A Manifest Destiny

 BY

 JULIA MAGRUDER AUTHOR OF "A MAGNIFICENT PLEBEIAN"

 ILLUSTRATED

 NEW YORK AND LONDON HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 1900

 Copyright, 1900, by JULIA MAGRUDER. 

 _All rights reserved. _

 [Illustration: Page 16 "BETTINA THREW BACK HER VEIL"]

ILLUSTRATIONS

 "BETTINA THREW BACK HER VEIL" _Frontispiece_

 SHE SANK BACK IN HER CHAIR _Facing p. _ 34

 "'AND WHO IS THIS HANDSOME BOY?'" " 60

 "'THE MONEY WAS PARTLY MY OWN'" " 100

 "THE VERY SPIRIT OF WIDOWHOOD" " 168

 "'TRULY, MY CHILD, IT IS A WRETCHED STORY'" " 190

A MANIFEST DESTINY

CHAPTER I

Bettina Mowbray, walking the deck of the ocean steamer bound forEngland, was aware that she was observed with interest by a greatmany pairs of eyes. Certainly the possessors of these eyes were notmore interested in her than she was in the interpretation of theirglances. It was, indeed, of the first importance to her to know thatshe was being especially noticed by the men and women of the world, who in large part made up the passenger list, since her beauty washer one endowment for the position in the great world which all herlife she had intended and expected to occupy. She was anxious, therefore, to know whether the personal appearance which had beenrated so high in the obscure places hitherto known to her would orwould not hold its own when she got out into life, as it were. 

Therefore, as Miss Mowbray paced the deck, at the side of the erectelderly woman who had been her nurse and was now her maid, she wasvigilantly regardful of the looks which were turned upon her, and attimes, by straining her ears, she could even catch a word or two ofcomment. Both looks and words were gratifying in the extreme. Theynot only confirmed the previous verdict passed upon her beauty, butthey gave evidence to her keen intuition that, judged by a higherstandard, she had won a higher tribute. 

Yet, ardent as this admiration was on the one side, and grateful asit was on the other, there the matter stopped. To those who wouldhave approached her more closely Bettina set up a tacit barrier whichno one had been able to cross, and, after several days at sea, shewas still limited to the society of her maid. Those who had spoken toher once had been so politely repelled that they had not spokenagain, and many of those who had felt inclined to speak had, oncoming nearer to her, refrained instinctively. 

There was something, apart from her beauty, which attracted the eyeand the imagination in this tall girl in her deep mourning. This, perhaps, was the twofold aspect which her different moods andexpressions gave to her. At one time she looked so profoundly sad, dejected, almost despairing, that it was easy to connect her mourningdress with the loss of what had been dearest to her. At another timethere was a buoyancy, animation, vividness, in her look which madeher black clothes seem incongruous in any other sense than that inwhich a dark setting is sometimes used to throw into relief thebrilliancy of a jewel. 

And these two outward manifestations did, in truth, represent thedual nature which was Bettina's. Her mother, who had studied her witha keen and affectionate insight, had often told her that the twokey-notes of her nature were love and ambition. So far, all the ardorof Bettina's heart had been centred in her delicate, exquisite littleold mother, whom she had loved with something like frenzy; and it wasfrom the loss of this mother that she was now enduring a degree ofsorrow which might perhaps have overwhelmed her, had not the otherstrong instinct of nature acted as an antidote. After some weeks ofwhat seemed like blank despair, the girl had roused herself with asort of desperation, and looked about her to see what was yet leftto her in life. Then it was that ambition had come to her rescue. With a hardened feeling in her breast she told herself that she couldnever love again in the way in which she had loved her mother, so shemust make the most of her opportunity to become a brilliant figure inthe world. 

This opportunity, fortunately, was quite within sight. A path hadbeen opened before her feet by which she might walk to a higher rankand position than even her extravagant dreams had led her to expect. 

In the isolation of her narrow village life she had read in thepapers accounts of the English aristocracy; and to show off herbeauty in such an atmosphere, and be called by a titled name, hadfired her imagination to such a degree that her good mother had hadmany a pang of fear for the future of her child. 

When Bettina found herself alone, the one profound attachment of herheart severed by death, she seemed to have no hope of relief from thedire oppression of her position, save that which lay in thepossibilities of worldly enjoyment which might be in store for her ifshe chose to accept them. These took the form of a definiteopportunity in the person of one whom her mother entirely trustedand approved, and this in itself was enough for Bettina now. It waslittle less than a marvellous prospect for a girl in her position, but it had come about quite simply. 

The rector of the church in the village where Mrs. Mowbray and herdaughter lived was an Englishman of good family, the Rev. ArthurSpotswood by name. When his young relative, Horace Spotswood, who wascousin and heir to Lord Hurdly, came to travel in America, it was butnatural that he should visit the rector in his home. Natural, too, itwas that he should there encounter Bettina Mowbray; and as he thoughther the most charming and most beautiful woman he had ever seen, andas his affections were quite disengaged, it was almost a matter ofcourse that he should fall in love with her. 

So aware of this was Bettina that when one morning she had met andtalked to the young fellow at the rectory, she wound up the accountof the meeting which she gave to her mother by saying, quite simply:

"He will ask me to marry him, mamma, and I shall say yes. So for ashort time I shall be Mrs. Horace Spotswood, the wife of a diplomatat the Russian court, and ultimately I shall be Lady Hurdly, with aLondon mansion, several country places, and one of the greatestpositions in English society. "

"My child, my poor child!" said the mother, in a tone of distress, "what is to be the end of your inordinate ambition for the things ofthe world? You have got to discover the vanity and hollowness of themsome time, but what must you suffer on your way to this experience!Money and position cannot bring happiness in marriage. Nothing can dothat but love. "

"But, you see, I propose to have love too, " was the gay response. "Iassure you it will not be a difficult matter to love such a man asthis, and I assure you also that he is fathoms deep in love with mealready. He is manly, handsome, healthy, well-bred, and altogethercharming. As to my ever loving any created being as I love you, mother darling, that, I have always told you, is out of the question;but I can imagine myself caring a good deal for this young heir ofLord Hurdly. "

"Bettina, " said the mother, gravely, laying her hands on herdaughter's shoulder and looking deep into her eyes, "you will have tocome to it by suffering, my child, but you will come to it atlast--the knowledge that even the love which you give to me is slightand inadequate, and not worthy to be compared with the love whichyou will one day feel for the man who, as your husband, shall callforth your highest feeling. I believe this with firm conviction, andI beg you not to throw away your chance of a woman's best heritage. Don't marry this man, or any man, until you can feel that even thegreat love you have given me is poor compared with that. Heaven knowsI love you, child, and mother-love is stronger than daughter-love;but I could not love you so well or so worthly if I had not lovedyour father more. "

These words, so impatiently listened to, were destined to come backto Bettina afterward, though at the time she resented the verysuggestion of what they predicted. 

Her instinct about young Spotswood had been exactly true. He hadbecome fascinated with her during their first interview, and hadfollowed up the acquaintance with ardor, making her very soon aproposal of marriage. 

Lord Hurdly, his cousin, was unmarried, it appeared, and was aninveterate enemy to matrimony. Horace Spotswood was his nearest ofkin and legal heir. But Lord Hurdly was not over sixty two or three, and was likely to live a long time. Finding it, perhaps, not veryagreeable to be constantly reminded that another man would some daystand in his shoes, his lordship had procured for Horace a diplomaticposition at St. Petersburg, where, although the society wasdelightful, the pay was small. As his heir, however, Lord Hurdly madehim a very liberal allowance, and with this it was easy for Horace toindulge his taste for travel. In this way he had come to America, intending to see it extensively; but he met Bettina, and from thatmoment gave up every other thought but the dominant one of winningher for his wife. 

Even when he had asked and been accepted he could not leave her side, but concluded to await there Lord Hurdly's answer to his letterannouncing his engagement. He was not without certain misgivings onthis point, but he had written so convincingly, as he thought, ofBettina's beauty, breeding, and fitness for the position of LadyHurdly that was to be, that he would not and could not believe thathis cousin would disapprove. Besides, he was too blissfully happy togrieve over problematical troubles, and so he quite gave himself upto the joys of his present position and ardent dreams of the future. 

It happened, however, that Lord Hurdly's letter, when it came, was acold, curt, and most decided refusal to consent to the marriage. Heobjected chiefly on the score of Bettina's being an American, thoughhe did not hesitate to say also that he considered his heir a fool tothink of marrying a woman without fortune, when he might so easily dobetter. In conclusion, he said that if this infatuated nonsense, ashe called it, went on, he would withdraw his allowance from the veryday of the marriage. He ended by hoping that Horace would come to hissenses, and let him know that the thing was at an end. 

Poor Horace! He would fain have kept this letter from Bettina, butshe insisted upon seeing it. Having done so, she became fired with akeen desire to triumph over this obdurate opposition, and when Horaceasked her if she would still fulfil her pledge, in the face of hisaltered fortunes, she agreed with rather more ardor of feeling thanshe had hitherto shown. 

The truth was, Bettina had disappointed him in this last respect. Hermother was so obviously and unquestionably her first thought, and hermother's failing health was so plainly a grief which his love couldnot counterbalance, that he at times had pangs of jealousy, of whichhe afterward felt ashamed. Was not this intense love for her motherin itself a proof of her great capacity of loving, and must he not, with patient waiting, one day see himself loved in like manner?Still, he chafed under the fact that every day her mother became moreand more the object of her time and attention, so that he saw her nowmore rarely and for shorter periods. She always explained this factby saying that the invalid was more suffering and in need of her, andshe never seemed to think it possible that this excuse would not beall-sufficing. 

At last a day came which brought him what he had been fearing--asummons to return to his post of duty. At one time he would haveattempted to get a longer leave, even at some risk; but now, with theprospect of having his allowance from England withdrawn, he dared notdo so. He knew that it would require great economy for two to live onwhat had once seemed so inadequate for one, and he laid the matterfrankly before Bettina. She was full of hope that Lord Hurdly wouldrelent, and spoke so indifferently about their lack of money that heloved her all the more for it. 

He had some hope, in his ardent soul, that he might persuade Bettinato be married at once and go with him, but when he ventured topropose this he found that the mere suggestion of her leaving hermother, then or ever, made her almost angry. She insisted that hermother would get better; that when the weather changed she would bebraced up and strengthened, and then, she hoped, a thorough changewould do her good. So her plan was to let her lover go at once, andsome months later, when Mrs. Mowbray should be stronger, they wouldgo to England together, and there Spotswood could meet her and theycould be married. 

With this promise he was obliged to go. It was a new and annoyingexperience for him to have to consider the question of money soclosely. True, he was Lord Hurdly's heir-at-law, and he could not bedisinherited, so far as the title and entailed estates wereconcerned, but it was wholly within the power of the present lord todeprive him of the other properties, and he knew Lord Hurdly wellenough to understand that he was tenacious of any position oncetaken. 

So he said farewell to Bettina with a sad heart. He was ardentlywilling to give up money and ease and to endure hardness for hersake, but he would have wished to feel that the sadness anddepression in which Bettina parted from him had been the echo of whatwas in his own heart, rather than, as he was quite aware, the deepercare and sorrow of her anxiety about her mother's health. 

Once away from her, however, the strong flame of his love burned sovividly that he wrote her, by almost every mail, letters of suchheart-felt love and sympathy and adoration that he could but feelconfident that they would bring him a reply in kind. When at last herletters did come, they were so short, scant, and preoccupied thatthey fell like blows upon his heart. When he thought of thepassionately loving letters that she was getting almost daily, whilehe got so rarely these half-hearted and insufficient ones, his pridebecame aroused, and he decided that he would imitate her to theextent of writing more rarely, even if he could not find it in hisheart to write to her coolly, as she did to him. In this way it cameto pass that there was a distinct change in the tone of his lettersto her. As day by day, and sometimes week by week, passed without hishearing from her, and as her letters, when they came, continued tospeak only of her mother's health and her grief about it, the youngfellow's love and pride were alike so wounded that he forced himself, so far as his nature and feelings would allow, to imitate herattitude to him, and to cease the expression of the vehement lovefor her in which he got no response. 

At last, after a longer interval than usual, he got a letter fromBettina, which told him that her mother was dead--had, indeed, beendead and buried almost two weeks before she had roused herself towrite to him. 

In the tone of this letter there was a sort of desperate resolutionthat showed that a reaction had come on, under the stress of whichshe had been roused to act with energy. She announced that as she hadfound it intolerable to stay where she was, she would sail for Europeat once. She fixed the 23d of June as the day on which she haddecided to sail. In reality, however, she actually embarked from NewYork just one week earlier. This was in pursuance of a certain planwhich required that she should have one week in London quite free ofHorace before he should come to claim the fulfilment of her promiseto marry him. 

CHAPTER II

Bettina was in London. The ocean voyage had done her good, and thenecessary effect of change, variety, new faces, new feelings, newthoughts, had been to take her out of herself--the self that wasnothing but a grieving and bereaved daughter--and to quicken thepleasure-loving instincts and thirst for admiration which were asinherently, though not as prominently, a part of her. There was stilla root of bitterness springing up within her whenever she thought ofher mother's being taken from her, and this very element it was whichurged her to make all she could of life, in the hope of partiallyfilling the void in her heart. She was not even yet reconciled to theloss of her mother, and there was a certain defiance of destiny inher resolution to get some compensation for the wrong she hadsustained in losing what was dearest to her. 

On arriving in London, Bettina went to a hotel, and from there madeinquiries as to the whereabouts of Lord Hurdly. Parliament was insession, and his lordship was in his town house in Grosvenor Square. Having ascertained the hour at which he was most likely to be athome, Bettina betook herself at that hour to his house. 

She refused to give her name to the servant who answered her ring, and asked merely that Lord Hurdly might be told that a lady wished tospeak to him on a matter of importance. The servant, after a moment'shesitation, ushered her into a small reception-room on the firstfloor, and requested her to wait there. 

She stood for a few moments alone in this room, her heart beatingfast. She wore the American style of deep mourning, which swathed herin dense, impenetrable black from head to feet, and seemed to add toher somewhat unusual tallness. 

The door opened. Lord Hurdly entered. She had seen photographs ofhim, and even through that thick veil would have known him anywhere. The tall, thin figure, sharp eyes, aquiline nose, clean-shaven face, and scrupulous dress were all familiar to both memory andimagination. 

He paused on the threshold of the room, as if slightly repelled bythe strange appearance of the shrouded figure before him. Then hespoke, coldly and concisely. 

"You wished to speak to me?" he said. "I have a few moments only atmy disposal. "

Bettina raised one hand and threw back her veil, revealing thus notonly her face, but her whole figure clothed in smooth, tight-fittingblack, so plain and devoid of trimming that the exquisite lines wereshown to the best advantage. Her face, surrounded by black draperies, looked as purely tinted as a flower, and the excitement of the momenthad made her eyes brilliant and flushed her cheeks. 

The imperturbability of Lord Hurdly's face relaxed. His lips parted;a smothered sound, as of surprise, escaped him. Certainly at thatmoment Bettina was nothing less than bewilderingly beautiful. 

"I have to beg your pardon for coming to you so unceremoniously, " shesaid. "My excuse is that I have a matter of great importance to speakto you of. "

Her voice was certainly a charming one, and if her accent was such ashe might have found fault with under other circumstances, under thesehe found it an added attraction. She had put her own construction onLord Hurdly's evident surprise at sight of her, and it was one whichgave her an increased self-possession and added to her sense ofpower. 

"Let us go into another room, " said Lord Hurdly. "I cannot keep youhere, and whatever you may have to say to me I am quite at leisure toattend to. "

He led the way from the room, and Bettina followed in silence. Shehad had innumerable dreams of grandeur, poor child! but she had beentoo ignorant even to imagine such a place as this house. Itsfurnishing and decorations represented not only the accumulatedwealth, but also the accumulated taste and opportunity, of manysuccessive generations. She felt an ineffable emotion of deep, sensuous enjoyment in her present surroundings which made her heartleap at the idea that all these things might some day be hers. LordHurdly looked exceedingly well preserved, and that day might be veryfar distant. All the more reason, therefore, she told herself, whyshe should make peace between him and Horace, so that she might atleast be sometimes a guest in this house, and be lifted into anatmosphere where she felt for the first time that she was in her trueelement. It was not only the magnificence which she saw on every sidewhich so appealed to her. It was that air of the best in everythingthat made her feel, in Lord Hurdly's presence, as well as in hishouse, that civilization could not go further--that life, on itsmaterial side, had nothing more to offer. And Bettina had now reacheda point in her experience where material pleasure seemed to be allthat was left. She quite believed that all of the joy of loving wasburied in the grave of her mother. 

Her heart was beating fast as she entered Lord Hurdly's library andsaw him close the door behind them. It then struck her as being alittle peculiar that he should have brought her here without evenknowing who she was or what she wanted of him. 

A doubt, a scarcely possible suspicion, came into her mind. 

"Have you any idea who I am?" she said. 

"It suffices me to know what you are. "

"Ah! I do not understand, " she said, puzzled. 

