anything to 
 scandalize morality and propriety, there was no reason 
 why he should not be invited to the Grange ; and, as Byng 
 had that very day thrown him over, he invited Noel in his 
 stead. 
 
 " We are going to have a festive week at our place," he 
 said. " Three balls and a dinner. The Pratt girls are 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 283 
 
 coming, and Dulcio Yernon is with us. You remember 
 Dulcie? a pretty little girl. By the way, I think you 
 rather spooned her last winter, didn't you ?" 
 
 There was no concealing the vivid crimson that cov- 
 ered Noel's face at these words. Charlie saw it, and good- 
 naturedly pretended to be occupied with something of 
 absorbing interest in the street. 
 
 Not for one moment did Noel hesitate about his answer. 
 He did not stop to reflect how Dulcie would feel at seeing 
 him, or to think of the embarrassment of the situation : 
 he thought of nothing but that he was burning to see her, 
 to know if the future held any hope for him. 
 
 " I should like it of all things," he answered. " Are 
 you sure that I shall not be putting Mrs. Fawcett out ? 
 Has she room for me ?" 
 
 " Lots of room, and only too delighted," replied Charlie, 
 cordially. " I will wire to her in the morning, and we 
 will go down by the three-thirty. I will give you up my 
 share of .Dulcie, if you like. My people are rather keen 
 about making up a match between us ; but, though I don't 
 know a nicer girl, matrimony is not my game at present. 
 She'll have a nice little fortune. It would come in handj' 
 for you, old chap." 
 
 He was not aware that he was hurting his friend's feel 
 ings by this remark. 
 
 " I am not quite such a pauper as I was," Noel replied. 
 And he told Charlie of the modest fortune to which he 
 had succeeded, and Charlie congratulated him with im- 
 mense cordiality. He had always been fond of Noel, and 
 was delighted at his good fortune. 
 
 " Not that you could keep a girl like Dulcie Yernon on 
 seven hundred a year, or anything like it," he remarked ; 
 and Noel thought to himself on how very much smaller a 
 sum he had once had the temerity to think of keeping 
 her. The idea seemed to him now little short of madness. 
 
 What would she do? How would she receive him? 
 All night long he lay awake, thinking, wondering, some- 
 times full of dread, sometimes venturing to hope a little. 
 She had loved him once ; why not again ? 
 
 On the journey down, he was so nervous and ill at ease 
 that Charlie could not help remarking it, and wondered 
 Whether he was still feeling the effects of his accident. 
 
284 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " How is your head now ?" he asked, presently. " Has 
 it got all right?" 
 
 " Yes," Noel answered. " I think I have got over it at 
 last. Every now and then I get a splitting headache if I 
 am over-tired or over-excited, but that is all." 
 
 "Beastly thing a headache!" remarked Charlie. 
 
 " Yes," Noel assented. " I never knew what it meant 
 before." 
 
 After this he settled down, surmising that Charlie had 
 observed his uneasiness. 
 
 When they arrived at the manor-house every one had 
 gone to dress for dinner, and, much as Noel longed to see 
 Dulcie, it was almost a relief, in the state of tension of his 
 nerves, to have the meeting delayed. 
 
 As he descended to the drawing-room, the gong was in 
 the act of sounding. His head swam as he approached 
 Mrs. Fawcett, looking neither to the right nor the left. 
 She greeted him warmly, and Mary came up and shook 
 hands and said how glad they were to see him back from 
 India. She glanced at the reprobate, as she considered 
 him, with considerable interest, and thought him wonder- 
 fully improved in looks. 
 
 The procession to the dining-room had commenced, 
 and Mrs. Fawcett said, hurriedly, 
 
 " Will you take Miss Yernon ? You are old friends, I 
 think. I need not re-introduce you." 
 
 Then Noel followed the eyes of his hostess, and saw 
 Dulcie sitting at a little distance, dressed all in white and 
 looking like a beautiful fairy. For a moment his head 
 reeled, his heart threatened to choke him, and then he 
 was standing before her, holding out his arm. It would 
 be difficult to say which of the two trembled the more. 
 Fortunately, no one remarked their confusion. Neither 
 spoke a word until they had taken their places, and then, 
 as a woman often has the most presence of mind in a so- 
 cial emergency, Dulcie, without looking at him, asked if 
 he had not had a cold journey. So presently Noel found 
 himself talking platitudes in the most approved fashion, 
 whilst he made pretence of eating his dinner; and Dulcie 
 made no pretence, but declined everything that was of- 
 fered her after the soup. For when the heart is beating 
 with excitement the digestive organs retire from the con- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 285 
 
 test and decline to perform their appointed office. It was 
 a singular situation in which Noel found himself. He was 
 sitting beside his own wife, talking to her as if she were 
 a stranger, whilst his heart was beating, his pulses throb- 
 bing wildly, and he was dying to catch her to his heart 
 and to pour forth the pent-up stream of love and endear- 
 ing words into the little ear so close to his lips. 
 
 As for Dulcie, she was in a state of mental bewilder- 
 ment, and could not by any means have told what her real 
 sentiments were. She was surprised to find that she did 
 not regard Noel with the repugnance and aversion which 
 she had felt for him at their last meeting. He was not 
 the haggard, miserable-looking creature who then craved 
 her pity, but a handsome, to all appearance self-possessed, 
 and resolute-looking man. She suddenly remembered the 
 enormity of his recent crime, and, sad to record, felt an 
 increased respect for him, mingled with a feeling of re- 
 sentment and an acute recollection that he had wronged 
 her shamefully. Primed with this reflection, she dropped 
 the shy and timid manner she had at first assumed, and 
 put on a disdainful and affronted air. 
 
 Noel had only one object in life. It was to make her 
 care for him, and to prevail upon her to accept accom- 
 plished facts, and take him not only nominally but actu- 
 ally for better for worse. She was his wife, it was true ; 
 but unless she consented to accept the situation he felt 
 she was as far removed from him as though the ceremony 
 had never been performed. Instinct warned him that he 
 must of all things beware of frightening her ; but he could 
 not in the least make up his mind whether a bold or a 
 humble bearing would have the better chance of success. 
 He had no idea that she was aware of the episode in India, 
 and was furthest from supposing, having a clear con- 
 science in the matter, that she was looking upon him with 
 furtive interest as a monster of iniquity and depravity. 
 
 There was to be an impromptu dance at the Grange 
 after dinner, and Noel had been apprised of this. He was 
 wondering whether his wife would dance with him, and 
 looking forward with inexpressible longing yet trepidation 
 to putting his arm round her slender waist. 
 
 For, though he had wooed her, persuaded her to elope 
 with him, and had now been her husband for fifteen 
 
286 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 months, he had never yet embraced her, nor so much aa 
 kissed her hand. It was being in the shoes of Tantalus 
 with a vengeance. 
 
 His very shyness gave something of coldness to his out- 
 ward demeanor, which was in strong contrast to his real 
 feelings; and this was so far fortunate. Although Dulcie 
 pretended to herself to resent his taking matters with a 
 high hand, she secretly respected him the more for it. 
 
 After dinner Mary came up and whispered to her, 
 
 " Is he not improved ? He really has grown quite hand- 
 some. I thought you seemed as if you were inclined to 
 snub him at dinner. It is rather unkind of you, as I dare 
 say, poor fellow, he is in trouble." 
 
 " It is trouble of his own making," replied Dulcie, with 
 unusual severity. " And I do not think men ought to be 
 encouraged who behave in that sort of way." 
 
 " Why, Dulcie ! fancy your turning so severely moral ! 
 Besides, we have not heard the rights of the story yet. It 
 cannot be so bad as we thought, or Charlie would not have 
 dared to ask him, knowing how particular mother is." 
 
 " I do not think he ought to have been asked," returned 
 Dulcie. u It makes it very awkward, because one does 
 not like not to be civil to him, and yet one cannot help 
 being disgusted at his behavior." 
 
 Dulcie had her reasons for saying this. She wished to 
 account in a plausible way for the coldness with which she 
 intended to treat Noel. 
 
 " I will get it out of Charlie to-night, or, at all events, 
 to-morrow," said Mary. " In the mean time, if you don't 
 want him, you may turn him over to me ; for I fancy him 
 immensely, I can tell you, and am not at all inclined to be 
 down on him. If he has done anything wrong, I have no 
 doubt it was all that horrid woman's fault. Years older 
 than him, too ! So disgusting ! She ought to be ashamed 
 of herself." 
 
 Mary's words were not without their effect on Dulcie. 
 She thought better of Noel since he had inspired admira- 
 tion in the breast of her friend. 
 
 Noel was very taciturn after the ladies left the room, 
 and Charlie rallied him on his silence and subdued de- 
 meanor. 
 
 " I rather feel my head," replied Noel ; and it was not 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 287 
 
 altogether an excuse, for excitement was wont, as he had 
 said, to bring on a return of his old pain, and, quiet as 
 was his manner outwardly, his breast was burning with 
 mingled emotions. He was trying very hard to make up 
 his mind how he had best behave to his wife. It would 
 not be fair upon her, he thought, to take advantage of 
 people being in ignorance of their relations to each other 
 to force unwilling attentions upon her. No, he would en- 
 deavor to behave to her as an ordinary acquaintance 
 might, and watch carefully for any indication of her feel- 
 ings towards him. 
 