"You have come upon me without ceremony, madam, " said Lord Hurdly, with a slightly old-fashioned pomposity in his polished manner, "andI may therefore ask you to excuse an absence of ceremony in me inalluding to the impression which you have made upon me. You are astranger to me--an American, I judge from your speech. I hope that Iam to be so fortunate as to hear that there is something which I cando for you. "

"There is, " Bettina said--"a thing so vital and important to me that, now I am in your presence, I am afraid to venture to speak, for fearyou may refuse to hear my prayer. "

"You are in small danger from that quarter, I assure you. I am readyto do for you whatever you may ask. Let me, however, put a fewquestions before I hear your request. You are wearing mourning. Isit, perhaps, for your husband?"

"For my mother, " said Bettina, with a sudden trembling of the lip andsuffusion of the eyes which gave her a new charm, in revealing thefact that this young goddess had a human heart which could be quicklystirred to emotion. 

"Forgive me, " said Lord Hurdly, with great courtesy. "Forget that Ihave roughly touched a spot so sore, and tell me this, if you will:are you married or unmarried?"

"I am unmarried, " said Bettina, beginning to tremble as she found theimportant moment upon her; "but I am about to be married. I have madethis visit to London beforehand only to see you. The man I am goingto marry is your cousin and heir, Horace Spotswood. "

Lord Hurdly's guarded face betrayed a certain agitation, but thesigns of this were quickly controlled. 

He looked straight into her eyes for a few seconds without speaking. Then he crossed the room and touched an electric button, saying, ashe did so:

"I will get rid of an engagement that I had, so that I may be quiteat leisure to talk with you. "

Neither spoke again until the servant had come, taken hisinstructions, and gone away, closing the door behind him. There was acertain determination in Lord Hurdly's manner and expression whichdid not escape Bettina. She was sure that her revelation of heridentity had prompted some decisive course of action in his mind, butwhat it was she could not guess from that inscrutable face. 

"I am now quite free for the morning, " her companion said. "Naturallythere is much for us to say to each other. Will you not lay asideyour bonnet and wrap? The day is warm, and that heavy mourning mustdistress you. "

Certainly his manner was kind. Bettina began to like him and to hopefor success in her object in coming here. Quickly unbuttoning herblack gloves, she unsheathed her lovely hands, which were bare ofrings. Then with a few deft motions she removed her outer wrap andher bonnet with its long, thick veil. 

In so doing she revealed the fact that she had an exquisite head, with delicious masses of brown hair which looked almost reddish inits contrast to the dense black of her gown, the smooth severity ofwhich accentuated every lovely curve of her figure, as it would havedone every defect, had there been defect. This gown was fitted to herso absolutely that one had the satisfying sense that one looked atthe woman instead of at her clothes. There were fine old portraits onthe wall, of noble ladies who had once done the honors of this greatestablishment, but the fairest of them paled before the glowingloveliness of this girl. For she looked a girl, despite her sombregarments, and there was a certain timidity in her manner whichstrengthened this impression. 

Lord Hurdly offered her a seat, and then took another, facing her. 

"In engaging yourself to marry Horace Spotswood, " he began, deliberately, "you have made the supreme, if not the irreparable, mistake of your life. "

Bettina's white skin showed the sudden ebb of the blood in her veinsas he said these words. 

"Why?" she asked, concisely. 

"Because he is no match for you, and because your marrying him wouldnot only place you on a lower plane than where you belong, but itwould also so seriously injure his position in life that there wouldbe no possible chance for him to retrieve it until my death. I amcomparatively a young man, and likely to live a long time. Apart fromthat, I may marry. I had no expectation or intention of doing so, buthis recent defiance of me has made me sometimes feel inclined to theidea. I have so far changed in my feeling on this subject that if Icould meet and win a woman to my mind, I would marry at once. Whatthen would become of Horace? He has a mere pittance besides his pay, which is a ridiculous sum for a man to marry on. He has wronged youin putting you in such a position, and you have equally wronged him. "

Bettina had turned very white as he spoke. The picture he drew wasbad enough in itself, but to have it sketched before her in herpresent surroundings made it infinitely worse. 

"If we have wronged each other, we have done it ignorantly, " shesaid. "He assured me that you were determined never to marry, and hecounted on your past kindness and your attachment to him--"

She broke off, her voice shaken. 

"On the same ground I counted on him, " said Lord Hurdly. "He was inno position to marry against my will, and in engaging to do so hedefied me. Let him take the consequences. "

"Then you are determined not to relent?" Bettina faltered. "You willnot forgive him for the offence of proposing to make me his wife?"

"I did not say that, " returned Lord Hurdly, with a subtle change oftone. "I certainly should not forgive him for marrying you, but forproposing to do so I am ready enough to forgive him, provided hecomes to his senses at that point and goes no further. In that eventI am ready not only to continue the handsome income that I haveallowed him, but to give him outright the principal of it. "

Bettina had never pretended that she was deeply in love with HoraceSpotswood. Indeed, she had quite decided within herself that she wasincapable of such a state of feeling, and it was her belief that thefervor and intensity of love which she had given to her mother hadtaken the place of what some women give to their husbands. Still, shelooked upon her prospective marriage to him as one of the fixed factsof the universe, and Lord Hurdly's words bewildered her. 

Keener than this surprise, however, was her sense of humiliation atthe implacable offence which Lord Hurdly had taken at his heir'sproposed marriage with herself. That he had wished Horace to marryshe knew; it was therefore the woman whom he had chosen that LordHurdly resented. 

She rose to her feet, feeling herself giddy, and knowing that she waswhite with agitation. Her one idea was to get away--to escape thescrutiny of the intense gaze which was fixed upon her. 

"I must go. I beg your pardon for coming, " she said, with a proudcoldness, reaching for her wrap. 

"You must not go. I owe you endless thanks for coming, and I willshow you that you have to congratulate yourself also on thisinterview. If you went now, you would defeat all the good that maycome of it. Sit down, I beg of you, and hear me out. "

His manner was not only urgent, it was also kind, and nothing couldhave been more respectful than his every look and tone. 

Bettina sat down again and waited. 

"What is it that has shocked you?" he said. "Is it because of yourgreat love for Horace--or is it his for you which you are thinking ofmost?"

"I do not see that I am bound to answer you that question, " saidBettina, proudly. "My reasons are sufficient for myself. "

"You are in no way bound, my dear young lady, but you would be wiseto answer me. I have every disposition to act as your friend in thismatter, and you would be making a mistake to turn away from mewithout hearing what I have to say. If you are imagining that theyoung fellow with whom you have an engagement of marriage would berendered inconsolable by the loss of you, when it would be made up tohim by the possession of a fortune, perhaps you overestimate things. "

"What things?" she said, still cold and withheld in her manner, herpale face very set. 

"The unselfishness of man's love in general, and of this man's inparticular, " he said; "and, for another thing, yourself. It seems abrutal thing to say, but if you believe that that hotheaded, undisciplined boy is capable of a sustained affection against suchodds of fortune as this case presents, then I disagree with you, andI know him better than you do. "

Bettina's face flushed. 

"He does love me--he does!" she cried, in some agitation. "I havebeen cold and careless toward him, and have told him that my heartwas buried in my mother's grave. " At these words her voice trembled. "He knows how hard it is for me to think of another kind of love justyet; but he has been kindness itself, and has written me the dearest, lovingest letters that ever a woman had. If they have been a littlerarer and colder lately, it is only because of my own shortcomingstoward him. I shall try to atone for them now. Since I realize howgreat an injury I have done to him, I shall try to be hiscompensation for it. "

"And you think you will succeed? I doubt it. "

Something in his manner impressed her in spite of herself. Perhaps hesaw that it was so, for he pushed his advantage. 

"Compare the length and opportunities of my intercourse with him andyours, " he said. "You would be acting the part of absolute folly notto listen to me now. In the end you will be as free to act as youwere in the beginning. Only let me remind you that his future isinvolved as well as your own. "

He saw that this argument told. 

"I am willing to listen, " she said. 

"I am grateful to you, " he answered, with that air of finishedpoliteness which makes the best graces of a young man seem crude, andwhich Bettina was not too ignorant to appreciate at its proper value. 

"I have known Horace as child and boy and man--if he may yet becalled a man, " he said, with a light touch of scorn. "You have knownhim in one capacity and state only--that of a lover, a _rôle_ he canno doubt play very prettily, and one in which, despite his youth, heis far from being unpractised. He has been in love oftener than itbehooves me to say or you to hear--quite harmless affairs, of course, but they prove to one who has watched him as I have that his natureis fickle and capricious. I confess that when I heard you say, justnow, that his letters of late had been rarer and less ardent, I couldnot wholly attribute it to the reason which so quickly satisfied you. As a rule, these intensely ardent feelings are not of long duration, and I know well both the intensity and the brevity of Horace'sattacks of love. It was for this very reason that I so resented theidea of his marrying without my advice. I foresaw that he would soonweary of any woman. All the more reason, therefore, for his choosingone who was suited to him, apart from the matter of his loving her. Iknew he had not the staying quality--that he was quite incapable of asustained affection. I therefore considered his taste in the matterless than my own. As he was my heir in the event of my not marrying, I felt that I had the right to demand that he should marry suitablyto his position. "

"I regret that he should have made an engagement which hasdisappointed you, " said Bettina, a slight curl at the corners of herlips. 

"I regret it also; but you may remember that at the beginning of thisinterview I spoke of this mistake on your part and on his as great, though not perhaps irreparable. "

He was looking at her keenly, and he saw that his words had no effectupon her except to mystify her. 

"I do not see any way to its reparation, " she said, and was about tocontinue, when he interrupted her. 

"I have pointed out the way--a rupture of the engagement by mutualconsent. "

"A consent that he would never give, " said Bettina, with a certainpride of confidence. 

"And you?" he asked. 

"Nor I either, " she said, "unless I were convinced that he wishedit. "

"It would perhaps be not impossible to convince you of that, granteda little time, " said Lord Hurdly. "But, apart from his wish, have youno consideration for his interest? His position in diplomacy is atpresent insignificant, but he has talents and a chance to rise, unless that chance be utterly frustrated by his embarrassing himselfwith a family--a condition that would be death to his career. Ask anyone you choose, and they will tell you that there cannot be twoopinions about this. Besides, through my help he has been able tolive like a man of fortune. His allowance, however, will be stoppedon the day of his marriage, if he persists in such a course. If heabandons it, he will find himself with the principal as well as theinterest at his disposal. So situated, he has every chance to rise. Under the other conditions, he inevitably falls. What would become ofhim ultimately is too dreary a line of conjecture to dwell upon. "

Bettina's face was paler still. The tears sprang to her eyes--tearsof mortification and keen regret. The thought of her mother piercedthrough her, and the consciousness that she had no longer the refugeof that gentle heart to cast herself upon almost overcame her. Pridelent her aid, however, and she rallied quickly. 

"You have fully demonstrated to me, " she said, "that I have injuredyour cousin in promising to marry him. I did it in ignorance, however. With the facts before me which you have just given, I shouldperhaps have acted differently. Regret now, however, is useless. "

"On the contrary, this is one of the rare cases in which regret isnot useless. The reparation of your mistake is in your own hands. "

The possibility of doing what he urged flashed through Bettina'smind. Horace would certainly be infinitely better off without her, inevery rational and material sense; and at this stage of Bettina'sdevelopment the rational and material were predominant. But what ofher, apart from Horace? This thought found vent in words. 

"You have been looking at this subject from your own point of view, "she said, "and perhaps naturally. I must, however, think of an aspectof the case in which you have no interest. I am absolutely alone inthe world, and if, for your cousin's sake, I made this sacrifice--"

In spite of herself her voice faltered. 

Lord Hurdly drew his chair a little nearer to her. His eyes werefixed upon her with a yet more intent gaze as he said, withdirectness and decision:

"You are quite mistaken. It is this aspect of the case which concernsme chiefly. If, as is undoubtedly true, the prevention of this mostmistaken marriage would be an advantage to Horace, to you it may be afar greater gain, and to me it may be the fulfilment of all that Ihave ever desired in life. "

"What do you mean?" she said, bewildered. 

"I mean that the supreme desire of my heart is, and has been from themoment my eyes rested on you, to make you Lady Hurdly absolutely andat once, instead of your waiting for a name and position which, afterall, may never come to you. "

Her heart beat so that her breathing came in smothered gasps. Thepiercing demand of his eyes was almost terrifying to her. She sawthat he was absolutely in earnest, and the commiseration which shefelt for Horace struggled with the dazzling temptation which thisopportunity offered to that strong ambition which was so great anelement in her essential nature. 

"Do not be shocked or startled by the suddenness of my proposal, " hesaid. "I trust that you will come to see that it is eminently wiseand reasonable. When I said the marriage was an unsuitable one, I wasthinking more of you than of Horace. Your beauty, your manner, yourvoice, your words, your whole ego and personality, show you to havebeen born for a great position. It is a case of manifest destiny. Thefortune and the social rank that I can bestow are all too little foryou; I should like to be able to put a queen's crown on yourbeautiful head. But such as I am--a man who has made his impressionon the current history of his country, and who, though no longeryoung in the crude sense that counts only by months and years, isstill by no means old--and such things as I have and can command, Ilay at your feet, begging you humbly to impart to them a value whichthey have never had before, by accepting them and becoming the sharerof my name, my position, and my fortune, and the mistress of myheart. "

He had risen and was standing in front of her with the resolution ofa strong purpose in his eyes. But she could not meet them, thosedominating, searching eyes. The thoughts that his words had givenrise to were too agitating, too uncertain, too tormenting to her. Thethought of giving Horace up pained her more than she would havebelieved, while the vision of the grandeur so urged upon her, whichnot ten minutes gone she had seen dashed like a full beaker from herthirsty lips, tormented her as well. It was to her a vast sacrificeto think of resigning such possibilities, yet at the first she had noother thought but to resign them. The arguments for Horace's futurecareer which had been urged upon her also played their part in herconsciousness now, and the seething confusion of images in her brainmade her senses swim. 

Lord Hurdly must have seen her agitation, for he hastened to say:

"I have been too hasty. You must forgive me. Do not try to answer meat present. I see that you are overwrought. Let me beseech you torest a little while. I will send for the housekeeper. "

"No, no! I must go, " she answered, starting to her feet. But she hadoverestimated her strength. She sank back in her chair. 

He went himself and brought her a glass of wine, talking to her witha soothing reassurance as she drank it. He reproached himself forhaving been too hurried, too rash, but pleaded the earnestness of hishopes as an excuse. When she had taken the wine she wanted to go, buthe entreated her so humbly not to punish him too deeply for his faultthat when he begged her to let him call the housekeeper to sit withher until luncheon, which he implored her to take before leaving, sheacquiesced, too fagged out mentally to take any decided position ofher own. 

To the housekeeper Lord Hurdly explained that this lady was in deeptrouble--a fact sufficiently attested by her heavy mourning--andwould like to rest awhile before eating some luncheon. Bettina sawherself regarded with a respectful awe which she had never had ataste of before. The housekeeper, with the sweetest of voices andkindest of manners, promised to do all in her power, and Lord Hurdlywithdrew. 

[Illustration: "SHE SANK BACK IN HER CHAIR"]

Bettina could not talk. She lay back on the lounge and submitted tobe gently fanned and having salts occasionally held to her nose. Butall her effort was to compose her thoughts--a difficult attempt, asthe image of her mother was the one which insisted on taking thepre-eminence in her mind. She ordered it down, with a sort ofbitterness. Had her mother been alive, she would have gladly fledfrom this puzzle into which her life had tangled itself, and goneback to America to rest and mother-love. So she told herself, atleast. But then followed the reflection that in her mother's deaththe refuge of love's calm and protection was gone from her forever, and that she must either remain in Europe under one or the other ofthe two conditions offered her, or else resign herself to the apathyof despair. 

It was not in her to do this, and the brilliant possibilities whichLord Hurdly had suggested flashed into her mind, and so excited herthat she suddenly rose to her feet and announced that her slightindisposition was past, asking the housekeeper to take her somewhereto rearrange her hair and prepare herself for luncheon. 

Even had Bettina been the possessor of a happy heart which rejoicedin a fulfilled and contented love for the man she had promised tomarry, the other, dominating side of her nature could not have beenquite stifled as she walked through the halls and corridors of thismagnificent mansion. These were things her imagination had alwayspictured as her proper position in life, and which the unregenerateheart within her had always craved. But how far beyond her ignorantdreams was the grand repose of this beautiful house! It was so muchmore than she had conceived that the new supply to her senses seemed, in a way, to create a new demand in them. 

Never, perhaps, had she so appreciated what it must be to be a_grande dame_ as to-day, when she was on the point of refusing suchan opportunity, though it was just within her grasp. For she had noidea but that she should refuse it, and this very consciousness madeher more friendly in her feelings and actions toward Lord Hurdly thanshe would otherwise have been. 

When she had adjusted her dress and smoothed her hair, before largemirrors which gave her a better view of her loveliness than she hadever had before, a servant summoned her to luncheon, and at the footof the stairs she saw Lord Hurdly awaiting her. 

So seen, a decided baldness, which she had not much noticed before, became evident, but there was a certain distinction in the man'sgeneral air which this rather seemed to heighten. His manner ofdelicate solicitude for her was the perfection of good-breeding, andwhen she answered him reassuringly, and walked by his side to thedining-room, a sudden conviction seized her that she had come intoher own--that this was the position for which she had been born, andthat, independent of the fact that she had determined to decline it, it was her fate, which she could not escape. She tried to coax thebelief that it was as Horace's wife that she would one day enjoy allthese delights, but the thought eluded her. She could not see Horacein the seat now filled by his cousin. In imagination as well as inreality it was Lord Hurdly who occupied that seat. 

This conviction, which every moment deepened, she could not shake offand could not account for. She had a feeling that it was forced uponher consciousness through some dominating power of Lord Hurdly'sspirit over her own. She felt as if she were hypnotized. She wonderedif it could be so, and if she would presently come to herself andfind that it was all a delusion and she had never seen Lord Hurdly orhis house, but was on her way to St. Petersburg to join Horace andsettle down to a limited and economical way of living. 

At this thought her heart fell. She had laid her hand upon thisdazzling prize of worldly wealth and position. Could she let it go?

During luncheon no reference was made to the subject of their lateconversation. The servants remained in the room, and Lord Hurdlytalked of public and quite impersonal affairs. In so doing he showeda trenchant insight, a broad knowledge of the world, an undeniablypowerful mentality, and a decided skill in the art of pleasing. Ifthe tone of his talk was cynical, it found, for that very reason, allthe clearer echo in Bettina's heart. A certain tendency to cynicismwas inborn in her, and the bitterness she felt at the loss of hermother had accentuated this. What was the use of loving, she askedherself, when love must end like this? In her heart she passionatelyhoped that she might never love again. And she had also a shrinkingfrom being loved in any ardent manner that might make demands uponher which she could not respond to. 

When the time came for Bettina to leave, she found that the cab inwhich she had come had been sent away, and, in its place, LordHurdly's brougham waited for her. He escorted her himself to thecarriage door, and when the great footman who held it open touchedhis hat in silence as he took her orders, and then mounted beside histwin brother on the box and she was bowled away, on padded cushionsfrom which emanated a delicious odor of fine leather, Bettina feltthat, for the first time in her life, she was in her proper element. 

The events of the morning seemed to her like some agitating dream. She wondered how long it had been since she left her hotel, and triedto guess what time it was. As she did so, her eyes fell on the smallclock, neatly encased in the leather upholstering of the carriagejust in front of her. The fitness of this object and of everythingabout her gave her a delicious sense of adaptation to her environmentwhich she had never had before. 

When she got out at her hotel, the footman, with the same salute ofineffable respect, said that his lordship had told him to ask if shehad any further orders for the carriage to-day or to-morrow. Shedeclined the offer, but, none the less, she felt flattered by theattention. 

Lord Hurdly's only further reference to their last conversation hadbeen to ask her to pay his words the respect of a few days'consideration at least. He had learned from her that Horace wasunaware of her being in England, and that she had a whole week at herdisposal before he would expect to meet her there. When he asked fora part of that week, in which to give him the opportunity to prove toher that her duty to Horace, as well as to herself, demanded therupture of this mistaken engagement, she was sufficiently influencedby the subtlety of this appeal to grant his request. 

To her surprise, several days went by, and he did not come to see hernor write. Every morning the carriage was sent to the hotel and thefootman came to her door for orders, but she always answered that shedid not require it. Every morning, also, came a lavish offering offlowers, the great exotic flowers which Bettina loved--huge, heavy-petalled roses and green translucent-looking orchids. But, except for these, he did not thrust himself upon her notice--a factwhich during the first and second days she gave him the greatestcredit for, but by the third had grown to feel a certain resentmentat. 

In the mean time there had followed her from home a letter fromHorace. It was the coldest she had ever had from him, and set her tothinking deeply as to the possible cause of his coldness. Could itbe, she asked herself, that Lord Hurdly was right in calling himcapricious? Had he--as was possible, of course--cooled in his ardorfor her, and come to see that this hasty engagement of his had been agreat mistake, as she herself had come to see?

For this point, at least, Bettina had positively reached. Why, therefore, should she adhere to her engagement in the face of theknowledge that such an adherence would be to his disadvantage, noless than to hers?

These arguments would have quite prevailed with her but for onething. This was the conviction, not yet changed, though somewhatshaken by Lord Hurdly's account of him, that Horace really loved herand would suffer in losing her. 

Deprived of the restraint of her mother's influence, Bettina hadprogressed with rapidity in her way toward worldliness and selfishambition, but she had a heart. Her love for her mother had givenabundant proof of that, if there were nothing else; and now her heartcombated the influence of her head, which decreed that only a foolwould reject the great good fortune now held out to her. 

In point of fact, Bettina had been influenced more by ambition thanby love in engaging herself to Horace, and the gratification of a farmore splendid ambition was offered to her in making this othermarriage. In it, also, love would play but little part, and this shefelt to be decidedly a gain. Yet she was not so far lost to thesentiments of kindness and loyalty, that she had learned from theteaching and example of her mother, as not to hesitate beforewounding and humiliating the man who, as she still believed, lovedher devotedly. Could it have been proved that she was mistaken in sobelieving, Lord Hurdly's case would have been already won. 

CHAPTER III

In the end Lord Hurdly prevailed, and that end was swifter in comingthan Bettina would have believed to be possible. She had allowedherself a week to wait in London, and for the first day or two ofthat week she lived in dread lest Lord Hurdly should come to her andrenew the arguments which she was quite determined to combat. As thedays passed and he did not come, she began to fear that theopportunity of final decision on the momentous question of her choicebetween these two men would not again be offered her. Her betternature still held her to her pledge to Horace, but already she hadcome to feel that, but for his disappointment at losing her, shewould have accepted Lord Hurdly's proposal, as it offered a full andimmediate fulfilment of her dreams of ambition, and the otherpostponed these indefinitely, while it promised comparatively littlein any other direction. 

Toward the end of the week Lord Hurdly called, and, without anyreference to his own hopes and intentions, spoke, with what seemed tobe a considerable hesitation and regret, of his young cousin'scharacter and mode of life, which he declared were known, to everyone except Bettina, to be exceedingly capricious--even light. Hedwelt upon the fact, well known to Bettina, of his earnest desirethat his cousin and heir should marry, and gave as a reason for thisdesire, what he declared to be the accepted fact, that Horace wasinclined to a dissipated manner of living, which he hoped marriagemight correct. 

Poor Bettina! She had believed the young man, to whom she had pledgedherself, to be the very opposite of all this. Yet how absolutelyignorant concerning him she really was! And the rector of her church, who was supposed to vouch for him, knew in reality as little as she. How easily she might have been mistaken in him! And yet, and yet, there was a still, small voice in her heart which confirmed her inher resolve to believe in him until she had proof that such a beliefwas ill founded. 

"With his past I have nothing to do, " she said to Lord Hurdly, with acertain show of pride. "If it has been lower than my ideal of him, Iregret it; but I am entirely sure that since he has known me and hadmy promise to be his wife he has been true to all that that promiserequired of him. "

"This being your conclusion, " Lord Hurdly answered, "you force uponme the necessity of showing you a letter which I have to-day receivedfrom a friend in St. Petersburg, and which I would, without strongreason to the contrary, have gladly spared you the pain of reading. "With these words, he handed Bettina a letter. 

It was signed with a name unknown to her, but written evidently inthe tone and manner of an intimate friend. The first page or tworeferred to matters wholly indifferent to her--public affairs and thelike--but toward the end were these words:

 "Are you as set as ever in your determination not to marry? Pity it is that such a noble name and fortune as yours should not pass on to a son of your own, instead of to one who, it is to be feared, will do little to honor it. I see him here, at court and everywhere, accurately fulfilling the rather unflattering predictions which I long ago made concerning him. There is a story that he became engaged to be married during his travels in America, and I hear that he owns up to it and speaks of being joined by his _fiancée_ and married on this side. I hope it may not be so. Certainly his present manner of living argues against the rumor, unless--a supposition I am reluctant to believe--he proposes to keep up, as a married man, the habits which are so readily forgiven to a bachelor, though not to a husband. "

There was more, but Bettina read no further. This was enough. She hadturned away to a window, that she might read this letter unobservedby Lord Hurdly, who had considerately walked to the other end of theroom. 

When at last she approached him and gave him back the letter, she wasvery pale, but her manner was wholly without indecision and her voicewas resolute as she said:

"I thank you, Lord Hurdly, for the service which you have renderedme. This letter has made my future course quite clear. I shall writeto your cousin to-day that everything is at an end between us. Andnow will you be good enough to leave me? I wish to make myarrangements to return to America at once. "

Even as she said the words, the bitter barrenness of thisprospect--the old dull life, without the dear presence which had beenits one and sufficient palliation--rose before her mind and appalledher. Perhaps Lord Hurdly saw in her face some change of expressionwhich he construed as favorable to himself, for he hastened to say:

"Will you not, before taking so rash a step, consider the proposalwhich I have made to you? I can offer you the substance of which theother was only the shadow, and I can pledge to you the stable andunalterable devotion of a man who has lived long enough to know hisown mind, and who declares to you that you are the only woman whom hehas ever desired to put in the position of his wife. "

It was impossible not to feel some consciousness of satisfaction at atribute which her own knowledge of facts convinced her to be sincere, but Bettina's heart and mind were still too preoccupied to meet himin the way he wished. She repeated her request that he would leaveher, and so earnest and distressed was her manner that he complied, leaving behind him an impression of the deepest solicitude for her, and the most earnest desire on his part to atone for the wrong whichhis kinsman had done her. 

Bettina threw herself upon the lounge and abandoned herself to a fitof weeping--so overwhelming, so despairing, so heart-breaking thatshe could scarcely believe that she, who had thought that all herpower of deep suffering had been exhausted, could still find it inher to care so much for any other grief. 

The worst of it was that, now it was quite evident that she wasforever divided from Horace, the charm of his manner and appearance, the tenderness of his love-making, came back to her with a powerwhich they had never exercised upon her in reality. Never, surely, had a man existed who was, to appearance at least, more frank, sincere, ardent, and deeply in love than he had seemed to be withher. It made his perfidy appear the greater. Nothing but the sight ofthat letter could have made her believe it; but that, taken inconnection with the rareness and coolness of his recent letters toher, made it all too plain that the ardent flame of his love hadburned out, and that he had repented his impetuosity, now that he hadhad time to think of the sacrifice which it entailed. 

This was indeed great for a man in his position, ambitious in hiscareer, and with his foot already on the ladder that led to success. She even began to doubt whether he would have fulfilled hisobligations to her when it came to the point. 

She got out his letters and read them over. How passionately lovingwere the early ones--how cool and constrained the more recent! Thecontrast struck her far more now in the light of recent events. Itreally seemed as if he might be trying to get out of the engagement. 

At this thought pride came to her rescue. She felt herself grow hardand cold, and her composure returned completely. She would never lethim know what she had heard, for that might make it seem as if shegave him up from compulsion. She sat down and wrote quickly a fewformal sentences, saying that she had mistaken her own feelings, andthat she wished to break the engagement. She added that she wasreturning immediately to America, as indeed she was intending to doat the time of the writing of this letter. 

After it had gone, and was on its way to St. Petersburg, a mentalcondition of such abject misery settled down upon her that thethought of the endless days and nights of idle monotony which wouldbe her lot if she returned home, and the awful void of her mother'sabsence, became intolerable. She could not do it. She must find someway of escape from such a fate. 

Just as she was casting about for such a way, Lord Hurdly came tosee her. The escape which he offered had in it many elements of thestrongest attractiveness for her. Since she could not be happy, asshe believed, why might she not get from life the satisfaction whichcomes from the holding of a great position, the opportunity of beingadmired and wielding a powerful influence? It was a prospect whichhad always charmed her; and now, with no alternative but lonelyisolation and bitter weariness, was it strange that she decided toaccept Lord Hurdly's offer?

And if it was to be, what need was there to wait? Wounded in herpride as she was by the revelation of Horace which she had received, she relished the idea of becoming at once what he had proposed tomake her--and afterward repented of. She was fully convinced in hermind that he had repented, and her blood beat faster as she thoughtof his consternation on hearing of this marriage. She felt eager thathe should hear of it at once. 

And so indeed he did. On the heels of his receipt of Bettina's letterher marriage to Lord Hurdly was announced by cable--not to him, butthrough the newspapers. 

Then into his heart there entered also the exceeding bitterness of alost ideal. She became to him, as he had become to her, the image ofbroken faith, capricious feeling, and overweening worldly ambition. 

Yet in the heart of the man, who had loved completely and supremely, as Bettina never had, there was a feeling which made him say tohimself, with a conviction which he knew to be immutable, thatmarriage was not for him. The present Lord Hurdly had said the same, and had changed his mind. For himself he knew that he should not, forall of love that he was capable of feeling had been given to thewoman who had cast him off. 

CHAPTER IV

Bettina had gone through her first London season as Lady Hurdly, andcertainly no girl's ambitious dreams could have forecast a morebrilliant experience. She had been far too ignorant to imagine suchsubtle delights of the senses as resulted from the wealth andeminence which she had attained to in marrying Lord Hurdly. Andbeyond the mere sensuous appeal which was made to her by the wearingof magnificent clothes and jewels, and the being always surroundedwith objects of beauty and means of luxury, she had the greaterdelight of having her feverishly active mind continually suppliedwith a stimulus, which it now more than ever needed. This wasfurnished by the innumerable social demands made upon her, and thecomplete power which she felt within herself to respond to them notonly creditably, but in a way that should make even Lord Hurdlywonder at her. 

True, she had had no social training, and in a less powerful positionshe might have shown her ignorance and incapacity, for she would thenhave had to take a personal supervision of the things which she nowleft utterly alone, and which, being essential to be done, weredone--how and by whom she did not ask. Lord Hurdly had so long donethe honors of his house without a wife that it was natural to him tocontinue the direction of household affairs, with the aid of theaccomplished assistants who were in his employment; so Bettina had nomore to do with such matters than if she had become the mistress of aroyal household. At the proper time she showed herself at LordHurdly's side, and she had beauty enough and wit enough not only todo credit to that high position, but to cast a glory over it which heknew in his heart no other Lady Hurdly of them all had ever done. 

That she enjoyed it, who could doubt that saw her, day after day andevening after evening, beautifying with her presence the socialgatherings at her own splendid house, and at those of the newacquaintances who sought her society and distinguished her with theirattentions wherever she might go. 

Having had no experience of wealth, it never seemed to occur to herthat it could have its definite limit, and she ordered costumes andinvented ways of spending money which sometimes surprised her lord, but which also pleased him. His fortune was so large, and had been solong without such demands upon it, that it was a source of genuinesatisfaction to him to see that Bettina knew how to avail herself ofher brilliant opportunity. Save and except a wife, he was alreadypossessed of every adjunct that could do credit to his name andposition, and in marrying Bettina he had been largely influenced bythe fact that she was qualified to supply this one deficiency with adistinction which no other woman he had ever seen could have bestowedupon the position. 

So, to the world, Bettina seemed completely satisfied, and in theworldly sense she was so. In this sense, also, Lord Hurdly seemed andwas satisfied in his marriage. How it was with them in their heartsno one knew, and perhaps there was no one who cared to know. The onebeing to whom this question was of strong interest was very far away. He had shifted his position from Russia to India about the time ofhis cousin's marriage, and Bettina never heard his name mentioned, nor did she ever utter it. 

After the London season was over, Lord and Lady Hurdly had movedfrom their town-house to the family seat, Kingdon Hall. Here, aftera day's stop, Lord Hurdly had left her, to return to town on somepublic business; and so, for the first time since her marriage, shehad a few days to herself. Later they were to have the house filledwith guests, and after that to make some visits; so this time ofsolitude was not likely to be repeated soon. Bettina was surprisedat herself to see how eagerly she clutched at it. It was, in somefaint degree, like the feeling which she had had after the rare andshort separations from her mother--a longing to get back to thefamiliar and the accustomed. She now felt somewhat the same longingto get back to herself. She had done her part in all that brilliantpageant like a woman in a dream. She had enjoyed it, for power andadmiration were very dear to her, and she had revelled in their freshfirst-fruits. But she had not been herself for so long, had not forso long looked herself in the face and searched her own heart, thatshe did not know herself much more familiarly than she knew the otherbrilliant personages who moved beside her across the crowded stage ofLondon life. 

It was unaccountable even to herself how she rejoiced at the idea ofthese few days of quiet and solitude. Nora, her old nurse, was ofcourse with her still, with a French maid to assist her and performthe important functions of the toilet of which the elderly woman wasignorant. This maid Bettina sent off on a holiday, so that she mighthave only Nora about her. 

The morning after her arrival at Kingdon, Bettina, having breakfastedin her room, went for a ramble over the house. It seemed solemnlyvast and empty, and she would have lost herself many times had shenot encountered now and then a courtesying house-maid or anobsequious footman, who answered her inquiries and told her into whatapartments she had strayed. 

"Show me the way to the picture-gallery, " she said to one of these, "and then tell the housekeeper to come to me there presently. "

She had taken a fancy to this white-haired old woman the nightbefore, when Lord Hurdly had presented the servants to their newmistress in the great hall, where they had all been assembled toreceive her on her arrival. 

In a few moments she found herself alone in the stately gallery, going from picture to picture. On one side was a long line of theladies of Kingdon Hall, painted by contemporary artists, eachcelebrated in his era. At the end of this line her own portrait, doneby a celebrated French painter who had come to London for thepurpose, had recently been put in place. 