 There had not been, he was certain, the expression of 
 repugnance and aversion in her eyes that had cut him to 
 the heart in the summer : the little disdainful air she had 
 assumed during the latter part of the dinner had carried 
 more of coquetry than repulsion in it. He was dying to 
 ask her to dance, but controlled his desire and approached 
 Mary Fawcett with a request for the first dance. She ac- 
 corded it with every sign of pleasure, and Dulcie, watch- 
 ing them, was unreasonable enough to feel irritated against 
 both. Now, Dulcie had never, in the days of her freedom, 
 been inclined to flirt. She had always a pretty, pleasing 
 manner to every man, but was not in the habit of distin- 
 guishing those she liked by making "lightnings of her 
 eyes," or gestures of coquetry, such as even very innocent 
 young girls will use as arrows in their warfare with the 
 other sex. But to-night she departed from all her tradi- 
 tions and customs, and began to smile on Charlie Fawcett 
 in a manner which not only gave him a pleasurable sensa- 
 tion, but delighted his mother and planted a dagger in 
 poor Noel's breast. Until now he had always felt like a 
 brother to Charlie, but gradually, as the evening wore on, 
 the brotherly feeling grew to have something of a Cainish 
 tendency. 
 
 Dulcie saw that she was making him miserable, and 
 felt secretly delighted. She said to herself, besides, that 
 she was only inflicting a righteous punishment on him for 
 his infidelity towards her. She made haste to give away 
 every dance, bestowing three on Charlie, and when Noel 
 approached her she threw him an indifferent smile and 
 regretted that she was engaged. His under lip trembled 
 visibly ; he looked imploringly at her. 
 
288 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 " Will you not give me one f he said ; but she answered, 
 lightly, 
 
 " I am very sorry, but I have not one disengaged. In 
 fact, I have promised more dances than there are likely to 
 be." 
 
 So Noel watched her from a dark corner, and saw men 
 freely putting their arms round her pretty waist, their 
 faces bending down to hers, her heart beating close to 
 theirs, and he ground his teeth and thought of his own 
 rights of which he dared not claim the smallest part, and, 
 nearly mad with passion and misery, said to himself that 
 waltzing was a most disgusting and immoral practice, 
 which ought not to be tolerated in decent society. 
 
 The evening came to an end, and brought him no oppor- 
 tunity of exchanging a word with Dulcie. He had no 
 heart to join the men in the smoking-room : so, pleading 
 the pain in his head, he went to his own room, where he 
 paced up and down like a caged lion. He could not stand 
 much more of this sort of thing, he swore, and he turned 
 over a dozen different plans in his head. 
 
 She was his wife, he kept telling himself: if he chose, 
 he could enforce his rights, and the law would be on his 
 side. He would insist on an interview with her, and 
 would tell her firmly that he could not stand this any 
 longer ; that since, of her own free will and choice, she 
 had married him, she must abide by the consequences. 
 It was some comfort to him to reflect that her mother 
 acknowledged the binding nature of the tie and had 
 advised him to act with firmness. 
 
 Next day, however, no opportunity presented itself of 
 his exchanging a word with her. She evaded him with- 
 out any apparent design, but so successfully as to baffle 
 his resolve. That night the ball at the Grange was to 
 take place, and he asked her, as he handed her a cup 
 of tea in the afternoon, if she would give him the first 
 waltz. 
 
 She had promised the first to Mr. Fawcett, she replied, 
 with an innocent smile that transfixed him like an arrow, 
 but she would be happy to give him any other except 
 the third, which she had also promised Mr. Fawcett. 
 As she said, " I shall be happy," her indifferent glance 
 seemed to indicate that it would be a great bore, but she 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 289 
 
 supposed she must submit to it. The tone was not lost 
 on Noel, and it pained him keenly. 
 
 " Dulcie," observed Mary Fawcett, going into her 
 friend's room before dinner, "you need not keep up that 
 disdainful manner to Noel Trevor. I have asked Charlie 
 about the Indian affair, and he says it is all right, and 
 there is not going to be a divorce, after all." 
 
 " Keally !" uttered Dulcie, with apparent indifference. 
 
 Mary did not continue the recital, seeing that Dulcio 
 showed no interest in it ; and Dulcie remained under the 
 impression that, although the affair had been hushed up, 
 Noel was none the less guilty. 
 
 Poor Noel could eat no dinner again this evening, for 
 not only was his heart throbbing at the thought of the 
 dance which Dulcie had so indifferently accorded him, but 
 he had the misery of sitting opposite her and Charlie and 
 being witness of a decided flirtation between them. 
 
 Dulcie had never distinguished Charlie in this manner 
 before, and it was extremely agreeable to the young fel- 
 low. He had declared that matrimony was not in his 
 line, but he had never before had encouragement from 
 such a pretty girl, and his vanity was flattered. For Dul- 
 cie was always an object of admiration to men, and they 
 never failed to be attracted by her fair and very feminine 
 style of beauty and by her gracious and amiable manners. 
 
 If Charlie had guessed how he was hurting his friend's 
 feelings, he would certainly have abstained from evincing 
 so plainly the delight he felt at Dulcie's preference ; but 
 he was as innocent as a baby in the matter, and, if he ob- 
 served that Noel looked morose and miserable, attributed 
 it to his head, or to regretful thoughts of the fair one left 
 behind in India. 
 
 The hour approached to which Noel had been looking 
 so keenly forward, but before it arrived he was filled with 
 anger and misery by the sight of Dulcie leaning on his 
 friend in the waltz with an abandon that stirred every 
 fibre of passion in his jealous heart and made him for the 
 time almost inclined to hate them both. He had a wild 
 thought of taking Charlie aside and telling him the truth : 
 if things went much further, he felt that he must. 
 
 The second waltz came, and he walked up to Dulcio to 
 claim it. She received him with great nonchalance, and 
 v t 25 
 
290 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 when he put the arm that all his self-command could not 
 restrain from trembling round her, she held herself stiff 
 and upright in the most aggressively virtuous manner. 
 The momentary fire which had blazed up in Noel's breast 
 died away to coldness ; he felt a gnawing sense of disap- 
 pointment and mortification. He had intended to lead 
 her into the conservatory as soon as the dance was over 
 and to insist on an explanation, but even ere the con- 
 cluding bars were played she declared that she had torn her 
 dress and must go to have it repaired, and, withdrawing 
 her hand from his arm, she left him before he had time 
 even to utter a remonstrance. 
 
 When she reappeared, he begged her urgently for an- 
 other dance, but she smilingly declared herself engaged 
 for the remainder of the evening, and turned away as 
 though there was nothing more to be said in the matter. 
 As indeed there was not. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE following evening the county ball took place, and, 
 although Dulcie danced twice with Noel, she gave him no 
 opportunity of saying to her what was burning in his 
 heart. It was a sheer impossibility to utter in a ball- 
 room, where five hundred other people were present, 
 " You are my wife, and I will no longer live without you." 
 A certain amount of privacy was absolutely indispensable 
 to a communication of such a nature. Entreaty, even a 
 little gentle force, might perhaps be needed to eke out 
 persuasion, and the five hundred and odd other persons 
 formed as stout a wall as that through which Pyramus 
 addressed Thisbe. Noel would have asked her to give 
 him an interview in the morning-room, conservatory, 
 garden, anywhere, had not the conviction impressed 
 itself upon him that she would not only refuse it, but take 
 care to avoid any accident which might throw her into 
 his company alone. The time was drawing on : this was 
 Wednesday ; on Saturday his visit would come to an end. 
 He longed for some one to help him. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 291 
 
 Mary Fawcett was a nice, amiable girl, who seemed 
 well disposed towards him : he was half inclined to beg 
 her help to obtain him an interview with Dulcie ; but 
 what pretext could he make for seeking one without 
 arousing her suspicions ? And, embittered as he was 
 against Dulcie by her cruelty and her flirtation with 
 Charlie, he was still anxious to avoid causing her embar- 
 rassment. A bolder policy would, without doubt, have 
 been wiser in dealing with so weak a character as Dul- 
 cie's: she put down his timorousness to a guilty con- 
 science, and was secretly a little provoked that he allowed 
 himself to be rebuffed so easily. 
 
 She had by this time recovered from her hopeless love 
 of Alwyne, and Noel no longer inspired her with any 
 sense of repugnance. Her behavior was more the out- 
 come of that tyrannous love of showing power which the 
 weak love to exert when a victim is thrown in their way ; 
 she bullied him because he was afraid of her: if he had 
 been bold and resolute at first, she would probably have 
 succumbed. But his weakness had the effect of making 
 her strong. On Thursday the flirtation between her and 
 Charlie grew to such magnitude that Noel was almost be- 
 side himself, and resolved to take Mary partly into his 
 confidence. He had no difficulty in finding an opportu- 
 nity of being alone with her. 
 
 " I want you to do me a great favor," he said, in im- 
 ploring tones ; and a girl is never averse to a request of 
 this sort from a man whom she regards with favorable 
 eyes. But when he made it known to her that his urgent 
 request regarded a private interview with Dulcie, a pang 
 of disappointment shot through her breast. She was fond 
 of Dulcie, but it was rather hard that all the men should 
 be taken up with her, to the exclusion of the other girls, 
 herself among them. She had a suspicion, too, that she 
 might be standing in her brother's light by furthering 
 Noel's wish, for she had not forgotten that Dulcie had 
 been very much attracted to him the previous winter, al- 
 though she was taking such a severely moral tone about 
 him now. Still, this might be only a sign of pique. 
 
 She hesitated ; but Noel entreated her with so much 
 eloquence that she gave way at last, and promised to do 
 what she could. In her own mind she felt sure that he 
 
292 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 wanted to explain away the affair with the colonel's wife 
 in India. 
 
 She arranged to take Dulcie next day at noon to a 
 small room opening out of the entrance-hall, under pre- 
 tence of showing her something. The room was rarely 
 used, and they would be more secure against intrusion 
 there than in any other part of the house. Noel spent 
 the night in framing speeches likely to overcome Dulcie's 
 obduracy ; sometimes they were tender, sometimes stern ; 
 and even when the morning dawned he had not made up 
 his mind what line it would be best to take. 
 
 The next morning he lingered about until the appointed 
 time, and about ten minutes after noon, as he was loiter- 
 ing in the hall, he heard the voices of the two young 
 ladies, and, sheltering himself behind the large hat-stand 
 where cloaks and wraps offered ample concealment, he 
 presently saw them enter the room indicated by Mary. A 
 moment later, he turned the handle of the door gently and 
 went in. Mary gave him a cordial greeting, and the pair 
 remained chatting for a few minutes, whilst Dulcie looked 
 out of the window and preserved a strict neutrality. 
 
 Suddenly Mary started up. 
 
 " Mother is calling me," she cried, and ran to the door. 
 Dulcie, hearing this exclamation, turned and prepared to 
 follow her friend, but Noel closed the door quietly and 
 stood with his back to it. 
 
 Dulcie, seeing herself caught in a trap, blushed, and a 
 sparkle of anger lighted up her blue eyes. 
 
 Noel, though his pulses were hurrying violently, kept 
 up a semblance of calmness. 
 
 "It is time," he said, "that we had some explanation." 
 
 " Let me pass, if you please," exclaimed Dulcie, with an 
 unusual display of hauteur. 
 
 " No," replied Noel, firmly ; " not until I have said my 
 say. You seem to forget," and here he, too, colored, " that 
 I am your husband, and that I cannot go on for an in- 
 definite time being treated by you as though I had no 
 claim on you." 
 
 Dulcie was a little frightened, but she kept up her dis- 
 dainful mien. 
 
 " I thought all that was settled last summer, and that 
 you were not going to annoy me any more," she said. 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 293 
 
 Great heaven ! to be talked to in this way, as if he were 
 nothing more than a troublesome suitor ! 
 
 "You must allow me to remind you of the facts of the 
 case," remarked Noel, proudly, stung to the quick by her 
 words. " I met you here fifteen months ago, and loved 
 you. I think you loved me too. If not, you would hardly 
 have consented to marry me as you did." 
 
 " I was young and inexperienced," retorted Dulcie, " and 
 you entrapped me into marriage." 
 
 " The arts I used were very simple ones," returned Noel, 
 bitterly. " I loved you, and told you so. I asked you to 
 marry me, and you consented." 
 
 " How did I know that you were going to tell all sorts 
 of falsehoods to the registrar," cried Dulcie, " and to bring 
 the most dreadful disgrace upon me ?" 
 
 " Disgrace !" echoed Noel. " I do not know that there 
 is any disgrace in being the wife of an honest man who 
 loves you, even though he may be as poor as I was. You 
 knew that I should be compelled to make a mis-statement 
 about your age, because I told you so, and asked you to 
 try to make yourself look older. I concealed nothing 
 from you : we discussed everything fully beforehand." 
 
 " But you knew that I was ignorant and inexperienced," 
 answered Dulcie. " You have made my life one long mis- 
 ery. Here I am tied down for life, living in a state of 
 deception, afraid every hour of being discovered, and un- 
 able to receive the attentions of any other man, however 
 much I may wish to." 
 
 Her words were like knives stabbing him to the heart. 
 He turned from hot to cold. Her cruelty was more than 
 lie could bear. 
 
 " Do you admit," he said, after a moment's pause, un- 
 able to look at her, so bitter did he feel, " do you admit 
 that when you married me you loved me ?" 
 
 " I suppose I thought I did," she answered, cruelly. " I 
 was too young to know my own mind." 
 
 " And if," continued Noel, not noticing the last part of 
 her sentence, " you loved me then, what have I done since 
 to forfeit your love ? Was it my fault that the accident 
 happened which brought me to the verge of death ?" 
 
 " It was a judgment upon us for deceiving mamma," 
 said Dulcie. 
 
 25* 
 
294 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Noel made an impatient gesture. 
 
 " It is childish to talk like that !" he said, almost an- 
 grily. " You loved me, and married me. You are my 
 wife, and I will not have my life ruined by your caprice. 
 I was weak enough last summer to allow myself to be 
 kicked out like a cur, but I will not again go through such 
 a miserable time as that I spent in India, because I cared 
 too much for you to force myself upon you." 
 
 He had given Dulcie her cue, and she was not slow to 
 take advantage of it. 
 
 " I should think," she said, scornfully, " you must have 
 been very miserable. You were, at all events, not very 
 long in consoling yourself." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" cried Noel, amazed. He had no 
 idea that Dulcie was aware of the episode in India. 
 
 " You know very well what I mean," she answered, 
 with a toss of her head. " You pretended to be so dread- 
 fully unhappy about me, and not a month after you were 
 behaving in the most shameful manner with that horrid 
 woman." 
 
 Noel was staggered by her words, and Dulcie took his 
 momentary hesitation for a sign of guilt. 
 
 " I do not know what you have heard," he said, pres- 
 ently, " but I am in a position to explain everything and 
 to put an end to any possible misunderstanding." 
 
 A momentary flash of happiness thrilled through his 
 heart at the idea that perhaps she was jealous of him. 
 
 " It will not be very easy to explain, I imagine," she 
 returned, coldly. " Do not think to deceive me. I know 
 everything. You went on in such a disgraceful way with 
 your colonel's wife that he threatened to get a divorce 
 from her ; and I am sure I don't know why he did not." 
 
 " But I do," answered Noel, warmly. " Because there 
 was not a shadow of foundation for his suspicions, and be- 
 cause Mrs. Franklin is the best and purest little woman in 
 the world." 
 
 " Really !" with increased disdain. " I thought every 
 one knew what she is !" 
 
 " Any one who breathes a word against her is a liar '" 
 cried Noel. 
 
 " Thank you," retorted Dulcie, with flaming cheeks. 
 
 " I am not speaking of you," he answered, " because you 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 295 
 
 cannot possibly know anything about her, and only repeat 
 what has been told you by some scandalous person. It 
 was you, indirectly, who were the cause of all the mis- 
 understanding. When I was so wretched, I used to talk 
 to her about you, and she listened with the patience of an 
 angel and gave me all the sympathy I could have claimed 
 from a sister." * 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Dulcie, far from being pacified by his 
 words. " I can imagine nothing that I should dislike so 
 much as being discussed by a creature like that!" 
 
 " I will not allow even you to speak of her in that way !" 
 cried Noel, angrily. " You must accept my word for what 
 she is, and I will not permit any one in my presence to as- 
 perse the kindest and best little woman in the world." 
 
 " You had better go back to the kindest and best little 
 woman in the world!" retorted Dulcie, her temper fully 
 aroused by his championship of the detested wife of his 
 colonel. 
 
 "My conscience is perfectly clear," said Noel, more 
 quietly. " Since I met you, I have never loved, never had 
 a thought for, any woman but you. And I scarcely think 
 reproaches come very well from you to me, after your 
 confession that you loved Mr. Temple." 
 
 " You will be good enough," said Dulcie, in tones 
 tremulous from shame and mortification, " to leave Mr. 
 Temple's name out of the question. He is married, and 
 is nothing to me." 
 
 "God knows," replied Noel, more gently, "I wish 
 nothing better than to forget that he ever existed. Dul- 
 cie," going a step nearer to her, " let us forget all the 
 miserable time that is past, and begin the future afresh. 
 I dare say I was very foolish and very wrong, but G-od is 
 my witness I only sinned from love of you, and surely I 
 have been punished. Darling, I don't think you can be so 
 unjust as to hate me without a cause, and, since our lives 
 are bound together, why should we not be happy ? I love 
 you with all my soul. My own wife, do not be cruel to 
 me!" 
 
 He stretched out his arms to clasp her, but, with a 
 frightened look, she eluded him. 
 
 " No, no !" she cried. " Things are much better as they 
 are. I do not want to be your wife." 
 
296 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 A sudden overmastering passion of anger and desire 
 swept across Noel. Why should he submit any longer to 
 be played the fool with by this girl ? why should he stand 
 trembling before her, humbly beseeching as a favor what 
 was his of right ? Swayed by a violent impulse, he caught 
 her suddenly in his arms, and, holding her by main force, 
 held her face upturned to his, and kissed her passionately 
 again and again. She uttered a shriek, and struggled to 
 free herself from his embrace. At this moment, unseen by 
 either of them in their violent emotion, a form passed the 
 window, paused a moment, then made a dash for the 
 house. A moment later Charlie Fawcett rushed into the 
 room, caught hold of Noel, and dashed him backwards 
 against the wall. 
 
 " You blackguard I" he gasped, breathless with rage and 
 exertion ; " how dare you insult a lady in this house !" 
 
 And the two men stood glaring at each other, whilst 
 Dulcie threw herself on a couch, weeping hysterically. 
 
 " You will be good enough to leave this at once," pro- 
 ceeded Charlie, quite beside himself with passion, and 
 taking up the role of champion of the outraged fair. 
 " This sort of thing may be all very well in India, but it 
 won't do here, I can tell you ! You shall answer to me 
 for this," 
 
 "Oh!" said Noel, with surprising calmness, "it is 
 you I have to thank for spreading lying reports about 
 me, is it?" 
 
 " At all events, there will be no lies when I tell how 
 you have insulted a defenceless girl to-day," cried Charlie. 
 
 His words conjured up a terrible picture of shame and 
 exposure before Dulcie's mind. If this dreadful aifair 
 were known, everything would doubtless come out. Noel, 
 to justify himself, would probably proclaim the truth, and 
 she would die of shame. She checked her sobs, and stood 
 up, looking very white, but making a great effort to com- 
 mand her voice. 
 
 " Mr. Fawcett," she said, " I beg of you not to let this 
 go any further. For my sake, you must please not say a 
 word of what has happened to any one. Promise me, oh ! 
 promise me not to take any more notice of it." 
 