It was a magnificent thing in its manner as well as in its subject, and the costume which Lord Hurdly's taste had conceived for her and aFrench milliner had carried out was a marvel of rich effects. As shepaused in front of it her lips parted, and she said, whispering toherself, "Lady Hurdly--the present Lady Hurdly! And what has become ofBettina?"

As she asked herself this question she sighed. 

A sudden instinct made her move away. She wanted to escape from LadyHurdly. She had a chance to be herself to-day, and she felt a strongdesire to make the most of it. 

Hearing a sound at her side, she turned and found the serious, pleasant face of the housekeeper near her. 

"Good-morning, my lady, " she said, gently, in answer to Bettina'sfriendly salutation. "Will your ladyship not have a shawl? This roomis always cool, no matter what the weather is. "

Bettina declined the wrap, but passed on to the next picture, requesting the woman to come with her and act as cicerone. 

"What is your name? I ought to know it, " she said. 

"Parlett, your ladyship. "

"And how long have you lived here, Parlett?"

"Over forty years, my lady. I was here in the old lord's time. Thatis his picture, with his lady next to him. "

Bettina looked with interest at the two pictures designated. 

"He is thought to be very much like his present lordship, " said thehousekeeper. 

"Yes, I see it, " said Bettina, feeling an instinct to guard hercountenance. Here were the same keen eyes, the same resolute jaw, thesame thin lips and hard lines about the mouth. Only in the older facethey were yet more accentuated, and instead of the not unbecomingthinness of hair which showed in the son, there was a frank expanseof bald head which made his features all the harder. 

Hurrying away from the contemplation of this portrait, Bettina turnedto its companion. Here she encountered a face and form which weretruly all womanly, if by womanliness is meant abject submission andself-effacement. The poor little lady looked patiently hopeless, andher deprecating air seemed the last in the world calculated to holdits own against such a lord. That she had not done so--of her ownfull surrender of herself, in mind and soul and body--the pictureseemed a plain representation. 

"Poor woman! She looks as if she had suffered, " said Bettina. 

"Oh yes, my lady, " Parlett answered, as if divided between theinclination to talk and the duty to be silent. 

"She was unhappy, then?" said Bettina. "You need not hesitate toanswer. His lordship has told me what a trusted servant of the familyyou are, and I shall treat you as such. You need not fear to speak tome quite freely. "

"Yes, my lady, she had a great deal of sadness in her life, " went onthe housekeeper, thus encouraged. "She had six daughters before shehad a son, and this was naturally a disappointment to his lordship. One after the other these children died, which grieved her ladyshipsorely, for she was a very devoted mother. His lordship had nevernoticed them much, being angry at not having an heir, and this mademy lady all the fonder of them. She had little constitution herself, and the children were sickly. At last, however, an heir was born, buther ladyship died at his birth. It seemed a pity, my lady, did itnot? For his lordship was greatly pleased with the heir, and, ofcourse, my lady would have been much happier after that. "

Bettina did not answer. The evident reasonableness of the father'sposition, in the eyes of this good and gentle woman, made itimpossible for her to speak without dissent to such an atrocity asLord Hurdly's attitude seemed to her. So she moved away, and thewoman took the hint and said no more. 

A little distance off, at the end of the long room, she had caughtsight of an object that made her heart beat suddenly. She did no morethan glance at it, and then returned to the contemplation of thepicture before which she was standing. But she had recognized HoraceSpotswood in the tall stripling of perhaps fifteen who stood inriding-clothes at the side of a pawing gray horse. 

By the time she had made her way to it, in its regular succession, she had quite recovered her calmness and had made up her mind as toher course. 

"And who is this handsome boy?" she said, with perfectself-possession, as they stood before the large canvas. 

[Illustration: "'AND WHO IS THIS HANDSOME BOY?'"]

"That is Mr. Horace, my lady, " said the woman, a sudden tone ofemotion mingling with the deference in her voice as her eyes dwelton the picture fondly. 

And who could wonder at this? Surely a more winsome lad had neverbeen seen. He was even then tall, and in his riding coat and breecheslooked strangely slender, in contrast to the broad-shoulderedphysique which she had lately known so well. But the eyes were justthe same--direct, frank, eager eyes, which looked straight at you andseemed to make a demand upon you to be as open and frank in return. 

Had Bettina searched the world, she could not, as she knew, havefound a more significant contrast than the comparison of the honesteyes with the guarded, cold, inscrutable ones into which it was nowher lot to look so often. 

"Have you known him a long time?" she asked, pleasantly, as the womanremained silent. 

"Oh, since he was a little lad, my lady! We all love Mr. Horace here. He is the handsomest and kindest young gentleman in the world, andhe's that good to me that I couldn't be fonder of my own son, notforgetting the difference, my lady. "

Bettina detected a tone of regretfulness in the woman's voice, andalso, she thought, an effort to conceal it. If there was a feelingakin to this regret in her own heart, she also must conceal it. Theseallusions to the handsome, enthusiastic young fellow to whom she hadpromised herself in marriage had stirred her deeply. The idea of anyone, servant or equal, speaking in this way of the man who was herhusband, at any time in his life, gave her a nervous desire to laugh. It was followed by an equally nervous impulse to cry. 

Walking ahead of the housekeeper, she gained a moment's opportunityfor the recovery of her self-control, and she made good use of it. 

"Parlett, " she said, presently, "I do not want you to think that inmarrying Lord Hurdly I have done an injury to Mr. Spotswood. " Inspite of herself, her voice shook at the name. 

"Oh no, my lady--" began Parlett, but her mistress interrupted her, saying, quickly:

"Of course he always knew that his lordship might marry, and couldnot have been unprepared for such a possibility; but in order that hemight feel no difference in his present position on that account, Lord Hurdly has settled on him what is really a handsome fortune--notonly the income of it, but the principal also. I tell you this thatyou may understand that he is none the worse off, so far as moneygoes, through his cousin's marriage to me. "

"Yes, my lady. I understand, my lady. Thank you for telling me, " saidParlett, somewhat nervously. "Of course every one knows that you havedone him no harm, my lady, and we knew, of course, that his lordshipwould do the handsome thing by him. "

Somehow these civil, reassuring words smote painfully upon Bettina'sconsciousness. When this woman spoke so confidently of Lord Hurdly'sdoing the handsome thing by his former heir, she felt it to be thehollow tribute of a conventional loyalty, and the assurance that itwas understood that she herself had done him no harm grated on heralso. Now that she was quite alone and free to think things out, asshe had shrunk from doing heretofore, and as, in the rush of theLondon season, she had been able to avoid doing, she felt a sense ofcompunction toward Horace that seriously depressed her. 

Dismissing the housekeeper, she put on a shade-hat and went for aramble in the park. How beautiful it was! What shrubs, what trees, what undulations of rich emerald turf! She could not in the leastfeel that she had any right in it all. But how must a creature loveit who had looked upon its noble beauties from childhood up toyouth, and on to manhood, with the belief that it would some day behis own! She could not stifle the feeling that she had wronged thatbeing if by her marriage she should be the means of depriving him ofsuch a fortune and position, and deep, deep down in her consciousnessshe had a boding fear that, if all things hidden could be revealed, it might be shown that in a keener sense than this she had alsowronged him. 

For marriage had been in many ways an illumination to Bettina. Therevelation of her own heart which it had given her was one which shetried hard to shut her eyes to. Twice she had consented to the ideaof marrying without love. Once she had actually done this thing. Onlyher own heart knew what had been the consequences to her. But of onething she had often felt glad. This was that she had not entered intoa loveless marriage with a man who had loved her as she had believedHorace did at the time he had so ardently wooed her. From such awrong as that might she be delivered!

As her thoughts now dwelt on Horace and the circumstances of theirbrief past together, the memory of his honest, tender, self-forgetfulattitude toward her recurred to her half wistfully, in contrast toher recent experiences. Lord Hurdly's manner toward her had, intruth, changed from the very hour of their marriage. He no longer hadthe air of a solicitous suitor, but took at once that of the assuredhusband and master. It made her think what she had heard of hisfather and of his poor little mother's history. Not that she couldfancy herself becoming, under any circumstances, a Griselda; thoughshe could without difficulty imagine him in his father's _rôle_. 

But what right had she, she asked herself, to expect to reap whereshe had not sown? She had married for money and position, and she hadgot them. What more had she expected?

Nothing more, perhaps; but in one point she had beendisappointed--namely, in the power of these things to give her whatshe longed for, and what she could define only under the indefiniteterm happiness. 

CHAPTER V

Bettina's talk with Parlett had set her mind to working very activelyin a direction in which she had not allowed it to stray before. Thethought of Horace always brought a sense of pain and spiritualdiscomfort to her, which she instinctively desired to shake off; andin the restless whirl of London life, which left her little time forthought of any kind, she had not much difficulty in doing so. 

Now, however, she had nothing to do but to think and to becomeacquainted with her new possessions, the latter occupation being astrong stimulus to the former. There were many associations withHorace at Kingdon Hall. It was extraordinary how many things that hehad told her in connection with this place came back to her. Shewas constantly recognizing pictures or persons or names with whichhe had made her familiar. The persons were, of course, the servants, steward, tenants, and the like, for she had seen no others. Evenin walking about the lawn she had found his initials cut on trees, and the very dogs which joined her when she would go out for herwalks had names on their collars that she knew. There was one, amagnificent Great Dane, which bore Horace's name there as well as hisown. This dog, Comrade, she had heard Horace speak of with a specialaffection. 

True, Kingdon Hall had never been Horace's home, but he had grown upwith the idea that it might be, and since coming to manhood had feltwellnigh secure that it would be. All his life he had been in thehabit of making visits here, and the impression which he had leftbehind him was almost surprising to Bettina. 

The place in which this impression was strongest was in the hearts ofthe servants. Bettina, through Nora, had assured herself of this. Thedevoted servant, who had the sole object in life of serving herbeloved mistress, had, by Bettina's orders, informed herself on thispoint, and all that she gathered in the servants' hall she retailedto Bettina in her room. Nora, like every one else, had been won byHorace's manner and appearance, but, of course, when her mistress haddrawn off from him, she had no idea of anything but acceptance of thechanged conditions. Still, she was inwardly delighted when Bettinaexplained to her how anxious she was to learn all that she couldabout Mr. Horace, so that she might lose no opportunity of furtheringhis interest with Lord Hurdly, and making up to him, as far aspossible, for having disappointed him in his worldly prospects bymarrying his cousin. 

That he could hold her accountable for any other wrong to him she didnot admit. At times the memory of his fresh and buoyant youth, in sogreat contrast to the jaded maturity of his cousin, knocked at thedoor of her heart, and the ardent expressions of his worshipping, passionate love for her echoed there with a distinctness that amazedher. 

Surely he had loved her--this she could not doubt. But if his lovehad been so slight that a few months of absence had cooled it, and ofso poor a quality that a new caprice had taken its place so soon, shewas well rid of it. That this had been so the letter which LordHurdly had shown her sufficiently attested, and she must guardherself against the folly of sentimental regrets. 

It was not Horace that she regretted. It was only the ideal of thelove between man and woman which her brief intercourse with him hadheld up to her. She had seen love in a different guise sincethen--or what went by the name of love--and surely the contrast musthave had a deeper root than the mere difference between youth andmiddle-age. 

It was not often that Bettina allowed herself to think of thesethings. But now, in her solitude and idleness, visions would come ofthe eager lover, strong as a young Narcissus, who represented love insuch a simple, wholesome guise--or at least so it had seemed to be. Then she would shake off the image, and tell herself it was butseeming, as the result had proved, and so she would accuse herself ofweakness and sentimentality. These thoughts were getting to beinconvenient. They haunted her too persistently, and at last shebegan to wish for the time to come when her days would again be toocrowded with engagements for her to indulge in such foolishreflections. 

The truth was, deep down in Bettina's heart there was a fear whichshe could not wholly still in any waking hour. She could and didrefuse to recognize it, even in her own soul; but there it was, andthere it remained, to rise again and again, and almost stifle herwith the sinister possibility which it suggested. 

This fear was based upon the clearer knowledge of Lord Hurdly'scharacter which had come to her since marriage. She had found in himan inexorable resolution to have what he wanted in life, which hadrendered him, more than once within her knowledge, unscrupulous as tothe means he used in the securing of his ends. This it was which hadplanted in her mind the awful though remote possibility of his havingbeen, in some manner, insincere in his representations of Horace'snature and character. 

But then there was the letter from his friend which she had seen withher own eyes, with the St. Petersburg mark, so familiar to her, onthe envelope, and which had been written by a person who could nothave known that she would ever see it. Surely that was enough tosettle all doubts as to the character and conduct of the man to whomshe had first pledged herself in marriage, and she had at least thesatisfaction of knowing that her present husband could be chargedwith no such faults. His indifference to her sex was proverbial insociety, and that she alone, of all the women he had seen--so many ofwhom had angled for him openly--had been able to do away with hisaversion to marriage was a tribute in which she could not helpfeeling a certain pride, the more so as she saw every day new proofsof his fastidiousness, as well as his importance. 

So she stifled this dread suggestion and forced her thoughts intoother channels. This was to be more easily accomplished when her bodywas actively employed; so she took long rides on horseback, attendedby a groom, or long walks in the park alone. In these walks Horace'sbig dog Comrade would often join her. The creature had taken a fancyto her, which seemed, in some strange way, to comfort her. 

Besides these diversions, she had her large correspondence to disposeof every day; for in her important position she had of courseestablished numberless points of contact with the world. 

So the time went by until Lord Hurdly's return, and the day thatfollowed saw Kingdon Hall filled with guests. After that there werefew moments of reflection for its mistress, as the duty of doing thehonors of this great establishment demanded all her time. 

CHAPTER VI

Bettina loved this power and importance. The drama of her presentlife was like the unfolding, before her gaze, of a beautiful seriesof pictures which she had conceived in her imagination, and whichsome enchanter's word had turned into reality. The crowded functionsof the London season had somewhat palled upon her, though she had notquite owned it to herself; but here she was the centre of the system, the light around which these lesser lights revolved, and she seemed, under these conditions, to shine with an increased radiance. Hermanners, where they differed from those of the women about her, seemed to gain rather than lose by the contrast, and her costumesseemed to be endless in their variety as well as in their beauty. Certainly she had an air of being born to the purple, and herhusband's pride in her was undoubted, if unexpressed. 

Bettina was aware that this pride was his strongest feeling inregard to her, and she was abundantly willing to have it so. If shehad found it difficult to fall in love with a youth who might havedisturbed the heart of Diana, she was not likely to have fallen inlove with the cool, cynical, narrow-chested, thin-haired man whom shecould yet feel a certain pride in owning as her husband, since hisappearance, no less than his name, was distinguished. She had alwayshad a theory that she would never love deeply any one besides hermother, and her two experiences in the lottery of marriage, sodifferent as they were, convinced her that her knowledge of herselfhad been correct. She was glad of it. The hot anguish which at timeseven yet contracted her heart at the thought of her mother made herhope devoutly that she would never love again. The joy of it couldnot be worth the pain. 

When Lady Hurdly's house-party broke up, she went with her husband ona round of visits to other country-houses. This phase of society sheliked, and she threw herself into it with ardor. But toward the endshe wearied of these visits, as she had wearied of London, and wasglad to get back to Kingdon Hall. Instead of rest, however, she foundrestlessness, and the disturbing thoughts which she had smotheredbefore came back with added force. It was a relief to her to think ofgoing abroad--Lord Hurdly having made plans for their spending somemonths of the winter on the Continent. 

There was one instinctive fear connected with this plan--thepossibility that she might by some chance encounter Horace. She hadlittle fear that he would come to England. What would it matter ifshe should meet him? He had never been anything to her, really--soshe assured herself--and she had certainly been, in reality, quite aslittle to him. Yet she did unreasonably dread such a meeting withhim, and felt anxious to know where he was. 

Accordingly, one morning she asked Parlett, in a casual way, if sheever heard from Mr. Horace. 

"Oh yes, my lady; he writes to me now and then, " replied thehousekeeper. Bettina had not expected to hear this; her only thoughtwas to draw out some information gained by hearsay. 

"He is at St. Petersburg?" she asked, indifferently. 

"No, my lady; at Simla, " was the unexpected answer. "He has beenthere a good while. I had a pamphlet from him the other day. When hehas not time to answer my letters, he often sends me a paper, orsomething like that, to show me what he has been doing. I can'talways understand them, but he knows I like to have them just becausehe wrote them. "

Bettina was unwilling to show her ignorance, so she did not say thatshe had no knowledge that he ever wrote for publication, and whenParlett went on to offer her the reading of the pamphlet she said, with an indifferent kindness, "Yes, bring it to me, by all means. I am very glad that Mr. Horacekeeps up his intercourse with the old place, which of course may yetbe his. I shall take an interest in seeing what he writes. "

She went on to speak of certain changes which she wished made in someof the sleeping-apartments, and then dismissed her housekeeper withsomething less than her usual graciousness of manner. 

Bettina felt a strong desire to be alone. These tidings of Horace, slight as they were, had been disturbing to her. Indeed, as timewent on and her knowledge of Lord Hurdly increased, the fear thathe might have dealt insincerely with his cousin or with herself grewsteadily. She saw proofs every day of the ruthlessness with which hesacrificed men, and even what should have been principles, to gainhis ends. By the light of the same knowledge she realized how hismeeting with her had disturbed him in his customary calmness ofpoise, and she argued from this fact how important it had been to himto gain his object of making her his wife. 

In the midst of these reflections a house-maid tapped at her door, with some folded papers on a tray. 

"If you please, my lady, Mrs. Parlett sends you these, " she said. 

She was a sweet-faced, rosy-cheeked English girl, with a soft voiceand very pretty manner, and at present she was gently agitated by theprivilege of speaking to her lady, whom she, as well as all the restof the maids, regarded as a sort of cross between angel and goddess. 

Bettina thanked her with a kind smile which sent her away completelyhappy; then, in the privacy of her own chamber, she opened thepapers. One was a diplomatic pamphlet on a public question in theline of the writer's professional work. The other was an articlewhich went very thoroughly into the question of the best means ofrelieving the famine then raging in India. 

It seemed to Bettina that she had vaguely heard that there was such afamine, but she had not felt more than a kindly casual interest in itas an unfortunate matter which she could not help. Now, however, asshe read the account which this paper gave, and the lines which itfollowed in the effort to render help, her heart burned within her. Here was a man who had no more power than herself to give moneyhelp--far less, indeed, perhaps. Yet how he was spending his soul, his strength, his time, his talent, his very heart-beats, on thiseffort to go to the rescue of these perishing thousands! No one whoread the throbbing sentences of that paper could have a doubt of thewriter's earnest desire to help, or of his ability to move the heartsand wills of others to come to his aid. It wrought upon herstrangely. 

How much money could she lay her hands on? She had no idea, but shewould make it her business to find out. There was her own littleincome, which she had taken no account of since her marriage, andthere was the money which Lord Hurdly had put to her credit in thebank. She would get all she could and send it--anonymously, ofcourse--to the famine fund which she had casually heard mentioned. But, oh, what a pitiful offering it seemed compared with what thisman was giving with such lavish self-devotion! From the fervor of hisprinted words, and his report of what had so far been accomplished, she saw that the very passion of his heart was in it. Of his ardenttemperament, his quick sympathies, she had knowledge in her ownexperience. Perhaps it had been these very traits of his which hadled him to the conduct which had separated them. 

At this thought, that faint suspicion that he had been misrepresentedto her rose in her heart again; but she choked it back. That would betoo awful. Besides the hideous self-accusations which would havefollowed the admission of this doubt, there was another argumentagainst it which still had its powerful hold on her. She had grownaccustomed to her great position in the social world, and her inborninstinct for power and admiration was deliciously gratified by thebrilliancy of her present circumstances. She found it very agreeableto be Lady Hurdly, with all that that name and title implied, and shedid not, even in this moment of such unwonted emotion, lose sight ofthat fact. 

Yet the reading of this little paper had stirred a feeling inBettina's heart which she had not felt for so long a time--ayearning tenderness for some object outside herself: a longing thather health and strength might avail for others bereft of theseblessings. It was akin to the emotion she had felt by her mother'sdying bed, and as it swept over her she wept as she had not donesince she had knelt beside that sacred spot. 

Instinctively now she fell upon her knees. She tried to pray--but forwhat? She could not compose a form of prayer or articulate a definitewish. All she could do was to pray to God--the God in whom her motherhad trusted--to give her this thing, this unknown boon which He knewher passionate need of. 

When she rose from her knees she put her hands to her head, and, pressing her temples hard, looked about her, as if in search of someobject which might help her to the comprehension of her own mood. Then, running her fingers inside the collar of her dress, she drewout, by a slight chain, a small locket, which contained her mother'spicture and a lock of her white hair. It was a sort of talisman whosemere touch gave her a sense of comfort. She did not open it now, butheld it between her palms and pressed her cheek against it, standingthere alone, and presently she whispered:

"What is it, mother darling? What is it that you seem trying to sayto me? Oh, if you can ever speak to me, speak now, and I will listenas I did not do when you were here beside me! There is something thatI ought to do, and I am not doing it. There is something I am doingwhich distresses you. That is the feeling that I have. Oh, mymother--my lovely, precious, good, good mother--if I had you here, you would tell me what it is that I ought to do--and I would do it!"

She ceased her half-inarticulate whispers, and stood intenselystill--almost, it seemed, as if she waited for an answer to them. 

But there came no answer save the still, small voice within her soul, which had so often tried to speak before, and which even yet shecould not, would not listen to. 

This voice suggested to her with persistent iteration that she shouldeven now look strictly into the evidence which had so quicklysufficed to convince her that the young and ardent lover who hadwooed her so passionately, and promised her such loyalty and faithand devotion, had been false to his professions and his promisesalike. 

Suppose she should investigate; suppose she should get proof thatshe as well as he had been falsely dealt with, that he had been truein every word and thought--what then? Could she endure to keep, afterthat, the position of wife to the man who had so deceived and injuredtwo beings who had believed him? Assuredly she could not. What, then, would be her alternative? To leave him and go back to the poor lifeat home, which her mother's presence had justified and glorified, butwhich without that presence, and with the contrast of her presentposition in her mind, would be too intolerable a thought tocontemplate. 

No, she had no sufficient reason to doubt the representations thather husband had made to her. She would try to accept them moreimplicitly for the future, and so fight against such disturbingideas. There were ample means of diversion within her reach. Hersojourn abroad would soon begin, and she must fight against anyrecurrence of her present mood of weakness. 

If she was to win this fight, however, there was one precaution whichshe felt that she must take. This was to avoid the very name ofHorace Spotswood, and, as far as might be possible, every thought ofhim as well. 

Her foreign travels began, and she then had the assurance that thiseffort would not be difficult of accomplishment. There were athousand new issues for Bettina's interest and feelings in herconstantly changing surroundings, and these were sufficientlyabsorbing to do away with lately disturbing considerations. The worldhad still its powerful charm for Bettina, and she was now seeing theworld in a very fascinating aspect. 

CHAPTER VII

As Bettina had found the London season delightful, and yet had beenquite content to see it close, and as the same had been true of herexperience, both as hostess and as guest, at the country-houseparties which had followed the season, so it was also with herforeign travels, although she found much to interest and delight herin the various cities which she visited with Lord Hurdly. He wasreceived with distinction everywhere--a fact partly due to hisprominent position in Parliament, and partly to his social importanceand the acknowledged beauty of his wife. 

Bettina enjoyed it, certainly, and found it very helpful to her incarrying out her resolve to banish the agitating thoughts which wouldrecur whenever she thought of Horace. She had managed to stopthinking of him almost entirely, and to live only for thesatisfaction of each day as it passed. 

After a while, however, she began to feel that there was a certainflatness in the sort of pleasure which consisted so largely in beingan object of admiration, for she had not been able herself to feelmuch enthusiasm for the people whom she met. She did not make friendseasily, perhaps because she did not greatly care to have friends. Hermother's delicate health had left her little time for othercompanionships, even if she had desired them, and since the loss ofher mother her heart had seemed to close up, and her capacity forcaring for people, never very great, was lessening every day. 

Several times during her travels she had heard Horace spoken of. On these occasions she had not betrayed the fact that she hadany knowledge of him, and so the talk about him had been quiteunrestrained. She had heard it said by one man that "he was turningout a very earnest fellow"; by another that "his pamphlets weremaking quite a stir"; and, again, that he "might do something worthwhile in diplomacy if he'd let philanthropy alone. " Another man hadsaid that "all he needed was to marry money, and he'd have a greatcareer before him. "

When Bettina returned from her travels these few remarks, overheardat dinner-tables or in public places, seemed in some unaccountableway to be the most important things she had secured out of her lateexperiences. Certainly they were the most insistently recurring, andthe idea was forced upon her that the way in which men spoke ofHorace Spotswood was a strong contrast to the tone of the letter fromLord Hurdly's friend. 

All this was a source of distress to her. She would have preferred tobelieve the letter, for such a belief would have rid her of the stingof self-reproach; but, try as she might, she could not wholly get herconsent to it. 

On her way back to England she stopped in Paris to choose hercostumes for the coming season. It was a pleasure to her to try onthese beautiful things, which she bought without any thought of thecost of them; but it was a pleasure which she had become accustomedto, and so its keenness was gone. Besides this, she had nothing tolook forward to except the London season, and custom had alsodetracted from the zest of that. She was in the attitude of alwayslooking beyond. Surely, with such a position and such a fortune asshe had attained to, there must be something to satisfy the vaguelonging within her which she called desire for happiness. 

It was decided that they were to stay at Kingdon Hall a short timebefore going up to town, and Bettina had looked forward to thefreedom of the country life with a hopefulness which realitydisappointed. Here again she thought of Horace, and the possibleinjustice she had done him forced its way into her consciousness, andso disturbed her with doubts and misgivings that she determined toovercome her reluctance to mention Horace's name to her husband, andask boldly whether he had actually received the sum of money whichshe had been promised that he should have. It had become so essentialto her to know about this that she determined to use her very firstopportunity of asking. 

Not ten minutes after she had made this resolution she unexpectedlyencountered Lord Hurdly, in crossing a hall. He had been out onhorseback, and still wore his riding-clothes. The correct andcarefully fitted leggings showed legs that were thin and shapeless. Beneath them were small feet, on which their owner did not step veryfirmly. The somewhat showy waistcoat and short coat had an air ofdisplaying themselves and concealing the form beneath them, whichwas perhaps a high tribute to his tailor's art. His chest lookednarrower, his face more wrinkled, his hair thinner, than Bettina hadbefore noticed them to be, and there was a certain loose-jointednessin his figure which, as he moved toward her on his narrow and closelybooted feet, gave him the sort of teetering motion of the elderlybeau. His face, neutral and cold as ever, showed the signs of ageless, yet Bettina felt that it masked the inadequacy of his soul asdistinctively as his clothes masked that of his body. 

As they came toward each other--this man and this woman, whosemarriage was supposed to be a union of two into one--the face of eachmight, by an eye sensitive to the subtleties of human expression, have been seen to harden slightly. Lord Hurdly took off his hat withan automatic motion which might have prompted the thought that theaction arose from his ideal of himself rather than from anyassociation with the woman before him. 

"Excuse me for detaining you a moment, " said Bettina, "but I want toknow whether Horace Spotswood actually received the money which youmade over to him at the time of your marriage to me. I have heardthat he is leading a very active life, on lines where money will beof great use to him. Naturally I am anxious to be sure of the factthat he has suffered no injury, however indirectly, through me. "

She had been able to control both her voice and expressionentirely--a fact on which she fervently congratulated herself. 

"You may feel quite at ease on that score, I assure you, " Lord Hurdlyanswered, in his cold, incisive tones. "He received the money, andhas probably used it for the furtherance of these ridiculous andsentimental schemes of his. This should give you the gratifyingassurance that he has been bettered, and not worsted, by reason ofhis connection with you. "

The tone in which he spoke was galling to Bettina, but she made noanswer, though no words which she could have spoken would haveconveyed a greater resentment of his speech than did her disdainfulsilence. She made a motion to move away, but he deliberately placedhimself in front of her, saying, in the same hard tone:

"It occurred to me, from time to time while we were abroad, that youwere rather eager in gleaning information about the person we havebeen speaking of, and I want to tell you that what has been evidentto me may be evident to others. You may not care how the thinglooks, but as I do, perhaps you will be more careful in the future. "

His use of the word "eager" in connection with her attitude in thisaffair gave Bettina swift offence, and this feeling was heightened bythe suggestion that she had made herself liable to criticism on sucha subject. 

"You cannot, I think, " she answered, in a tone of proud resentment, "be more careful than I am that I shall act with propriety as yourwife. Since there is so little besides the form to be complied with, I see the greater necessity for punctiliousness in observing that. The rebuke you have just given me is utterly unmerited, and I shalltherefore not change my manner of conducting myself in anyparticular. "

"Perhaps you will think better of that decision, and will oblige meby not making yourself conspicuous by holding your breath to listenwhenever that person chances to be mentioned. You are not unlikely tohear him alluded to during the coming season, as he has been making abid for popularity at his new post by taking up the matter of thefamine, and, " he added with a sneering smile, "relieving it with themoney I paid him. "

The word cut into Bettina's heart. 

"Paid him?" she said, scrutinizing him with a glance before whicheven his hard eyes faltered. "Paid him for what?"

"Oh, for keeping himself out of my way!"

She felt that she had compelled him to this response, and that hewould have liked to put it more brutally. As it was, there lurked asting in it which provoked her to reply. 

"Did he hold the privilege of your proximity at so large a price?"

A smile of quiet irony accompanied the words. As it curved her lipsalluringly, Lord Hurdly felt himself touched with the sudden sense ofher powerful charm. No one else on earth would have dared to say thisto him, or anything remotely comparable with it. There was somethingvery piquant to his jaded palate in the flavor of this audaciousspeech. Instead of scowling, therefore, he smiled. 

"I have heard, " he said, amiably, "that America was the land of thefree and the home of the brave, and certainly you seem to warrant onein accepting that belief. "

Bettina, a good deal relieved at this turn of affairs, took theopportunity that the moment gave her to say, gravely:

"No; I do not consider myself free. I have bound myself, in mymarriage to you, and I have no intention or desire to forget theduties which I owe you. But I tell you frankly, Lord Hurdly, that Iam not accustomed to either surveillance or tyranny, and I shall nottamely submit to them. In the carrying out of this resolution, atleast, you will find that I can be brave. "

She looked more than ordinarily beautiful as she stood erect beforehim and said these words, and he had not gazed so fully into her eyesfor a long time. He had almost forgotten their magnetic loveliness. At sight of them now his pulses beat quicker. A desire for themastery of this splendid creature returned to him with a force hewould not have believed possible. 

"Bettina, " he said, in a voice which showed an emotion most unusualto him, "have you ever known what it was to love, I wonder?"

"Once--once only, " she answered, a quaver in her voice and a suddensuffusion of tears in her eyes. "I loved my mother. No one that everlived could have loved more truly and more ardently than I loved her;but there it began and ended. I never deceived you as to that. Ipromised you duty and good faith, and I have not failed in these. Inever shall so fail. But love, no! I haven't it to give. "

She made a movement to go forward, and he stood aside and let herpass him. She avoided meeting his gaze, and perhaps it was well thatshe did. For slowly its expression changed. A look of hardness thatwas almost significant of dislike came into his eyes and compressedhis lips. From the day of their marriage this woman had thwarted andbaffled him. He had tried to get the mastery of her, but he hadfailed, and the sense of that failure angered him. He had been usedto dominating every one with whom he came into any sort of closecontact. He had married this American girl with the determination todominate her, and he had found himself as powerless as if she hadbeen a mist maiden. There was no way in which he could lay hold uponher. 

Concerning Bettina's attitude toward him he had a theory. He believedthat she had really loved Horace. She was too absolutely in theshadow of the sorrow of her mother's death to give full play to anyother feeling, but he had always felt, in every effort that he hadmade to win her, that it was the image of Horace Spotswood in hermind which put him in total eclipse. This theory time had deepened. His suspicious watchfulness over her every word and look had madehim aware that she listened with interest when Horace's name wasmentioned, and his imagination heightened the effect of her interest, and caused him to conjecture as to what she might have heard andfelt at such times as he was not by. Moreover, a certain secretconsciousness in his own soul stimulated him in his suspicions. 

CHAPTER VIII

During the early weeks of their marriage Lord Hurdly, while changinghis attitude from the solicitude of the pursuer to the masterfulnessof the possessor, had certainly made some effort to win Bettina, while she, on her part, had tried to oblige him by responding to hisprofessions for her. Both were aware that this effort had been madeon both sides, and that it had quite failed. By the time thehoney-moon was over, Lord Hurdly had, to all appearance, ceased tocare. The consciousness of this was an immense relief to Bettina, andshe had felt ever since that in doing him credit in the eyes of theworld she would satisfy his first object in having her for a wife. Inthis she had not failed. There was a distinct estrangement betweenthem, but it had never been necessary to define it. Whateverdisagreements there had been, only themselves were aware of. LordHurdly would have felt his authority over her incomplete indeed ifhe had ever had to assert it in public. 

As for Bettina, a singular change of feeling was going on within her. She had made her test of the world, and found that she had overratedits power to please. It was almost appalling to reflect that therewas no more for her to do than to repeat what she had already done. Another London season, another autumn in receiving and making visits, another winter abroad. What then? Was there nothing but materialpleasure for her in the world? She wanted something more, somethingdifferent from all this. 

One morning she went out into the park, where spring was justbeginning to put forth its greenery. Leaping footsteps sounded behindher. It was Comrade, bounding to her side and nestling up againsther. She put her arm around his neck and drew him close. He respondedwith an affectionateness that was almost human. 

Almost human! At this thought she began to ask herself how much humanaffection there was for her in the world. As much, no doubt, she toldherself, as she had to bestow. But why was this?

The birds were going wild with song in the branches above her head. The grass, the trees, the clouds, the sky, seemed all to have beenmade to be part of a world for love to dwell in. A great hungerpossessed her--a hunger not to be loved, but to love. For the firsttime she found herself longing for this boon, entirely apart from anyidea of her mother. Oh, to have some one with a human, comprehending, ardent heart, to put her arms around as she was now claspingComrade--some one to whom to offer up the wealth of love which shehad once thought she could never give except to her dear mother; someone who might make that mother's words come true, that a love fargreater than any she had known might be in store for her; some one, handsome, charming, ardent, loving, sympathetic, kind; some one to befriend and brother and lover all in one; above all, some one withthoughts and feelings akin to her own--some one impulsive andnatural--some one young!