 Charlie was disagreeably surprised. He had just dis- 
 tinguished himself in this heroic manner, had come to 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 297 
 
 bring timely aid to a distressed damsel, and, instead of 
 being grateful to him, she was insisting that nothing 
 should be said on the subject. 
 
 " My dear Miss Vernon," he replied, " you cannot sup- 
 pose that I will allow a man to behave in such a disgrace- 
 ful way to a guest under my mother's roof. I am sorry 
 Trevor should so far have forgotten himself; but I cannot 
 permit him to remain here after what has happened." 
 
 " If Mr. Trevor leaves the house," said Dulcie, with un- 
 expected firmness, " I shall leave it too. And you could not 
 do anything that would distress or annoy me half so much 
 as by giving the least hint of what has happened. If you 
 do, you will not be my friend," and, with some vehemence, 
 " I will never forgive you." 
 
 A cloud gathered on Charlie's brow. There was no un- 
 derstanding women. He had never thought very much 
 of the sex, and now he thought still less. She had 
 shrieked and struggled in Noel's embrace, and all the 
 time, he supposed, she liked it, and was quite annoyed 
 with him for having come in and stopped it. Well, that 
 put an end, once and for all, to any thought he might 
 have entertained of marrying her. 
 
 He drew himself up, and said, stiffly, 
 
 " I see I have made a mistake. I apologize for having 
 come in at an awkward moment. It will be a lesson to 
 me to be more discreet in future." 
 
 And he moved towards the door. 
 
 " Oh," cried Dulcie, exceedingly distressed by his man- 
 ner, " pray do not take it in that way ! You do not un- 
 derstand. Mr. Trevor has behaved in a most unpardonable 
 manner ; but do you not see that if he were to go away 
 suddenly there would have to be explanations?" 
 
 " It is perfectly simple," said Noel. " I can say that I 
 have had a telegram and must go to London this after- 
 noon. If," coldly to Charlie, " you will be good enough to 
 order the dog-cart, I will get my things packed at once." 
 
 "No, no!" cried Dulcie, with unusual firmness; "you 
 must not go. If you do, I will never see you again. Ee- 
 member," looking from one to the other of them, " if 
 either of you let what has happened come out, you will 
 be doing me the greatest injury, and I shall leave the 
 house at once." 
 
298 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 With that, she slipped past them out of the room, 
 leaving both in a most awkward and uncomfortable situa- 
 tion. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 FOR a moment, neither Charlie nor Noel moved or 
 spoke. Noel was the first to break the silence. He felt 
 disconcerted and ashamed of himself for having given 
 way to his passion. No man, husband or not, had, in his 
 opinion, any right to use force to a woman. It was cow- 
 ardly. Unpleasant as it was to him to have to make an 
 explanation, especially after Charlie's rough handling of 
 him, he felt bound to say something. 
 
 " I am sorry," he began, " for what has happened." 
 
 Charlie shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I am devilish sorry that I interfered," he returned. 
 " It is evident the girl liked it, although she screamed and 
 struggled. I shall know better another time." 
 
 But this view of the matter, and the slighting tone in 
 which Charlie spoke, displeased Noel amazingly. 
 
 " You do not understand," he exclaimed. " It was I 
 who was in the wrong, utterly in the wrong ; and it is 
 very good of Miss Yernon not to take the affair more seri- 
 ously." 
 
 " Pooh !" said Charlie, lightly. " I believe women like 
 to be treated in that sort of way, and only make a fuss to 
 save their reputation for virtue. They are all much of a 
 muchness. I never had any very great belief in them, 
 though I must say I thought Dulcie Vernon was a different 
 Bort." 
 
 His words were gall and wormwood to his hearer. Any 
 impeachment of Dulcie was much more painful to him 
 than the most severe condemnation of himself. 
 
 "You don't understand," he said again, warmly. "I 
 was entirely to blame. But there are reasons, only I can- 
 not tell them to you just at present, why my conduct was 
 not so altogether unpardonable as it seems." 
 
 " Not at all," returned Charlie, provokingly. " I don't 
 blame any man for kissing a pretty woman. I only wish 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 299 
 
 to heaven I had not happened to come along at that mo- 
 ment ! In future, whatever I may see and hear, a woman 
 may shriek her life out before I stir a finger in her defence. 
 I am sorry, old chap, I laid hands on you ; she wasn't 
 worth it : none of them are. Come, shake hands and for- 
 get what I said." 
 
 Noel felt it was no use arguing about the matter, since he 
 could not tell the truth. So he shook hands, and said, 
 
 " You swear not to breathe a word of this ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, I swear," returned Charlie, in a nonchalant 
 manner. " Hang the women ! I wish they were all at the 
 bottom of the Eed Sea." 
 
 Mary was very curious to know what Noel had had to 
 say to Dulcie, and plied her with questions when they 
 were alone together after luncheon. But Dulcie declared 
 that their conversation had been of the most common- 
 place nature, and that there was nothing to tell. 
 
 u But did he propose to you ?" asked Mary. " I believe 
 he did." 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! Certainly not. How absurd you are ! " 
 returned Dulcie. 
 
 " I don't care. I know there is something between you," 
 exclaimed Mary. " And it is very ill-natured of you not 
 to tell me, as I managed the interview for him." 
 
 " Yery good of you, I am sure !" retorted Dulcie. " I 
 think you might have consulted me first as to whether I 
 should like it. As you seem to be so much in Mr. Trevor's 
 confidence, you had better get him to tell you what hap- 
 pened." 
 
 Charlie was not an adept at dissimulation. He treated 
 Dulcie with marked coldness, and pointedly avoided her. 
 His mother and sister imagined that he had proposed to 
 and been refused by her, and Dulcie was extremely un- 
 comfortable at his behavior, fearing that it would give 
 rise to suspicion and that something of the truth might 
 leak out. Contrary to his habit, for he was a good- 
 natured young fellow, he talked in a sarcastic and ironical 
 manner, and was extremely hard on the opposite sex 
 when opportunity offered. He could not feel the hearty 
 friendship for Noel he had hitherto done, and, altogether, 
 he looked forward to the end of the week when the party 
 would break up. He should be off to London, not caring 
 
300 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 to be thrown any more with Dulcie in the intimacy of 
 their quiet home life. 
 
 Dulcie, for her part, was much more gentle in her de- 
 meanor to Noel than she had been before that little epi- 
 sode. Perhaps, now that he had shown a more masterful 
 spirit than she had given him credit for, her respect for 
 him was increased ; perhaps she felt that her present life 
 was unsatisfactory, and that, after all, this state of affairs 
 could not be prolonged indefinitely. 
 
 Noel, ashamed of his violence, did not follow up his 
 temporary advantage at once, but, fearing to displease 
 her and to add to her embarrassment, behaved with 
 simple courtesy towards her, and did not seek another 
 interview. 
 
 The hunt ball was to take place on the Friday evening, 
 and on Saturday his visit was to come to an end. Dulcie 
 had consented to give him two waltzes with apparent 
 willingness, and when she danced with him she no longer 
 held herself in the stiff and freezing manner that she had 
 done at the Grange. Poor Noel was so dreadfully in love 
 with her that all his timidity returned ; he had a mortal 
 dread of frightening or angering her; but, as he met her 
 eyes when the dance was concluding, and saw, or fancied 
 he saw, in them a look that was not exactly one of aver- 
 sion, his heart gave a sudden throb, and he felt that he 
 could not and would not leave her without some hope to 
 live on in the future. There were two or three couches 
 placed in a corridor where the light was not very strong, 
 placed there, evidently, for the convenience of persons 
 wishing to discuss matters of a more private nature than 
 the ball-room gave opportunity for, and at the end of the 
 last waltz Noel conducted Dulcie to one of these, and she, 
 although aware of his intention, did not offer any resist- 
 ance. 
 
 Perhaps it would have been wiser if Noel had refrained 
 from alluding to that little scene of the previous day ; but 
 lovers are seldom wise, and Noel's conscience had so 
 pricked him for his offence that he felt in honor bound to 
 apologize for his violence. 
 
 " I hope," he said, with great eagerness, the moment 
 that he had seated himself beside her and had ascertained 
 that they were out of earshot, " I hope you have for- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 301 
 
 given me for what I did yesterday. I have felt the most 
 awful brute ever since !" 
 
 Dulcie blushed and averted her face : she would much 
 rather not have been reminded of his indiscretion. 
 
 " If you knew," he went on, " how awfully tantalizing 
 it is to be near you, and to to remember " 
 
 Here he paused, feeling the delicacy of the situation, and 
 not daring to go on, for fear of offending or alarming her. 
 She averted her face still more, to conceal the greater 
 spread and deepening of her color. 
 
 " I do not think," he went on, stealing a hand towards 
 hers, "that you hate me so very much; it is not such a 
 dreadful thought, is it, that your life is bound up with 
 mine?" 
 
 His voice was very low, but there was an eager ring of 
 passion in it. 
 
 " You say," he proceeded, " that your life is full of 
 anxiety and worry now : do you think it would be more 
 so if I were always beside you to shield you from trouble 
 and annoyance? Your life with your mother must be 
 wretched : why will you not come to me, when I am so 
 devoted to you? From my soul, I believe I could make 
 you happy." 
 
 Dulcie's hand was in his, and she allowed it to remain 
 there after one ineffectual attempt to regain possession 
 of it. 
 
 " I feel now," Noel continued, as she made no answer to 
 him, " that my marrying you in the penniless condition 
 which I then was in, was little short of madness ; but now 
 I do not know if you have heard it I am very much 
 better off. Since my aunt's death, I have nearly eight 
 hundred a year. It is not what you have been used to, I 
 know ; but I want so little myself, I have had to do with- 
 out all my life, and everything shall be spent on you." 
 