When at last she said good-bye to Comrade and returned to her rooms, she felt in some strange way that a new era had dawned for her. Buta mood like this was new in her experience, and she fought resolutelyagainst its recurrence. As an aid to this end she threw herselfmore eagerly into the external interests which were so great insuch a position as hers, and became more noted for her splendidentertainments and rich dressing than she had been the season before. As she got a deeper insight into the conditions of the life abouther, she saw opportunities for influence and power, even to a woman, which attracted her. But she was very ignorant. She knew little ofthe world and English affairs, and she found the women about her sowell informed on these subjects that she began to feel herself at acertain disadvantage. This roused her pride, and she set to work toinform herself on many subjects of which she had hitherto beenignorant. 

One means to this end was the reading of newspapers, and thisoccupation now absorbed a part of every morning. In this way sheoccasionally came upon Horace Spotswood's name, and when she did, astrange agitation would possess her. She could not quite shake off aninfluence which this man's life seemed to exert upon hers. LordHurdly would have had her believe that she had bestowed a greatbenefit upon Horace, as it was through her that he was in thepossession of his present independent fortune, but there was no voiceso strong as the one in her own heart which told her that she hadwronged him. Here and there she had picked up the impressions ofmany different people concerning this young diplomatist, andunquestionably the aggregated effect was one of admiration. The briefnotices of him which she read in the papers confirmed this impressionof him. He was doing well, for a man of his years, in diplomacy, andhe was doing more than well in the work he had undertaken for therelief of the famine-stricken population near him. 

It was Horace's interest in this cause which had given rise toBettina's interest in it, and she began to read eagerly all that shecould find on the subject. As a result her heart was, for the firsttime in her life, awakened to an intense perception of the sufferingof the world at large. It was a new emotion to her, and one whichthrobbed through all her consciousness with a power which changed herindividuality even to herself. She began to think for the first timeof the utter recklessness with which she had been spending the largesums of money which Lord Hurdly placed at her disposal. Herexpenditure of these sums heretofore had met with his entireapproval, as she could never have too rich a wardrobe to please him. It was all a part of his own glory and importance, and he never askeda question as to how the money went. 

But now the tide within Bettina's heart had turned. As she read ofthe sufferings of these starving people, the thought of her ownexcess of luxuriousness sickened her. The more she felt within hersoul that nameless sadness which no outside help could relieve, themore she felt it urgent upon her to relieve the wants of others whenthis assuagement lay within her actual power. 

It may seem strange that, with a mother who had a large-heartedsympathy with all sorrow, Bettina should have kept her own heart soclosed to the suffering outside it; but no seed can sprout until thesoil is prepared for it, and up to this period of her life the groundof Bettina's heart had been unprepared. 

Now, however, all was changed. She went to balls and dinners, as herposition as Lord Hurdly's wife demanded, but her heart was elsewhere. She began to economize strictly in her personal expenditure, andcollected all the ready money she could lay her hands on, both fromher husband's allowance and from her own small private fortune, andsent it anonymously to the Indian famine fund. 

This contribution was sent in with no other identification than "FromB. , " written on the card which accompanied it. How could Bettinahave dreamed that any living soul would connect her with it?

She was not unaware, however, that she was constantly watched by herhusband. Since she had become interested in her new pursuits heobserved her more closely than ever, and on the morning of thepublication in the papers of the special additions to the famine fundwhich contained her own subscription Lord Hurdly, with apparently noreason at all, read the list aloud to her across the breakfast table. 

When he came to the item "From B. , " he paused and looked at hersearchingly. 

Bettina felt her face turn red. 

[Illustration: "'THE MONEY WAS PARTLY MY OWN'"]

"I thought so, " said her husband, with a strange mixture ofsatisfaction and anger in his hard tones. "I have been expecting somesuch foolery as this for some time, and I am not blinded to themotive behind it. What do you care about those devils of Indiansavages? What does Horace Spotswood care about them? Just as little!Enough, and too much, of my money has gone already to the prolongingof their worthless lives. If that graceless cub chooses to go onwasting money on them he can do it, but I take this occasion toinform you, Lady Hurdly--and I'd advise you to remember what Isay--that I do not choose that any more of my money shall go in thatdirection. Do you understand?"

There was an insolence in his tone which he had never used to herbefore. She resented it keenly. Rising to her feet, with an instinctwhich forbade her to preside over the table at the other end of whichhe was seated as master, she said, with a tinge of anger in her quiettones:

"The money was partly my own--from my mother's little fortune; andshe would have held, with me, that I could put it to no more holyuse. As to the rest, I understood that that also was my own. I didnot know that you required of me an account of how I used it. "

"How you used it? You may light your fire with it, for all I care!But there is one thing for which I do care, and which I mean to seenipped in the bud; and that is this ridiculous sentimentality whichyou are indulging in over Horace Spotswood. If you are regrettingyour young lover, that is your own affair, but when you come toflaunt this regret before the eyes of the public it becomes myaffair, and as such I propose to put a stop to it. "

Bettina trembled with the rage of resentment that possessed her. Sherecollected herself enough, however, not to speak until she hadpaused long enough to be sure that she could control herself. Thenshe said:

"You are forgetting yourself, Lord Hurdly, when you presume to speakto me as you have just done. I have given you no occasion to do so, and you know it. If there are certain regrets in my marriage to you, your present conduct justifies them. But permit me to say, on myside, that I can imagine no explanation of your behavior, except tosuppose that it proceeds from a consciousness in your own mind ofhaving wronged this man. "

She was looking at him narrowly. His features did not flush, nor didhis cold eyes falter. And yet, in spite of the long habit ofguardedness which now stood him in such good stead, there was aconsciousness about him, like an atmosphere, which told her that herthrust had drawn blood. 

"I thought so!" she said, using the very words which he had used toher. "I have for a long time been struggling in my mind against adoubt which sometimes would arise, that I might have been deceived. Everywhere, in public and in private, that I hear that young manspoken of, it is with words of confidence, admiration, andaffection. "

Still her penetrating gaze was on him, and still he bore it withoutflinching. 

"You saw the letter, " he said, with a sneer. "If that was not enoughfor you--" He broke off with a harsh, unpleasant laugh. 

"It was enough, " she said. "Surely it has sufficed to fix my fate inlife. But it is possible that that letter gave an exaggeratedaccount. Still, if the half of it was so, I was more than justifiedin cutting loose from him. No one could possibly blame me. "

"No one does, so far as I can see, " was the malicious answer. "I hearof no complaints from others, and certainly I have uttered none. Youmake a very satisfactory Lady Hurdly, and I suppose you get enoughout of the position to repay you for anything you may have lost--atleast, from the world's point of view, you should have done so. "

Bettina did not answer at once. A sickness of soul was creeping overher that made all life look suddenly loathsome. The one feeble raythat penetrated the darkness in which she felt herself enveloped wasthe help that came from a certain ideal which she had recentlyenthroned in her own heart. As the world's need, the wider issuesaffecting the myriad lives beyond her own, had recently been broughtbefore her consciousness, she had felt her way, as simply and weaklyas a child might have done, to one plain principle of life--that itwas worth while to try to be good. Never had she felt so keenly as inthis minute the utter futility of hoping to be happy. Yet in thisminute she felt more than ever, also, that happiness was not all. 

It was only rarely that she had any personal talk with her husband. The wall of separation between them seemed to be thickening by silentaccretion all the time. It was very difficult to scale this wall, andshe felt that any effort to do so irked him no less than it did her. So, with an instinct not to let go the present opportunity, she said, rather eagerly, as he was rising to go away:

"Sit down a moment. We do not often speak together. I have somethingon my mind to say to you. "

He resumed his seat and lighted a cigar--an action which discouragedher by its nonchalance. Still, she was determined to go on. By agreat effort she made her voice very gentle, as she said:

"I know I have disappointed you in what you had hoped from thismarriage between us, and I want to tell you I am very sorry. If Ihave not been able to give you the feeling which you desired--"

He interrupted her. 

"Feeling?" he said. "Who wants feeling nowadays in a wife? No oneexpects it. I wanted some one to make a handsome figure as LadyHurdly. I expected that you would do that, and you have notdisappointed me. "

"If this is true, I'm glad to know it, " she said; "but, at any rate, you could not blame me for not giving you the love another womanmight have given you. I never deceived you as to that. I toldyou I had not that love to give; not--as you have so unjustlyhinted--because I had given it to another man, but because I was thenincapable of love. I had no thought of any one beyond myself. I wasmiserably ignorant and egoistic. It was in ignorance and egoism thatI took the position of your wife, but I think from the first that Ihave tried, as I could, to fulfil its obligations. I have tried to beand to appear what you would wish. And I am not unmindful of thehonor and distinction which my marriage to you has conferred uponme. "

"Gad! I should hope not! One of the biggest positions in England!" heexclaimed, in a tone of scornful irritation. With these words he roseand left the room. 

Bettina's pride was deeply wounded. It had been that new assertion ofthe control of duty which had led her to say these things to herhusband. She had conquered much in herself before speaking, and shefelt that she had a right to resent the almost brutal insensibilitywith which he had received her words. 

As she turned from the breakfast-room and mounted to her ownapartments she felt conscious of a new humiliation in her life. Up tothis time she had believed that Lord Hurdly would have been incapableof such speech as he had used to her that morning. She had done agood deal--more than was required of her, she told herself--inspeaking to him as she had done after his words in the early part oftheir conversation, and now it seemed plain to her that she hadfulfilled her whole duty toward him, and that if it had done no good, the fault was on his side and not on hers. 

Once in her own rooms, she gave herself up to profoundly sorrowfulthoughts. She was only twenty-two. How long the path of her futurelife looked, and whither would it lead? She had attained all thatany woman could desire in the way of the world's bestowment. She didnot underrate the value of this. On the contrary, it was as essentialto one part of her nature as something far different in the way ofhuman possibility was to another part. She did not lose her hold uponthe actual because she was striving after the unattained. All thispower and admiration was very important to her, though she felt theinsufficiency of mere worldly prosperity. "Pleasure to have it, none;to lose it, pain, " were words that very nearly fitted her state ofmind. At the thought of going back to the obscurity she had come outof she shrank. 

CHAPTER IX

That talk with Lord Hurdly made a distinct epoch in their relationsto each other. Neither ever referred to it, but it had left itsimpress upon both. To Bettina it gave the assurance that she had doneall that could possibly be required of her, in her desire to come toa true and amicable understanding with her husband, and, after it, she had a greater sense of freedom. To Lord Hurdly it gave an insightinto Bettina's nature which he had not had before. He found her tobe possessed of a power of caustic speech which, he was bound toacknowledge, had made him feel uncomfortable. He felt also thathe had not succeeded in asserting his supremacy over her quiteso conclusively as he could have wished. He had, moreover, anuncomfortable warning, from the recollection of her words and looks, that it might be better for him to think twice in future beforecrossing swords with her. He was a man who hated opposition, and whowas quite unused to dealing with it in his own house. He was stillmaster, and his sovereignty no one had even questioned. As he desiredto keep this so, he did not care to enter into any further discussionwith Bettina. There were circumstances not beyond his conceivingwhich might cause him a greater loss of prestige than any alreadyendured, and the thought of these made him careful to avoid comingagain into close quarters with Bettina. 

This position on his part led to an attitude toward his wife whichmight have been interpreted agreeably, since he no longer seemed towatch her so narrowly as he had done. He seemed, without speaking onthe subject, to give her rather more freedom, and he never againreferred to her interest in the Indian famine or in the doings ofHorace Spotswood. 

Yet Bettina had the same uncomfortable sense of being criticised andheld to strict account. She felt as if evidence were rolling upagainst her which might one day be brought before her all at once. 

She had, however, acquired a thirst for some knowledge of thingsbeyond her own narrow interests, which was not to be calmed except byindulgence. When she looked about her in the great throbbing life ofLondon, she found so many objects which seemed absolutely to standwaiting for her interest and participation that she was soon caughtin the strong movement of woman's work in social life in its widerand deeper meaning. 

No sooner was it found that Lady Hurdly was willing to interestherself in such matters than they came crowding upon her. It was anew and delightful consciousness to her that she might become part ofthe power that was working against the evil in the world, and shethrew herself into the effort with spirit and enthusiasm. 

Life became better for her after that. The importance of her positionwas borne into her in a new and better way. By being Lady Hurdly shemight hope, perhaps, to do some little service in bettering the lotsof those who were at the other extreme of life's scale from her, whereas if she had remained in her former position she would have hadas little value at one end as at the other. 

Apart from these considerations of pure altruism was the sweetthought that she was drawing nearer to her mother in spirit, now thatshe was trying so hard to give help to others; and sometimes anotherthought would come. This was that, far apart as their lives must be, she was trying to do in her sphere what Horace was doing in his, andperhaps with the same hope in the heart of each--namely, that therecord of the future might help to compensate for the mistakes andwrong-doings of the past. She found herself passionately hoping thathe had flung his evil past behind him, just as she was trying tothrow hers. 

Under these changed conditions, Bettina's second season in London wasunlike the first in both its object and its results. From someunknown and unquestioned source she was becoming penetrated with the"scorn for miserable aims that end with self, " and by the time thatshe was ready to return to Kingdon Hall her life had become soinformed with its new purpose that she looked forward to the leisurewhich her removal there would give with real satisfaction in itsopportunity for better work. Besides, she had now in view a personalsupervision of the affairs on the Kingdon Hall estate, which she waseager to enter into. She had awakened to the duty of looking afterthe interests of tenants and the good of the parish. 

Whether she would have the approval of her husband in such work ornot she was unable to guess. So far, beyond a rather cynical anddistant observation of her new interests he had never interfered, butshe guessed that the probable explanation of this fact was that hefelt that her prominence in philanthropic activities, which had beenapproved by the best society, was a new way of reflecting glory uponhimself. 

For, as time had passed and Bettina had got a truer insight into theman she had married, the fact had confronted her that he was egoisticto the last degree. His cold neutrality of manner veiled this to mostpeople, but to her keen and constant observation the length andbreadth of his egoism were at times almost sickening. 

She was therefore not unprepared for what happened when she began hervisiting among the poor at Kingdon and her investigation into theneeds of her husband's tenants. She had gone to work openly about it, and he had taken no notice; but one morning, when he was about toleave for a few days' hunting in one of the neighboring counties, hesaid to her, at the moment of departure:

"I want to tell you that I do not approve of the innovations whichyou are beginning to make in the management of affairs on the estate. The ladies of Kingdon Hall, heretofore, have left these matters totheir husbands, and I prefer that you do the same. I mention it nowso that I may see no signs of interference on my return. "

It was not at all unusual for him to take this tone with her, and hewas following his usual custom in speaking to her in a moment ofhaste, whenever he had anything unpleasant to say. He could, in thisway, end the conversation where he chose, and she saw that he had nointention of lingering now. The cart was at the door, and he had onhis overcoat and even his hat, and stood drawing on and buttoning hisgloves, with an unlighted cigar between his teeth. His eyes were bentupon his task, under frowning brows. 

His cool and careless words, which her knowledge of him taught herwere the veneering for an inexorable resolution, gave her a shock ofdisappointment. She did not often take a humble tone with him, butthere was humility as well as entreaty in her voice as she now said, "You won't forbid my going to see the tenants, and making things alittle better for them, if I can, will you?"

"I forbid all interference, " he answered, in a tone that made herfeel that he relished the exercise of his power. "You can safelyleave the affairs of my tenants to me. They have fared sufficientlywell in my hands so far. "

At one time these words and tones would have provoked a sharp retort, but Bettina had so far changed since the early months of her marriagethat the thoughts of her own wrongs and indignities were now lessinsistent than the troubles of these poor people, which she had hopedto be able to alleviate. 

"Oh, indeed you are mistaken!" she said, urgently. "You do not knowhow much they need what a very little money and effort would supplythem with. Don't refuse to let me help them. It is a thing so near tomy heart. "

She saw his face grow harder. 

"It is also, " he said, "near my pocket. Going in for charity is allvery well, if it amuses you, and I did not interfere with your doingso in London. Here, however, it is different. The time has come tostop it. "

His words hurt her pride, and she felt, too, that he liked theposition of being entreated by her. She had an instinct to retortsharply, but another instinct was stronger. She was feeling what wasa new sensation to her--a willingness to humble her pride that othersmight be benefited. 

"I have never given money without first satisfying myself that youapproved it, " she said, "and I will promise you to regulate my publiccharities in future strictly in accordance with whatever limitationsyou may set. But don't refuse to let me work a little here--it willnot take much money--among the poor at our very doors. "

Instead of softening him, as she had hoped that this attitude ofhumility would do, her words seemed to have the opposite effect. Shehad a feeling, all at once, that he enjoyed making her appeal to him, because it would give him the still greater pleasure of refusing. 

He did not answer at once. It seemed to please him to keep herwaiting. His gloves were now neatly fastened on his long thin hands, and with great deliberation he took out his match-box and proceededto light his cigar. She noticed that he did not ask permission to doso, as he would certainly have done at one time--as he would also, undoubtedly, at one time have removed his hat while talking to her. Still, these signs of a diminished deference toward her touched herlightly compared with the importance which she attached to his answerto her question. 

She watched him narrowing his eyes, to avoid the smoke which he wasnow puffing from his just-lighted cigar, and waited for him to speak. 

Always scrupulously careful in small things, he walked to the windowto throw away the end of the extinguished match. It suddenly cameover her that he did not intend to answer her last words. 

Perhaps he wanted to make her urge him further. At this her heartrebelled. She would not. Still, the idea of his going off for severaldays, leaving the question unsettled, was too annoying tocontemplate. As he moved toward the door she said:

"You have not answered me. "

"I beg your pardon, " he said, with chill politeness. "I answered youin the beginning. I wish you to leave the management of the tenants'affairs where they properly belong--with me. "

So saying, he lifted his hat, bowed, and went. 

Bettina stood where he had left her, trembling with indignation fromthe sense of being treated tyrannically by a person who exercised anarbitrary power over her which she could not dispute. What had sheever done to deserve such treatment at his hands? How dared he treather so?

With the new-born instinct of rectitude within her she tried to seeif there was any reasonable ground for the real dislike of her whichnow seemed to be in her husband's mind. With every desire to behonest, she could think of none except the fact that she had notanswered to his rein. He could hardly resent her not loving him, forhe had married her without asking that; and besides, what did he knowof love, as she was now beginning to comprehend it? No, it was notthat which he resented in her; it was the fact that, although shechose to conform to him in outward things, he had never obtained themastery of her in the manner which, to his ideas, befitted therelationship of Lord and Lady Hurdly. She thought of the picture ofhis meek little mother and masterful-looking father. 

CHAPTER X

Bettina had been left to the lonely idleness of her own reflectionsbut a few days when the monotony of her life was broken by one ofthose sudden events which, by the vastness of their consequences, seem not only to change the face of nature for us, and the aspect ofall the world without, but also to change ourselves, in our spiritsand minds, so that we can never be the same creatures that we werebefore. She received a telegram announcing that Lord Hurdly had beenkilled in the hunting-field. 

Poor Bettina, with all her faults and limitations, had something ofher mother's noble nature in her, and this element of her somewhatcomplicated individuality had been the part of her which had expandedmost of late. Her first feelings, therefore, were unmingled pity andregret. She did not think of herself and of how all things would bechanged for her. Her whole thought was of him who so long had existedin her mind as the image of pride and indomitable self-will, but whohad now become, in one moment, the object of her deepest pity. Shehad scarcely ever thought of death in connection with him. He hadseemed as sound as steel. She had never heard him speak of the leastsymptom of illness, and now the paper in her hand informed her thathe was dead. 

How thankful she was that she had not spoken to him angrily in theirlast talk! How she wished that she had said just one kind word to himat parting! True, he had given her no opportunity; but if she hadknown--

Suddenly she burst into violent weeping, and in this condition theyfound her, with the telegram on the floor at her feet. 

"Who would have thought my lady would have taken it so hard?" saidMrs. Parlett, when the exciting news was heard down-stairs. "They wasthat 'aughty to one another before people! But it's them as feels themost, sometimes. "

This remark was addressed to Nora, in the hope of eliciting aresponse, but Nora excelled in the art of holding her tongue. 

It was she alone who was admitted to her mistress's apartments, whereBettina remained, in deep agitation, while the preparations for thearrival of Lord Hurdly's body were being made. After her profoundemotion of pity for him, her next thought had been of Horace. He wasthe heir and nearest of kin. It flashed upon her, with the suddennessof surprise, that he was Lord Hurdly now. 

How strange, how absolutely bewildering, this new state of thingsseemed! Her mind seemed unable to grasp the strangeness of these newconditions. 

Bettina saw no one but the rector of the parish. All that had to bedone was so plain and simple, and there were so many capable hands todo it, that there was little need to consult with her. She begged therector to act in her stead in giving all necessary directions. It waswith a deep sense of relief that she reflected on the impossibilityof Horace's arrival in time for the funeral. Perhaps she could getaway somewhere before he came. 

Those days when her husband's body lay in the apartment near her, andthe relations and friends assembled to do it an honor which in hislifetime they were scarcely suffered to express, marked the period ofthe real awakening of Bettina's soul. The sense of freedom which herposition now secured to her, the power to do and be what she chose, was like wings to her spirit, and for the first time in herexperience the woman and the hour were met. 

When she had been free before to make her own life, her vision hadbeen so limited, her aspiration so low, her interest in theheart-beats of the great humanity of which her little life was sosmall a part had been so uncomprehending, that she had cared only forthe narrow issues which concerned herself. But now, in the hour whichsaw her free again, she was another woman, and this woman had apassionate purpose in her heart to make herself avail for the needsof others. 

She resolved that the moment her affairs were settled her new lifeshould begin. The period of her marriage had opened up before hervast opportunities, of which she was eager to take advantage. Thesewould need money for their carrying out, but that she would havemoney enough she had never doubted. Of course until the reading ofthe will it would not be known what provision had been made for her, but Lord Hurdly had always been extremely generous as to money, andshe had no misgivings on that score. 

At last the funeral was over and the house was rid of guests. Various cousins and friends had shown their willingness to remain andbear her company, but Bettina, with the rector's aid, had managed toget rid of these. She wanted to be alone and to think out some courseof future action, for she was still in a state of absoluteunadjustment to her new situation. 

It had turned out that Lord Hurdly had left her an income of onethousand pounds. Her first realization of the smallness of thisprovision for her came from the rector's comment, which was spoken ina tone as if reluctantly censorious. 

"I should not have believed Lord Hurdly capable of such a thing, " hesaid. "I am sure that all who have cared for his honorable reputationmust regret this as much on his account as on yours. "

"Is it so little?" said Bettina, too proud to show disappointment. "Athousand pounds a year seems a sufficient sum for the support of onewoman. "

"For some women, perhaps, " was the answer, "but not for the woman whohas once held the position of mistress of Kingdon Hall. I repeat thatI would not have believed it of Lord Hurdly. "

Bettina did not hear his last emphatic words, or, at all events, took no conscious cognizance of them. She was absorbed in thecontemplation of her new condition. How strange it seemed!

It was something more than strange. She had been too long inpossession of the power and importance of being the reigning LadyHurdly, so to speak, not to feel a real revolt at the idea of seeingherself laid on the shelf. It would not necessarily be so bad if shehad had ample means, for she had made a place for herself in theworld. But she was certain, from the air of commiseration with whichnot only the rector but others had regarded her, that she would beextremely curtailed in such opportunities as depended upon money; andshe had sufficient insight into social affairs to know how thepossession of money broadened opportunity, and the absence of itlimited power. 

There was no denying to herself the pain that it gave her torelinquish such a position. She had accommodated herself to greatnessso naturally that it seemed incredible that she was to sink back intoa life of obscurity. Frankly, she did not like it. 

And yet, on the other hand, she felt an unfeigned gladness thatHorace was to come to his own. She rejoiced that no child of herswould ever stand in his way. She had reason to hope that he would usehis great position to great ends, for the residuum of all her turbidand agitating thoughts about him was an admiration for the man in hisattitude toward the world, no matter how much she still resented hisattitude toward herself. That this last was so, there needed nostronger proof than her eager resolution to get away from KingdonHall--out of the country, if possible--before the arrival of the manwhose place her husband had once taken, and who, in another sense, was now to take his. 

CHAPTER XI

It was some time before Bettina realized the changed conditions ofher life consequent upon her husband's extremely small provision forher. In England, in the only society which she knew, it would be amere pittance, after what she had always had there; but in America, in her old home, which she had always kept as her mother left it, itwould be almost riches. Sometimes she thought of going back there forgood, and leaving the great world in which she had found so littlejoy. But it was this world which could give her, as she now knew, thebest substitute that can be offered for joy--active and interestingoccupation. Having once known the inspiration of this, the stagnationof her old home was not to be thought of for a permanency. It seemedto her best, however, to go there for a short time to look after themoney interests now become important to her, and from there to seeksome work for the faculties which she had only lately realized thatshe possessed. 

In her heart she could but feel a certain wounded pride in thealtered position to which her husband had deliberately condemned her. She felt that it was his way of punishing her for not having been amore conformable wife. He had not succeeded, in his life, in humblingher pride; he would therefore do it now. She felt that he must havehad some intention of this sort. 

That instinct was confirmed by the family lawyer, who told her, whenhe came to have a talk on business, that Lord Hurdly had expressed tohim the supposition, and even the wish, that she should return toAmerica to live. 

Under other conditions her husband's wish would have greatlyinfluenced her decision, but under these it had no weight whatever. She could not help feeling that she had been harshly treated. It wasnot the actual loss of money that she minded; it was the slightimplied thereby. She had married Lord Hurdly without any pretence ofloving him. He had not required that of her; and she had done herbest to maintain her position as his wife in accordance with hiswishes. These had often conflicted with her own, but in such casesshe had always yielded. She felt, therefore, that she had beentreated with injustice. 

The chief sting of this feeling was in connection with the thought ofHorace. It made her flush with shame when she reflected that he wasbound to know that the man for whom she had given him up had treatedher so slightingly. Under the spur of this thought she had a wildimpulse to run away to America, where he should never see or hear ofher again. Business affairs compelled her to remain in England for ashort while, but she was quite determined to leave it before Horaceshould arrive. 

One morning, quite unexpectedly, she got a cable despatch from him. It was addressed to Lady Hurdly, at Kingdon Hall, and was in thesewords: "Kindly remain and act for me until I can arrive. Unavoidablydetained here. --SPOTSWOOD. "

This direct message from the young lover who had once been so near toher life moved Bettina to strange emotions. She was aware that Mr. Cortlin, the family lawyer, had written him that she was going awayas soon as possible, and he had, of course, been informed of all theconditions of his cousin's will. Not one penny had been left himexcept what was his by legal right; but Lord Hurdly's personalfortune had been an inconsiderable part of the estate, so that Horacewas now a man of great wealth as well as the bearer of an old andnoble title. 

The signature to this telegram was one of the things that affectedBettina. The telegrams sent to the lawyers, the rector, and othershad been signed "Hurdly. " Several of these she had seen. It seemed toher, therefore, a very delicate instinct which had caused him torefrain from the use of her husband's name in addressing her. He hadalways been delicate in his intuitions and expressions, or at leastso it had seemed. 

The effect of this telegram upon Bettina was to make her moreconfused and uncertain in her plans than she had been before. Shefelt a strong instinct to avoid meeting Horace again, and yet thistelegram was in the form of a request, and she could hardly refuse todo him a favor. In the midst of her perplexity a servant brought wordthat Mr. Cortlin had arrived and asked to see her. 

When the lawyer entered, with his usual obsequious bow, Bettinareceived him with a rather cold civility. Her manner had becomedistinctly more haughty since her descent in the scale of social andpecuniary importance. 

Mr. Cortlin did not take the seat to which she invited him, butremained standing, with his hat in his hand, as he said:

"A former client of mine, and friend of his late lordship, Mr. Fitzwilliam Clarke, who died about a year ago, left in my keeping aletter to your ladyship, which he instructed me to deliver in personupon the death of Lord Hurdly. I am come now, my lady, in thefulfilment of that trust. "

Bettina looked at him in amazement. 

"There must be some mistake, " she said. "I know no Mr. FitzwilliamClarke. I have never even heard his name. "

"That may be, my lady, but there is no mistake. This letter was meantfor you. "

Bettina took the letter he held out, and opened it with a certainincredulous haste. Mr. Cortlin at the same moment walked away to awindow, and stood there with his back turned while Bettina read thefollowing sentences:

 "MY DEAR LADY HURDLY, --Should this letter ever come to your eyes, you will be at that time a widow, as I have left instructions that it shall be delivered only in the event of your surviving your husband. By that time I shall have passed into the unknown world, where, if such things can be, I shall have had with Lord Hurdly an understanding which, by the hard conditions he imposed on me, was impossible in this life. But before leaving the world of human life and action I wish to make sure that at least one wrong which came about through me will have been repaired by me. I am aware that the rupture of your engagement of marriage to Mr. Horace Spotswood was caused chiefly by a letter shown you by Lord Hurdly, and purporting to come from an altogether trustworthy source--a man who was on the spot and who was a personal friend of his. I was that man. I was on the spot because I was sent there by Lord Hurdly for the purpose of writing this letter. For reasons which I need not enter into he had me in his power, and until one of us shall be dead he can force me to do his will. If you ever hold this letter in your hand and read these words we shall both be dead, and by this letter I desire to make reparation for a base and cruel wrong which I have helped to inflict upon an honorable and high-minded gentleman. I allude to the man who, when you read these words, will bear the name and title of Lord Hurdly. The things I wrote of him are in absolute contradiction to the truth, for a nobler and more loyal heart never beat. You might well discredit any assurance which comes by means of me, and I do not ask to have my words accepted. All I expect to accomplish is that you shall pay enough attention to my statement to investigate the matter for yourself. He is well known, and once your ears are open you will hear enough to prove to you that he has been wronged. That I have wronged him, though reluctantly and by reason of a power I could not resist, is the saddest consciousness of my life. 

 "That I may possibly by this letter do something, however late, to repair this wrong is my chief consolation on leaving the world. I shall carry with me into whatever life I go an ineradicable resentment against the man who was Lord Hurdly, and I leave behind me the most ardent and admiring wishes of my heart for the man who, when you read this, will bear the noble name and title which his predecessor, if the truth about him could be known, has so soiled with treachery in the furtherance of the most indomitable egotism ever known in mortal man. 

 "In conclusion, I ask of your ladyship, as I do of all the world, such gentle judgment as Christian hearts may find it in them to accord to one whose sins, though many, were of weakness rather than malice, and who did the evil work of a malicious man because he had not strength to brave what that man had it in his power and purpose to do to him in punishment of the resistance of his will. 

 "Your ladyship's repentant and unhappy servant, "FITZWILLIAM CLARKE. "

Bettina, in her breathless reading of this letter, had forgotten thatshe was not alone. As she finished it and thrust it back into itsenvelope she glanced toward the window, and there saw Mr. Cortlin'sfigure half hid by the heavy curtains. 

"Mr. Cortlin, " she said, in a tone which summoned him quickly to herside, "I wish to ask if you or any other person have any knowledge ofthe contents of this letter. "

"I can only answer for myself, my lady. I have not. It was deliveredto me sealed as you have found it, and no hint of its purpose toldme. "

"Had you a personal knowledge and acquaintance with this Mr. Clarke?"she asked next. 

"I had, my lady. He was in the confidence of his late lordship, whointrusted to him many of his private affairs. "

"The man was under some great obligation to Lord Hurdly, was he not?"

"So I have understood, my lady. Formerly he was in the army, and Ihave heard that there was some dark story about him. I have evenheard cheating at cards attributed to him, and it was said that LordHurdly's influence and friendship were all that saved him. The storywas hushed up, but he resigned. "

Bettina scarcely followed these last words. A sense of sickeningconfusion made her head spin round. The revelation of this letter wastoo much for her. The past possessed her like a blighting spell thatshe could never hope to shake off, and the knowledge which had cometo her through this letter added a thousandfold to its bitterness. 

As to the future, she dared not try to see a step before her feet. Togo through life with the consciousness of this wrong to Horaceunexplained was a thought at which she shuddered. Yet to explain itunder existing circumstances was impossible. The agitation of thisinterview had almost overwhelmed her. Mr. Cortlin saw it, and, ringing for her maid, silently withdrew. When Nora came she foundher mistress pale as death, and very nearly lost to consciousness. 

After that interview, so significant for her in so many ways, Bettina began to long to get away--quite, quite away into anotherworld--before the master of Kingdon Hall should have set foot in thisone. She was doing her best to take his place and act for him in suchmatters as required immediate attention and decision. She could notrefuse to do this, but she was anxious to be gone, to be quite toherself, so that she might the better look life in the face and seewhat could be done with the wretched remnant of her existence. Shehad given up all idea of making her residence in England, and therewas no other country in which she had any deep interest, save for themournful interest that attached to her mother's grave. 

She had asked the lawyer to say to Lord Hurdly that she would, at hisrequest, delay her departure for America a little while, but that shewas extremely anxious to get off as soon as it would be possible. Shealso begged that he would cable when he was coming, as soon as hecould make his plans to do so. 

The days were active ones for Bettina in many new and serious ways. There were numerous business matters which she had to be consultedabout, and these gave her an insight into the affairs of the estatewhich showed her far more clearly than ever what need there was forreform, and revived in her her ardent longing to have a hand in thesereforms. But from all such thoughts as these she turned awayheart-sickened. 

There were certain visits from Lord Hurdly's relations which had tobe received, an ordeal that would have tried Bettina sorely had itnot been that she made these the occasion for the investigation ofHorace Spotswood's character, nature, actions, interests, habits, etc. , which the fateful letter had recommended her to make. She hadnever had one instant's doubt of the truth of every word contained inthat letter, but it was a sort of bitter pleasure to talk to thesepeople and draw forth the manifestations of their delight at havingHorace for the head of the family, and their confidence that thisfact would result in pleasure and benefit to them all. From theirardent appreciation of him Bettina got at the fact of their universaldislike for the Lord Hurdly recently laid at rest with his ancestors. 