 Dulcie had not heard of his inheritance, and the news 
 was a relief. Now that no romance attached to her 
 thoughts of Noel, she was no longer enamoured of poverty. 
 She knew, too, that she would come into money when she 
 was twenty-one or married, and it occurred to her that 
 the greatest blessing in life would be to get away from 
 her mother's control and to be her own mistress. 
 
 Whilst Noel, therefore, was pleading his love, practical 
 
 26 
 
302 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 considerations were making common cause with him in 
 her mind. If he were only proposing to her, she would 
 have been very much inclined to accept him. The thought 
 that she was already his wife, and that he could claim her 
 when he pleased, embarrassed and disconcerted her. Al- 
 though she remained without speaking, the fact of her not 
 refusing to listen to him gave Noel courage. 
 
 " I have been so patient," he pleaded, clasping her 
 hand closer, and drawing nearer to her, until his breath 
 was almost on her cheek, " will you not let that move 
 you ? Last year, when you told me that you did not love 
 me, when you threw yourself on my mercy, did I not go 
 away and leave you? God knows that, if I could have 
 put an end to my life then to make you happier, I would 
 have done so. But now it is different, is it not darling?" 
 He uttered the endearing word almost timidly. " Say, at 
 least, that you do not hate me." 
 
 " No," said Dulcie, speaking at last, though in a cooler 
 tone than was pleasing to her listener, " I do not hate you; 
 but it is all so awkward, so perplexing. I do not see my 
 way out of it." 
 
 " How is it awkward ?" urged Noel. " Everything is 
 simple enough. Why should you not join me in London 
 next week ? Your mother is out of the country. We 
 need not consult her. You know she is quite willing to 
 recognize the marriage. We can go away together, and 
 it can be announced in the papers, and no date need be 
 mentioned." 
 
 As the whole delightful programme spread itself out 
 before his eyes, Noel grew keen and excited, and ap- 
 proached still nearer to his beloved. 
 
 But she shrank from him with a terrified gesture, and 
 cried, " No, no, no !" with immense emphasis. 
 
 Noel's face clouded over, and a look of discouragement 
 passed over it. Was he never going to overcome her 
 hesitation ? Was he to go on drifting month after month 
 in this miserable uncertainty ? 
 
 " G-od knows," he said, gloomily, "what all this is to end 
 in ! Any day I may be gazetted to my new regiment, 
 and then I may have to leave you again and be no nearer 
 to having things settled than I was a month ago." 
 
 u I will not go to India," exclaimed Dulcie, " nor any- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 303 
 
 where out of England. If if I think at all about it 
 you must sell out." 
 
 "You were ready to go anywhere with me once!" ho 
 rejoined, with some bitterness. 
 
 " But I am not now," she answered. " I will not hear 
 anything of the sort." 
 
 " You expect me to make every sacrifice," he continued, 
 for he was fond of his profession, "and even then you 
 promise nothing. How do I know that, if I were to give 
 up all that I have looked forward to in the way of ambi- 
 tion, you would not throw me over then ?" 
 
 " Oh," said Dulcie, piqued, " of course, if you cannot 
 trust me " 
 
 " May I trust you ?" he cried, a sudden warmth break- 
 ing over his heart, and he put his arm round her. " Only 
 tell me" eagerly, and with a swift return of hope to his 
 face " that you will be mine really, and I will send in 
 my papers to-morrow." 
 
 " There is no hurry," replied Dulcie, whose object was 
 delay, not to precipitate matters. 
 
 " But there is hurry !" he cried, hotly. " I must, I will 
 know, here and now, what I have to go upon. What do 
 you propose ? What do you wish ?" 
 
 " Nothing can be done whilst I ana here, at all events," 
 returned Dulcie ; " and my visit is to last at least another 
 fortnight." 
 
 "Why not?" urged Noel. "What is the use of delay- 
 ing a fortnight ?" 
 
 " Mamma will not hear of anything except our being 
 married in church," she said. 
 
 Noel was furious. 
 
 " That is nonsense !" he said, sharply. " We are mai 
 ried. All the bishops in England cannot marry us any 
 more. It is simply a farce." 
 
 "Then you do not care about my feelings," returned 
 Dulcie. " You do not mind my being talked about, and 
 people saying all sorts of horrid things of me. That is 
 just like a man's selfishness." 
 
 Noel was touched, for if there was one epithet he did 
 not deserve, it was that one, selfish. 
 
 " It shall be as you wish, then, my darling," he said : 
 " your happiness and your good name are dearer to me 
 
304 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 than any other consideration in the world. But, surely, 
 if I agree to this marriage in church" (rather dismally) 
 " there need not be any very great delay !" 
 
 " Oh, but there must be !" cried Dulcie, perversely. " I 
 do not want a syllable to be known by the Fawcetts until 
 I have left the Grange. Then you might come and see 
 me at my aunt's, and I can pretend that you proposed to 
 me there. Then I must write to mamma ; and she will 
 not be home for another month. Then there is my trous- 
 seau to be got. We cannot certainly be married for three 
 months from this time." 
 
 Noel jumped to his feet with a sudden access of passion. 
 
 " I will not wait three months !" he cried. " I would 
 rather give you up altogether! You treat me as if I 
 were a contemptible fool, who will submit to any humilia- 
 tion, any caprice. If I choose, I can take you away with 
 me to-night ; no living soul can hinder me ; and, because 
 I have behaved generously to you all along, my only 
 reward is to be made a fool of. I have done ! I give up ! 
 Shall I," with extreme coldness, "take you back to Mrs. 
 Fawcett ?" 
 
 He had struck the right chord at last. Any one who 
 chose to be firm and masterful with Dulcie was certain to 
 conquer. 
 
 She gazed up at him with a timid, appealing look, and 
 tears came into her pretty blue eyes. 
 
 " Noel," she murmured, " do not be unkind to me !" 
 
 It was the first time for fifteen months that she hacf 
 called him by his name, and it sent a thrill to his heart. 
 
 " Come and sit down by me again," she said, motioning 
 him to a seat beside her. " Let us talk it over, and tell 
 me what you wish." 
 
 He obeyed her, and, though his heart was melted by 
 her look of distress, he commanded himself sufficiently to 
 preserve a cold and stern demeanor, seeing that this 
 behavior was the most calculated to bring her to sub- 
 mission. 
 
 He did not speak, and, after waiting a moment and 
 playing nervously with her fan, she said, looking down, 
 
 " What do you wish me to do ?" 
 
 Noel answered with great firmness and promptitude. 
 
 " I wish you to tell the Fawcetts that I proposed to you 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 305 
 
 to-night, and that you accepted me. I wish you to write 
 to your mother to-morrow ; and I insist" this was a bold 
 stroke for Noel " that the ceremony shall be performed 
 in a month from the present time." 
 
 " But mamma will not be back," pleaded Dulcie. 
 
 " Very well," returned Noel, resolutely : " then we will 
 go to her and be married abroad. You write to her to- 
 morrow, and I will write too." 
 
 So Dulcie yielded, and promised to do what he desired. 
 
 At that moment the corridor was empty, for the favorite 
 waltz of the day was being played, and every one who 
 was not dancing was standing near the doors of the ball- 
 room to listen to it. 
 
 Noel drew his wife gently towards him and pressed his 
 lips to hers. This time she did not struggle or resist. A 
 minute later, Noel, looking radiant, and Dulcie, shy and 
 prettier than ever with a rose-bud blooming in each cheek, 
 swelled the throng that was listening appreciatively to the 
 delicious strains of the waltz. 
 
 " Shall we not dance it ?" he whispered ; and, Dulcie as- 
 senting, he put his arm triumphantly round her slender 
 waist and bore her away among the dancers. 
 
 At last he felt as though she belonged to him ; it was 
 almost the happiest moment of his life. 
 
 Nor was Dulcie, on her part, tormented by the displeas- 
 ing sensations of repugnance and disgust. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXY. 
 
 EEINE CHANDOS, whom we must retrace our steps some 
 three months to seek, felt great sympathy for her aunt, 
 although she was sorry too fjpr Dulcie. Mrs. Vernon, it 
 could not be denied, had been an admirable mother, and 
 Dulcie had lacked nothing that the most tender care and 
 the deepest interest in her welfare could supply. She was 
 not of an affectionate or demonstrative nature, but until 
 the time when Dulcie had so cruelly surprised and disap- 
 pointed her she had treated her with uniform kindness 
 
306 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 and indulgence, giving her every pleasure and surrounding 
 her with luxury. She had been most generous in gifts, 
 and few girls in Dulcie's position were as daintily appar- 
 elled or had so many pretty knick-knacks. There was 
 nothing mean about Mrs. Vernon, and, although an excel- 
 lent manager, no one in her household had any cause to 
 complain of any want of liberality on her part. She was 
 extremely considerate to dependants, and only exacting 
 in respect of obedience to her very reasonable orders. 
 
 Eeine was thoroughly aware of her aunt's good quali- 
 ties, her honorable instincts and love of justice : she found 
 no fault with the somewhat autocratic disposition which 
 did not manifest itself capriciously. She and Mrs. Yernon 
 had always been on the best of terms, and Eeine had every 
 reason to remember gratefully the kindness and support 
 her aunt had given her at a time when she sorely needed 
 it. 
 
 In November, when she called in Grosvenor Street 
 during a flying visit to London, she was shocked to see 
 how ill and harassed Mrs. Vernon looked. She had a very 
 bad cough, and was in a state of depression extremely 
 unusual to her. 
 
 " Dear Eeine," she said, reduced to the unwonted weak- 
 ness of tears, " I am so wretched that I find life unbear- 
 able. If I could only get away abroad ! I cannot tell 
 you how I long for the South, for warmth, brightness, 
 sunshine ; but I could not go with Dulcie, *who seems to 
 jar upon my every nerve, and I really do not feel equal to 
 going alone. I know how full of engagements you always 
 are, but," looking wistfully at her, " if you could manage 
 to go with me and stay, if only for a week or two, I should 
 be so grateful to you." 
 
 Eeine decided in a moment. She had a grateful heart : 
 here was an opportunity of repaying in part the kindness 
 of which she had always entertained a tender recollection. 
 
 " Certainly, dear aunt, I will go," she said, brightly. 
 " The change will do you all the good in the world, and I 
 shall have no difficulty in making a little change in my 
 plans." 
 
 A week later, the two ladies were in Cannes, and Mrs. 
 Yernon was a different woman, having left her cares be- 
 hind, and thoroughly enjoying the congenial companion- 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 307 
 
 ship of Reine, who was never so charming as when she 
 had an invalid to look after and divert. In a month she 
 was able to leave Mrs. Vernon, who, though she missed 
 her greatly, had now several friends and acquaintances in 
 Cannes and was comparatively independent of a com- 
 panion. 
 
 At the end of January Eeine returned to England, and 
 joined Mrs. Herbert, who was wintering this year at 
 Bournemouth, having conceived a momentary distaste for 
 the Continent. 
 
 The friends had spent ten days of fine weather delight- 
 fully together, agreeing that one's own country was the 
 only place to be thoroughly comfortable in, when, one 
 morning, Mrs. Herbert received a letter which caused her 
 brows to pucker into a frown and the corners of her 
 mouth to droop ominously. It was her habit not to open 
 her letters until breakfast, when she declared they inter- 
 ested her much more than at any other time, and she 
 could, besides, share her news and discuss her correspond- 
 ence with her companions. 
 
 "What is the matter, Mia?" inquired Reine, who hap- 
 pened at this moment to glance towards her friend. 
 
 " Something that concerns you ; something extremely 
 tiresome and inconvenient. Here, my love, read and de- 
 cide !" And she handed the letter across the table. 
 
 Heine exhibited equal marks of concern as she read : 
 
 " MY DEAR MRS. HERBERT, 
 
 " I really do not know how to address you on the sub- 
 ject which at this moment weighs very heavily on my 
 heart. My poor little Lilah is seriously ill and suffering 
 the most acute pain from rheumatic fever. It is piteous 
 to be with her and to witness her agony. For the last 
 two days she has done nothing but moan and cry for Mrs. 
 Chandos. The poor darling has taken it into her head 
 that if she could be mesmerized as last September, the 
 pain would leave her, and she does nothing but implore us 
 to send for Mrs. Chandos, who she is sure would come to 
 her if she knew what torture she was suffering. But, in 
 the first place, I do not know where Mrs. Chandos is ; and, 
 in the second, how could I ask such a great thing of a 
 lady to whom we are all but strangers? I know how kind 
 
308 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 she is ; but we have no right to trespass on her goodness 
 by asking such a favor of her. It is so heart-rending, 
 however, to hear my poor child's cries for her that I can 
 no longer refuse to write and, at all events, endeavor to 
 learn where Mrs. Chandos is. Will you tell me what you 
 advise? I cannot bear to trouble you, but I think you 
 will let my extreme anxiety for my suffering little daugh- 
 ter plead my excuse. 
 
 " Very sincerely yours, 
 
 U C. CHESTER." 
 
 Mrs. Herbert had frowned because she saw an end to 
 the very agreeable time she was spending in Reine's so- 
 ciety. She knew her friend well enough to feel tolerably 
 sure that, however inconvenient, she would scarcely be 
 able to resist such an appeal, or to throw away a chance 
 of playing the part of ministering angel which was so 
 peculiarly grateful to her sym pathetic temperament, 
 feeine's face, as she laid the letter down, betrayed the 
 keenest perplexity and trouble. Under ordinary circum- 
 stances, she would not have hesitated for a moment ; but 
 her memory recalled painfully the sentiments which Mrs. 
 Chester had expressed about her, and she declared to her- 
 self that she did not wish to be thrown into contact with 
 Sir John after the declaration which he had made her in 
 the autumn. Still, the thought of the poor little sufferer 
 was bound to triumph, and her heart was giving her the 
 most decided orders as to her duty. 
 
 " Well ?" said Mrs. Herbert, in a dreary tone, fore- 
 shadowing her conviction that she was to lose her beloved 
 companion. 
 
 " There is nothing," exclaimed Reine, with energy, 
 " that I could possibly dislike so much as going to stay at 
 the Hall." 
 
 " But you will go all the same," remarked Mrs. Herbert, 
 in a forlorn tone. The goodness of her own heart pre- 
 vented her from throwing any obstacle in the way, al- 
 though it was such a dreadful sacrifice to give up Reine's 
 delightful company. 
 
 "What shall I do, Mia? 1 believe it is nothing but 
 fancy on the poor child's part : I do not suppose I can do 
 her one atom of good. Yet I cannot bear the thought of 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 309 
 
 disappointing her if she has a craving for me. It is only 
 a sick fancy ; but sometimes those fancies of a disordered 
 mind have an enormous effect on the disease and its 
 cure." 
 
 " Of course you must go," returned Mrs. Herbert, with 
 the air of a martyr. 
 
 u I cannot bear to leave you, Mia, and there is no place 
 in the world to which I so much dislike the idea of going. 
 J)o you think I have forgotten Mrs. Chester's opinion of 
 me ?" 
 
 a That is nonsense," replied Mrs. Herbert. " And she 
 has changed it long ago. Sir John told me as much." 
 
 " Suppose I go for a couple of days !" 
 
 " I know what that means," returned Mrs. Herbert, 
 drearily. " Oh, my dear, of course you must go, and I 
 must be left lamenting. I have been so happy the last 
 few days that I quite expected something to happen ; and 
 here it is !" 
 
 " Mia," observed Keine, after a minute's reflection, 
 " write and say that I am with you ; that, if Mrs. Chester 
 really thinks I can be use, I will go for a couple of days, 
 but that in a case of rheumatism I fear my mesmeric 
 powers will be of no avail. Ask her to telegraph, if she 
 is in earnest in desiring my presence, and I will go." 
 
 " You had better have your things packed," remarked 
 Mrs. Herbert, dryly. " There can be no doubt as to w^hat 
 the answer will be." 
 
 The two friends spent a melancholy day, regretting by 
 anticipation the loss of each other's society. Eeine in- 
 sisted that she would not remain more than three days at 
 the Hall ; but Mrs. Herbert shook her head. 
 
 " It will be nearer three weeks before I see you again," 
 she said, disconsolately. " I shall telegraph to Jessie to 
 come down tomorrow." 
 
 " Wait until you know that I am going," suggested 
 Reine. 
 
 " I know it already," replied Mrs. Herbert, dolefully. 
 
 The next day, indeed, saw Reine en route for the Hall. 
 As much of gratitude as could be compressed into a tele- 
 gram arrived with all possible speed, and Mrs. Chandos 
 whose preparations were already made started at once. 
 It was a long and tedious journey, and, if there was one 
 
310 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 thing Eeine detested more than another, it was railway' 
 travelling. 
 
 At a quarter to seven she arrived at the C station, 
 
 where Sir John was awaiting her with the brougham. Ai 
 he helped her to alight from the carriage, he could scarcely 
 find words to welcome her. His immense gratitude and 
 his joy at seeing her again choked him. But the look in 
 his eyes, the fervent pressure of his hand, were eloquent 
 enough. Mrs. Chester came to the hall door, and em- 
 braced Eeine with the tears running down her cheeks. 
 
 " How good, how good of you !" she cried, bursting into 
 tears and sobs. 
 
 Tired though she was, Heine insisted on going at once 
 to the room of the little sufferer. When she saw the joy- 
 ous light that broke over the poor, wan face at sight of 
 her, she felt repaid for the trouble, mental and physical, it 
 had cost her to come. Who could have imagined a year 
 ago such a welcome being accorded to Mrs. Chandos at 
 the Hall ? Life is, indeed, full of surprises. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert had been quite correct in her conviction 
 that some considerable time would elapse before she again 
 saw her friend. Lilah began to get better from the'mo- 
 ment that Eeine entered the house, and any talk of her 
 leaving sent the poor child into paroxysms of distress. 
 
 Eeine insisted on spending nearly the whole day at 
 Lilah's bedside. She was the only person who could do 
 anything to her satisfaction. The touch of every one else 
 she declared was rough and hurt her, and she would shrink 
 and cry if any one else attempted to lay a finger on her, 
 even her mother. 
 
 Mrs. Chester was divided between gratitude and dis- 
 tress. She could not endure to think of the trouble and 
 irksomeness Eeine must suffer by constant attendance on 
 the exacting invalid, and yet she was so intensely thank- 
 ful to see the great alleviation that Mrs. Chandos brought 
 to Lilah's suffering. Never did balm fall so sweetly upon 
 a man's heart as his mother's praise of Eeine did on Jack : 
 he would have liked to say a thousand times a day, if it 
 had not been a womanish trick, unworthy of a man, " Did 
 I not tell you so ? You see how right I was !" 
 
 Mrs. Chester was indeed forced to confess to herself 
 how utterly different a woman Eeine was from what she 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 311 
 
 had imagined. The two ladies had many opportunities 
 of chatting together, and never did Keine let fall a single 
 word or the evidence of a thought which Mrs. Chester 
 could disapprove. It was her custom to read prayers to 
 Lilah morning and evening, and Mrs. Chandos was in- 
 variably present, joining in them with unfeigned reverence 
 and devoutness. One evening Mrs. Chester was moved to 
 say to her son, 
 
 " I do not for an instant believe that Mrs. Chandos is 
 an atheist or anything of the sort. She is certainly no 
 hypocrite; and it would be impossible for her to join in 
 our prayers as she does unless she were at heart religious. 
 Some one may have perverted her mind for the time, she 
 may have come under some evil influence, but it has not 
 been lasting, and the dear creature will, I know, in God's 
 own good time, be brought back to the fold." 
 
 And the excellent lady wept as she spoke, for her heart 
 yearned over Eeine, and she was beginning to think her 
 one of the best and noblest women in the world. 
 
 " As for that poetry, I cannot understand it. I try to 
 forget that she ever wrote it. Some day she will, I am 
 sure, regret it." 
 
 Then Jack told his mother what had passed between 
 him and Eeine on the subject, and Mrs. Chester rejoiced 
 greatly. She felt now that she could look with equanimity 
 on the woman she had once feared and dreaded occupying 
 the place she herself had held so long at the Hall. But she 
 saw nothing in Eeine's manner to her son to indicate that 
 she entertained anything more for him than a merely 
 friendly feeling. 
 
 The only recreation which Eeine permitted herself was 
 a drive in the afternoon in Jack's phaeton, and this she 
 thoroughly enjoyed. 
 
 She had become sincerely fond of him, and his presence 
 was now entirely pleasing to her. His good nature and 
 sweet temper gave her an agreeable sense of repose, and 
 during the time that she was in attendance on Lilah 
 a chivalrous feeling prevented him from breathing a 
 word of his love to her, lest it should vex or embarrass 
 her. 
 
 The three weeks which Mrs. Herbert had laid down as 
 the time of Eeine's stay at the Hall were drawing to a 
 
312 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 close, and a letter came from Bournemouth which con- 
 tained the paragraph, 
 
 "Do not forget, my love, that I have some little claim 
 on you, and that I am pining for you. Miss Lilah has, I 
 think, had her full share of your attentions, and must be 
 reminded that she is not the only person in the world. 
 So do not desert me any longer, but reward my uncom- 
 plaining patience, and come back to me as soon as possi- 
 ble." 
 
 Eeine felt it her duty, as well as her pleasure, to comply 
 with her friend's wish. Contrary to all anticipation, she 
 had spent a very happy time at the Hall, and this made 
 her feel the duty of returning to Mrs. Herbert more forci- 
 bly than she would have done under less favorable circum- 
 stances. She had conceived a great regard and affection 
 for Mrs. Chester, who treated her like a beloved daughter ; 
 she was fond of Lilah, who, though exacting, was never 
 petulant to her even in her severest paroxysms of suffer- 
 ing ; and as for Jack, well, she was forced to confess to 
 herself that she cared for him more than she had be- 
 lieved herself capable of caring for any man. The idea 
 of becoming his wife was not so absolutely ridiculous and 
 preposterous in her eyes as it had formerly been. 
 
 The time of her departure was fixed, and mourning, 
 lamentation, and woe reigned at the Hall. The morning 
 before her departure, Jack sought his mother. 
 
 "Mother!" he said. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," she replied. 
 
 But, somehow, Jack seemed as though he could not get 
 any further. His mother went to him and laid a hand 
 affectionately upon his arm. 
 
 " Is it something about Eeine ?" she said. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " Oh, mother, I feel I cannot live 
 without her. If she won't marry me, I think it will break 
 my heart !" 
 
 " You can but ask her," said his mother, gently. 
 
 "And you?" he said, looking wistfully at her. "You 
 know now what an angel she is. You oh, mother ! you 
 won't let there be anything on your part to " 
 
 " My dear boy," and she kissed him with tears in her 
 eyes. " she shall be like my own daughter." 
 
 "God bless you, dear mother!" he cried, and hurried 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 313 
 
 from the room to conceal the agitation that mastered 
 him. 
 
 By some not very Machiavellian art, a private interview 
 between him and Eeine was arranged that very afternoon, 
 and, at the conclusion of it, Jack, with the most triumphant 
 look of happiness that ever illumined a lover's countenance, 
 led Keine, who wore a very pretty and beaming air of 
 embarrassment, to his mother's presence. 
 
 " Mother," he said, " I bring you your daughter. And 
 1 am the very happiest fellow in all the world." 
 
 "God bless you, my dear, dear daughter!" cried Mrs. 
 Chester, pressing Eeine to her heart. 
 
 " And," said Eeine, softly, "you are no longer afraid of 
 my having a bad influence over him ?" 
 
 " I am quite sure," answered Mrs. Chester, warmly, 
 "that your influence will be good in every way. God 
 bless you both, my dear children !" 
 
 Jack accompanied Eeine to Bournemouth the next day, 
 and it will be hardly necessary to say with what cordiality 
 Mrs. Herbert gave her blessing to the pair. 
 
 " Are you quite sure, Mia," asked Eeine, playfully, " that 
 you are not a little bit jealous ?" 
 
 " I shall try to get over it," answered Mrs. Herbert, 
 smiling. 
 
 Jack squeezed her fingers with an energy that was a 
 little trying ; but she bore it like the Spartan boy. 
 
 " I shall never forget what I owe to you," he cried. 
 
 " I like a grateful heart," answered Mrs. Herbert, smil- 
 ing heroically. " Who says one cannot enjoy vicariously ? 
 I feel almost as happy as though I were going to marry 
 you myself!" 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXVI. 
 
 MRS. YERNON was leading a very pleasant life at Can- 
 nes. Several of her friends were there, and she had also 
 made some agreeable acquaintances, and enjoyed a con- 
 siderable popularity. She was a clever, well-bred woman, 
 with a large fund of amusing small talk and a thorough 
 o 27 
 
314 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 acquaintance with every topic of interest of the day. She 
 was always ready to join in any party of pleasure, or to con- 
 tribute her share to the general amusement. In this, a 
 well-filled purse and liberal inclinations gave her every 
 aid. 
 
 It was charming to hear her talk about her dear girl, 
 and the trial that this enforced separation was to her; 
 but she wished, of all things, that her child should bo 
 happy, and Dulcie had a great disinclination for foreign 
 countries and life. She was paying delightful visits in 
 England, and seemed perfectly happy. A mother must 
 always make sacrifices ; and her own health had forbidden 
 her to face the trying English winter. And here Mrs. 
 Yernon coughed the little cough that was scarcely more 
 than an affectation. 
 
 She had given up disquieting herself about Dulcie's fu- 
 ture, and was wise enough not to allow a matter to worry 
 her which she could not control. It was with extreme 
 surprise that, one morning, she received by the same post 
 the two following letters. She first opened the one in a 
 hand unfamiliar to her, although she fancied she had seen 
 it before, and, turning to the end, read, with a slight in- 
 crease of the action of her heart, the name " Noel Trevor.' 1 
 
 She then went steadily through it from beginning to 
 end, and when she had again come to the signature she 
 laid it down with a sigh of relief. 
 
 " DEAR MRS. VERNON," (it ran,) 
 
 " Dulcie has promised to write you by the same post, 
 telling you what we have agreed upon ; and I hope you 
 will be kind enough not to put any obstacles in the way 
 of my happiness. I have been staying with the Fawcetts, 
 and we had an explanation. Of course, as I am really 
 married legally to her, there is no occasion for any fur- 
 ther ceremony; but, as Dulcie wishes it, and says you 
 wish it, I am ready to sacrifice my own feelings. All I 
 ask is that there may not be any unnecessary delay. I 
 do not wish to refer to the very painful position I have 
 been in so long now, nor to what I have suffered ; but 1 
 hope you will not forget these in answering my letter. 
 If I acted wrongly towards you, my punishment has been 
 very severe. I have come into seven hundred a year, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 315 
 
 which an aunt left me a few months ago, and will settle 
 every penny of it on Dulcie ; and I hope I need not say 
 that whatever she has of her own I wish to be settled on 
 her. I should indeed be sorry if any one could think I 
 want anything of her but herself," proceeded the letter. 
 
 " He is too good for her," thought the affectionate mother. 
 " Poor young man ! Well, no doubt his eyes will bo opened 
 soon enough." 
 
 " I would on no account ask you to come to England at 
 this trying time of the year, as I hear your health is deli- 
 cate; but would you have any objection to Dulcie going 
 to you with some lady friend and to our being married 
 abroad ? I am going to send in my papers at once, as she 
 wishes it, and shall soon be a free agent. Will you please 
 let me know the name and address of your lawyer, that 
 mine may see him and arrange about the settlements? 
 Hoping to hear from you with as little delay as possible, 
 believe me, dear Mrs. Vernon, 
 
 " Yours most truly, 
 
 "NOEL TREVOR." 
 
 The perusal of this letter gave Mrs. Yernon unbounded 
 satisfaction. She had long ceased to feel vain regrets 
 about the impossibility of Dulcie making a good mar- 
 riage, and she looked forward with intense relief to the 
 time when her own responsibility would cease and she 
 would no longer have the fear of discovery and disgrace 
 before her eyes. For she felt no confidence that her 
 daughter might not some day bring dire trouble upon her 
 by some act of folly. 
 
 " Now," she said, putting down Noel's letter and taking 
 up Dulcie's, "let me see what she says about it." 
 
 " Mr DEAR MAMMA"(wrote Dulcie), 
 
 " Noel is going to write and tell you everything, so I 
 suppose there is no occasion for me to write it too. I sup- 
 pose" (Dulcie could never be trained to avoid tautology) 
 " it is better that as we are to be married the world should 
 know it, but I don't see any particular occasion for hurry, 
 und perhaps you would write and tell him so, as he did 
 not seem to like my saying it. I have told the Fawcetts 
 that he proposed last night and that I accepted him. I 
 
316 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 suppose he has told you that he has come into some 
 money. Had I not better go back to Anna next week 
 and see about getting my things ? Mary Fawcett wants 
 to be bridesmaid. Do you think I had better have any 
 bridesmaids ? and, if so, whom shall I ask ? Please write 
 by return. 
 
 " Your affectionate daughter, 
 
 " DULCIE VERNON." 
 
 " I do not believe the girl has an atom of heart," said 
 Mrs. Yernon to herself, with considerable irritation. " I 
 shall certainly have as little delay as possible, or she may 
 change her mind again. [ had better go home at once." 
 And she thought with some regret of the pleasant life she 
 would have to quit, and of the parties in prospect for the 
 following week. She was, however, not a woman to allow 
 pleasure to interfere with business, and immediately set 
 about making preparations for her return. Next winter 
 and every winter following she would, please heaven, be 
 free to make her arrangements independently of any and 
 every other person. The court of chancery had to be 
 apprised of Dulcie's engagement, law-matters always 
 took a long time, and she could not trust Dulcie to get 
 her trousseau alone. 
 
 AH things considered, it would be far better for her to 
 return to England at once. She despatched a gracious 
 letter to Noel, and a semi-affectionate one to her daughter, 
 bidding her meet her in Grosvenor Street on the third 
 day following. She then communicated to the astonished 
 Morton that Miss Dulcie was going to marry Mr. Trevor 
 in a few weeks' time, and bade her pack at once for their 
 journey on the morrow. 
 
 Morton would have given up a quarter's wages to bo 
 allowed to ask and hear all particulars ; but there was 
 something in her lady's manner that deterred her from 
 presuming to utter a question. 
 
 She was sure she was very glad, she said ; but, without 
 noticing her remark, Mrs. Yernon at once plunged into 
 the details of packing. 
 
 To her friends and acquaintances she contented herself 
 with a smiling hint that she had received some very in- 
 teresting news from home which necessitated her presence, 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 317 
 
 and which she hoped to tell them more about at no very 
 distant date. 
 
 Even now she dared not be anything more than ambigu- 
 ous, as heaven alone knew what Dulcie might take it into 
 her head to do before the event really came off. 
 
 When Noel read her gracious letter, his heart filled with 
 joy and gratitude, and he forgave her on the spot for her 
 former coldness and harshness. She apprised him of her 
 intention to go to London at once, and invited him to 
 luncheon the day following her return. She saw no 
 reason for delay, she wrote ; and, if legal matters could be 
 settled in so short a time, everything else could well be 
 arranged. 
 
 As she travelled homeward, she carefully cut and dried 
 her plans. She would allow every one to believe that she 
 was pleased with the marriage, and that she thought 
 much more of her daughter's happiness than of wealth or 
 social distinction. She would speak in the highest terms 
 of her intended son-in-law, and would give it as her 
 opinion that long engagements were a mistake, and that, 
 when two young people had thoroughly made up their 
 minds about each other, delay was unnecessary and incon- 
 venient to every one. She would hint that the attachment 
 was not altogether a new affair, but that before Noel came 
 into his aunt's money she had not thought it prudent to 
 sanction the marriage. She even settled upon the friends 
 whom she would ask to the wedding, the trousseau she 
 would buy, and the four bridesmaids who should be in- 
 vited to attend Dulcie to the altar. Nothing was forgot- 
 ten in her calculations, not even the wedding-ring lying 
 in her dressing-case, which she decided should not do duty 
 again, as it had brought such ill luck before. 
 
 Dulcie was in Grosvenor Street, awaiting her mother's 
 arrival. She had seen Noel in the afternoon : indeed, ho 
 had met her at the station and conveyed her home, and 
 had taken occasion to present her with a very handsome 
 half-hoop of diamonds, at which she expressed a lively 
 sense of gratification. He was so radiantly happy, yet so 
 delicate and discreet in his behavior to her, that Dulcie, 
 who had a gentle and amiable nature, though she was 
 weak of will and purpose, began once again to experience 
 something of the feeling of old days for him. She forgot 
 
 27* 
 
318 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 Alwyne, or, if she thought of him, felt only a smothered 
 resentment against him for his cruel treatment of her and 
 his ostentatious attentions to his wife. He had never 
 really loved her, she said to herself, but Noel's devotion 
 had been unswerving from the first moment. He had 
 succeeded in convincing her that his intimacy with the 
 colonel's wife had been simply the outcome of his love for 
 her, as that dear kind little woman, to whom he should 
 forever be grateful, and whom he hoped (after the absurd 
 and short-sighted manner of his kind) Dulcie would also 
 know and love, had listened without wearying to his con- 
 stant talk of her without showing the slightest symptom 
 of being bored. 
 
 And when he asked Dulcie, in a voice trembling from 
 excessive emotion, if she thought she could come "to love 
 him again in time, she behaved with a charming coyness 
 which, although it did not express very much, did not by 
 any means forbid him to hope. 
 
 The poor fellow was so happy when he walked away 
 from the house that he reflected for the first time that 
 perhaps everything was for the best, and that it was cer- 
 tainly a good deal more satisfactory to marry his darling 
 in the open eye of day, before all the world, and with her 
 mother's consent, than to steal her away in secret and 
 subject her to all sorts of disagreeable and ill-natured 
 gossip. No one would be able to say that he had wanted 
 her for her money : everything he possessed should be 
 hers, and he would take nothing from her. 
 
 Mrs. Yernon was most agreeably surprised when she 
 met Noel. The haggard and wan look had left his face, 
 and, under the influence of his great happiness and re- 
 stored health, he was quite a different man from what 
 she remembered him at their last interview. He behaved 
 to her with the most courteous respect, and she received 
 him as though he were an eligible suitor to whom she 
 was well disposed. They had some little private talk 
 about business matters, after which Mrs. Vernon thought 
 it advisable to give him a hint about the management of 
 Dulcie. She spoke in a pleasant, smiling manner. 
 
 " I see you are very devoted to Dulcie, and I hope she 
 will return your affection. She has a very amiable dis- 
 position, but her character is wanting in firmness, and it 
 
ONCE AGAIN. 319 
 
 is of the greatest importance that she should have some 
 one to lean on and to look up to. Do not forget the 
 necessity of being firm with a nature like hers : let her 
 respect as well as love you. I abdicate entirely in your 
 favor from the time when she leaves me to go to you. 
 Do not treat the responsibility of your situation lightly.' 1 
 
 And Noel, with every evidence of gratitude and good 
 will, assured her that he would no't be unmindful of the 
 value of the treasure to be confided to him, and went 
 away, poor fellow ! thinking in his honest heart that never 
 had a man been so blest before, and that he would indeed 
 be a villain and a blackguard if he showed himself in any 
 way unworthy of so angelic a creature. He had one of 
 those kindly dispositions incapable of cherishing rancor or 
 remembering injuries, and he had almost forgotten that 
 Dulcie had ever been cruel to him or expressed a prefer- 
 ence for another man. 
 
 To Dulcie her mother resumed her manner of former 
 years, and was as kind and thoughtful as the most devoted 
 mother could have been. She determined to forget the 
 past, and to part from her on affectionate terms. It is but 
 fair to Mrs. Vernon to say that she would have been will- 
 ing to pardon Dulcie any foolish action, and to shield her 
 from its consequences, had the girl trusted and confided in 
 her. The resentment she felt had been entirely caused by 
 Dulcie's hostility to and want of confidence in her; and 
 ingratitude in the eyes of a woman like Mrs. Vernon was 
 a heinous offence. But now the past was wiped out. It 
 did not seem probable that she would see a great deal of 
 the young couple in the future. Dulcie would come into 
 her fortune on her marriage, and would be, in a pecuniary 
 way, independent of her mother. 
 
 Mr. Benson was sincerely relieved at the fortunate turn 
 matters had taken. Morton, turncoat that she was, ex- 
 pressed the greasest delight at this happy conclusion, and 
 vowed that she had always been Mr. Trevor's friend. In 
 short, the very crooked course that Noel's love had taken 
 now appeared about to end in a vista of perfect straight- 
 ness and smoothness, and everything bade fair to conclude 
 in the approved story-book fashion. 
 
 Dulcie lived in a delightful tumult of shopping and 
 general excitement. Friends who owed wedding-presents, 
 
320 ONCE AGAIN. 
 
 and some who did not, sent them in in shoals. The brides- 
 maids consented with delight to attend her ; the wedding- 
 guests promised joyfully to come. Mrs. Yernon obtained 
 the services of a friendly bishop, and all that remained to 
 pray for was a fine day. Of course the old proverb, "Do 
 deux amants," etc., was verified; but it was obvious to 
 the dullest observer that Dulcie was extremely well dis- 
 posed to her devoted adorer. 
 
 " You loved me once, darling !" cried Noel, wistfully, a 
 day or two before the marriage, smitten by a momentary 
 doubt. 
 
 " I loved you once, and I love you again," Dulcie ans- 
 wered, sweetly. 
 
 And for the first time voluntarily she put her arms 
 round his neck, and, with a lovely blush, kissed him. 
 Pho3bus graced the ceremony with the utmost brilliancy 
 of which, at that early period of the year, he was capable. 
 As the guests assembled in the church waiting for the 
 great event, how little any of them dreamed that this 
 handsome and happy-lookicg young couple were already 
 man and wife ! 
 
 Breakfast was over ; the speeches were made ; the bride, 
 beautifully arrayed in her travelling-dress, and looking 
 like a rose-bud, stepped into the carriage, and shoes and 
 rice were showered liberally upon them as they drove off. 
 
 Noel's heart thrilled with triumph. He forgot his suf- 
 ferings ; nay, he would not have had anything different if 
 he could. What a right good world it was ! 
 
 "At last, my own darling, at last!" he cried, with a 
 ringing voice. 
 
 And Dulcie answered, smiling, 
 
 " This is better, is it not, than last time ?" 
 
 TF 7 " END.