Yet it was a relief when all the guests were gone and she was leftalone to the mingled sweet and bitter feelings of her last days asmistress of Kingdon Hall. The worldly spirit in Bettina, diminishedas it was, had not wholly disappeared, and never would as long as shewas young and healthy and so beautiful. These attributes carried withthem a certain love of display, and although it was a trial to beborne with dignity, it was still a trial to her to think of losingforever the splendid place which she had for a short year or two heldin the great world. 

CHAPTER XII

Bettina was writing in the library one morning when her attention wasarrested by the sound of an approaching footstep. The next moment aservant announced, "Lord Hurdly. "

At this name she started violently. So long accustomed to associateit with one person, she forgot for the instant that another bore itnow. As she rose, startled and expectant, through the portière heldback by the servant there entered a man whose sharp dissimilarity tothe image in her mind made her catch her breath. 

The next second she knew that it was Horace, and realized that shewas trembling from head to foot. The breadth of the room was betweenthem, for he had paused just within the door, nodding to the servantto withdraw. 

He stood there an instant in silence. 

Perhaps she was no more startled by the surprise which the sight ofhim occasioned than was he at the sight of her; but the quality ofthe surprise was different. It was her beauty, her so far more thanrecollected beauty, which had arrested him and held him spellbound. He had left her sick with grief about her mother, the color fadedfrom her cheeks, her eyes dulled with weeping. There had been, moreover, in her expression an apathy which his ardent words hadfailed to do away with. Besides these inherent things, the extrinsicpoints were glaringly a contrast to the present ones. Then hersomewhat too slight figure had been dressed in gowns of village makeand fit, and her lovely hair had been carelessly wound up, withoutregard to fashion or effect. 

Now he saw confronting him a woman whom nature had endowed with arare beauty, and for whom art had also done its best in the matter ofoutward adornment. True, she was clad in plain unrelieved black fromhead to foot, but no other costume could have so exquisitelydisplayed her glowing loveliness of coloring or the pure correctnessof her outlines. 

During the few seconds in which they stood looking at each other shehad perceived also a great change in him. It was of a very differentcharacter, but it made all the more a strong appeal to her, for hewas mysteriously aged. Not only had the Eastern sun turned to bronzethe once ruddy hues of his skin, but he had also lost flesh, and hishair was getting streaks of gray in it. His figure, too, was sparer, but it looked more powerful than ever; and still more apparent wasthe added look of strength in the familiar and yet subtly alteredface. 

There was no pause long enough to be embarrassing before he spoke. 

"I hope you will excuse me, " he said (and, oh, the voice was alteredtoo, unless she had forgotten that rich, vibrating tone in it!), "forcoming upon you so suddenly. I know I should have given warning, butI had what I think a sufficient reason for not doing so. I am hopingearnestly that you will agree with me when you have heard it. "

"Pray sit down, " said Bettina, speaking mechanically, and from themere instinct of observance of ordinary forms. She had no soonerspoken than she remembered that it was his own house, of which shewas doing the honors to him. If he remembered it also, he gave nosign, for he took the chair she indicated, with the conventional"Thank you" of an ordinary visitor. 

Bettina also had sunk into her chair, and sat quite still, with herwhite hands clasped together on the dense black of her dress. Shecould not speak, yet she dreaded lest, in the silence, he might hearthe beating of her heart. Its soft thuds were plainly audible to her, and all the blood from her cheeks seemed to have gone there. 

"In any event, I should have been obliged to come to England soon, "said her companion, "but I should have put it off longer had I notfelt it important to come on your account. "

Bettina's eyes expressed a questioning surprise. 

"On my account?" she said, vaguely. 

"Certainly, " was the prompt, decided answer. "The only responsibilitywhich comes near to me in my new and strange position is that ofprotecting the honor and credit of the name I have assumed. These, you will excuse me for saying, have been seriously, I may even sayshamefully, disregarded by the terms of the late Lord Hurdly's will. "

Bettina's eyes had still that vague and puzzled look. She had not theleast comprehension of what he meant. Could he be resenting the factthat, so far as it was practicable for him to do so, his cousin haddisinherited him? But no, that was impossible. As she remained silentand expectant, he went on:

"Since he chose to disregard the duty and dignity of his position, itis for me, who must now bear his name, to repair that wrong so far asit is in my power to do so. It is for that explicit purpose that I amnow come to speak to you. "

Still Bettina looked perplexed. 

"I don't understand exactly in what way the will has displeased you, "she said. "There was a great deal of it that I hardly took in. But inany case there is nothing for me to do. As you know, my services havenot been asked, and certainly there is no place for them. I havenothing whatever to do with the executing of Lord Hurdly's will. Indeed, my plans are all made to return to America immediately. "

"I cannot be surprised at your decision, " he said, with a certainresentment in his voice which she did not understand. "Certainly itwould be natural for you to wish to shake off the dust of this landfrom your feet. But wherever you may choose to live for the future, it is my duty to see that you live as becomes the widow of LordHurdly, and it is for this purpose that I have hastened to get herebefore you should be gone. "

All was now clear, and with the illumination which had come to herfrom these words of his the color flooded her pale cheeks. Her firstsensation was of keenly wounded pride. 

"You might have spared yourself such haste, " she said. "If you hadtaken the slight trouble to write to me, I could have saved you thelong and hurried journey. So far from wishing to have more money thanwhat I am legally entitled to, it is my purpose and decision to takenothing. I have of my own enough to live upon in the simple way inwhich I shall live for the future. Did you think so ill of me as tosuppose that I would wish to grasp at more than my husband saw fit toleave me--or to take money at your hands?"

It was her instinct of pride which had caused her to use the words"my husband, " which another instinct at the same moment urged her torepudiate. But pride was now the uppermost feeling of her heart, andit supplied her with a sudden and sufficient strength for this hour'sneed. 

"This is in no sense a question between you and your late husband, "said Horace. (Was there not in him also a certain hesitation at thatword, and did not the same feeling as in her compel him to its use?)"Nor is it a question between you and me. The obviously simple issueis what propriety demands as to the manner in which the widow ofLord Hurdly is provided for. It belongs to my own sense of thedignity of my position that the late Lord Hurdly's widow should besituated as becomes her name and title, and I am determined to seethat this is done. "

"Determined, " she said, a certain defiance in her quiet tone, "is notthe word for this case. You may determine as you choose, but whatwill it avail if I determine not to touch a penny belonging to eitherthe late or the present Lord Hurdly? You are very careful of thedignity of your position. I must also look to mine, which you seemstrangely to have forgotten. "

His expression showed her plainly that these words of hers had cutdeep into his consciousness. A swift compunction seized her heart, but her pride was still in the supremacy, and enabled her to stiflethe feeling. 

"I have not forgotten it, " he said. "It is because I have beenmindful of the dignity of your position that I have urged this thingupon you. The conditions of the will need not be generally known ifyou will accept the right and proper income, which I wish, above allthings, to see you have. Can you not believe me sincere in my desireto remove the indignity put upon you by a member of my family, andthe bearer before me of a name and position of which it has nowbecome my duty to maintain the credit? And can you not believe mejust enough and kind enough to wish to see this done for your sake aswell as for my own?"

Bettina's face continued proudly hard. If the gentleness of hercompanion's expression, the kindness of his manner, the delicaterespect of his tones, made any appeal to her woman's heart, theall-potency of her pride enabled her to conceal it. But the strugglebetween the two feelings at war within her made a desperate demandupon her strength. She felt that she would do well to put an end tothis interview as soon as practicable. With this purpose she said, abruptly:

"I am willing to do full justice to your motives, but they cannotaffect my action. My mind is quite made up. I shall return to Americaat once, and there the credit of Lord Hurdly's name will not sufferany hurt, since I shall be practically out of the world. Certainly Ishall be forever removed from the world in which his life will bespent. Do not think that I shall regret it. I shall not. Myexperience of your world has shown me that the mere possession ofmoney, rank, position, influence, is powerless to bring happiness. Ithought once that if I should come to have these I could get pleasureand satisfaction from them, but I was wrong. My nature inherentlyloved importance and display, but I mistook the unessential for theessential. If I had had all these external things, together with thesatisfaction of the inward needs, they might have made me happy. Inthemselves I have proved them to be worthless. "

She was compelled to say these words. The intimate knowledge of thecharacter of her husband which had come to her after marriage madeher long that Horace should know that had she really comprehended theman as he perhaps had known him all the while, she never could havebecome his wife. It was impossible for her to tell him this, but shecaught eagerly at her present opportunity of letting him know thatshe had had no duty toward her late husband beyond the mere formalobligation of her wifehood. She could not bear Horace to think thatshe had loved him. Even now, under the softening influence that deathimparts, that thought was intolerable to her. This was quite asidefrom his treatment of her in his will, which, indeed, was strangelylittle to her. It was the memory of the crafty and common natureunder that polished exterior that made her recoil from the thoughtof him now. 

If this feeling was strengthened by the contrast of the personalitynow present to her gaze, how could she be blamed? Surely the man whostood before her might have seemed to answer any woman's heart'sdesire as lover, companion, friend. How her conscience smote her forthe doubts she had once had of him! When she remembered whosetreachery it was that had created these doubts, there was hate in herheart. 

She did not wish him to see the expression of this feeling in herface, so she rose abruptly and turned from him. As if he understoodher, he rose also, and crossed the room to the desk at which she hadbeen seated on his entrance. 

Here were heaped papers and memoranda connected with the Kingdon Hallestates. Evidently he recognized their character, for he said:

"At least you have not refused to give me the help that I asked. I'vebeen talking to Kirke, and he tells me you have been taking aninterest in the affairs of the tenants. Thank you for this. "

In an instant the bitterness in Bettina's heart was changed into anew and softer emotion. She saw the opportunity of effecting now whatshe had been so powerless to effect in the past. Forgettingeverything else, she came quickly to his side and took up one of thepapers. This was in her own handwriting, and was a memorandum of somelength. She held it away from him a moment, her face flushing, and alook of hesitation showing on it. 

"I never intended that you should see this, " she said. "I began itlong ago, and had to put it by; but recently I have taken it upagain, without really knowing why, except that all my whole heart wasin it. "

"What is it?" he asked. "I beg you to let me see it. "

"No, " she said. "It is not my affair, and I must remember that. Itconcerns some most deplorable facts which I have discoveredconcerning the management of the Kingdon Hall estates, but--"

"Then it is my affair, " he interrupted her; "and since you know whatthese abuses are, and have looked into them, you surely will notdeprive me of the help that you could give. I ask it as a favor. "

Still Bettina hesitated, but he could see that she was longing tocomply. He could imagine, also, what it was that held her back. 

"Not as a favor to me, " he hastened to add; "I appeal to you in thename of these poor tenants, who have been so long neglected andabused. This is no new thing to me. I have seen it going on from thetime I was a boy here, and I can truly say that almost the onlypleasure that I have looked forward to in succeeding to the estateshas been the righting of these wrongs. Surely you will not refuse tohelp me to do this. "

For answer, Bettina turned upon him a pair of ardent eyes that swamwith tears. 

"Oh, are you really going to do this blessed, glorious thing?" shesaid. She had forgotten herself for the moment, and was thinking onlyof them--the wretched beings whose wrongs had so long oppressed her, and who, it seemed, were to have justice and care and kindness atlast. "You don't know how hideous the condition of these poorcreatures is, and how impossible it has been for me to do anything inthe past. To think there is some one who will let me tell about it atlast and give the help that is so needed! But you can do nothing withsuch a steward as Kirke. His heart is as cold as ice. "

"Kirke shall go at once. I have long believed that he was unworthy ofthe position he holds. If you will give me the benefit of yourinvestigation and insight into the situation you will save me muchtrouble, and you can also feel that these poor people will be thatmuch nearer to having their distress relieved. "

At these prompt, determined words her heart swelled, and again tearsbrimmed her eyes. 

"Oh, thank God that you will help them!" she said. "Now that I amsure of that, I can go away contented. It would have broken my heartto leave them so--yet I had not dared to hope that I could doanything. You have no idea of the extent of it. It will take a greatdeal of money to give them new houses, proper sanitary conditions, and all the things they need. "

"Never mind that--only tell me what to do. "

"But _can_ you do it? I know how comparatively limited you are as tomoney. "

"Comparatively only, " he said, reassuringly. "I have much less thanmy predecessor had, but fortunately I have little pride and simpletastes. I can let the place in Leicestershire, where the hunting isgood, and I can also lease the town house if necessary. Pray considerthat the question of money is disposed of. I assure you that does notenter into it. "

Thus invited, Bettina sat down before the desk, while he took a seatnear by, and with the papers before her she went fully into thequestions at issue, showing a grasp of the situation which soontestified to her companion that she had studied it to some purpose. All the changes which she recommended were approved, but more thanonce his attention was diverted from the purpose of the future to anindignant contempt for the delinquencies of the past. It was hard forhim to constrain himself to silence as to this, but Bettina thankedhim in her heart for the successful effort which he made. She was tooabject in her sense of compunction for her own past to feel inclinedto severe judgment of another, and in her joy that these cherishedplans of hers were to be immediately realized she was able to put byfor the moment more personal trouble. She spoke with a fervor thatmade her beautiful face wellnigh adorable in its kind compassion, andwhen she would describe the wrongs and hardships of these poor simplefolk her eyes at times would fill with tears of pity and her voicewould tremble. 

She knew it not, but in this hour she was making a new revelation ofherself to Horace, which answered to the need of his maturer natureas marvellously as the Bettina of old had satisfied the needs of theardent young fellow that he was then. If he remembered that Bettinaonly as being beautiful and beloved, he saw in this one a far noblerand more perfect beauty, as he recognized in her qualities moreworthy to command love. 

Here they were alone together, in a mood of extraordinary opennessand sincerity, for they were thinking the same thoughts ofhelpfulness to others, and there was not an atom of the embarrassmentof their personal relationship to come between them now. It was notsingular, therefore, that he, for his part, should have longed tospeak to her, heart to heart, of that mysterious thing which haddivided them, and to tell her that, in spite of all--in spite offacts that had been flaunted before his eyes in society, in thepublic prints, and everywhere--he had never quite succeeded instilling a small voice in his soul which had continued to declarethat the young girl to whom he had so passionately given his love wasless fickle and unfaithful than these facts had shown her to be. Now, more than ever, this insistent voice repeated itself. How he longedto ask her the simple question! But then came common-sense, anddemanded, What question? Was there any question which he could askher to which the fact and conditions of her marriage to Lord Hurdlywere not a final answer?

As for Bettina, she had also her longings to take advantage ofthat interview, when they were speaking together in such friendlyconverse, by telling him of the letter of confession which she hadreceived, but pride here took the place of common-sense, and badeher to be silent. 

They had gone over all the papers together now. There was no longerany excuse for lingering. He had given and repeated his assurancesthat all these abuses which she so lamented should be remedied, andshe had thanked him again and again. Both felt that the time to parthad come. And yet both felt an impulse to postpone it. It was herconsciousness of this feeling which now made Bettina act. There wasan influence from his very presence which alarmed her. 

"I must go now, " she said, her voice a shade unsteady. 

"No, it is I who am going, " was the answer. "I return at once toLondon, as I have neither the right nor the desire to intrude uponyour privacy. I wish to say, however, that I do not accept yourdecision as to your future income. I beg you to give my wish, myearnest request, your consideration. I shall write to you. PerhapsI can put the case more clearly so. At all events, I shall try. "

Bettina shook her head. 

"You will simply waste your time, " she said. "Nothing can change mefrom my purpose of going at once to America, with no income but myown little inheritance, and taking up my old life there. "

The word inheritance had suggested to both of them the thought of hermother. They saw the consciousness in each other's eyes. 

"How can you take up your old life there, " he said, "when thepresence which made its interest, its very atmosphere, is gone? It isenough to kill you--and you will not have money to live elsewhere. "

The keen solicitude in voice and eyes could not be mistaken. Itwas evident that he cared for what she might suffer--what mightultimately become of her. The thought was rapture to her starvedand lonely heart. 

"I must bear it, " she said, trying to control her voice as well asher face. "Life will be no harder to me there than elsewhere. "

"You are wrong. In no other spot on earth will the loss of yourmother so oppress you. I know what that has been to you, by myconsciousness of what that possession was. And remember one thing, which gives me some right to speak to you as I am doing now--I lovedyour mother and she also loved me. "

At these words and the tones that accompanied them Bettina's strengthgave way. She dropped back in the seat from which she had risen, and, hiding her face in her hands, burst into tears. 

She could not see the effect of her weeping on the man, who stillstood motionless and erect before her. She did not know that thetears sprang into his eyes also, and that the whispered utterance ofher name was on his lips. 

He heard it, however, though she did not, and the knowledge that hehad lost control of himself made him turn away and walk to the otherend of the room. 

When he had stood there a few seconds, with his back turned, he heardher voice, somewhat shaken, though with the accent of recoveredself-possession, saying, in a tone of summons, "Lord Hurdly--"

An inward revolt sprung up at being so addressed by her. The name hadonly sinister associations for him in any case, but to hear it fromBettina's lips filled him with a sort of rage. 

"Lord Hurdly, " she said again, and this time her voice had gained insteadiness, until it sounded mechanical and hard. 

"I wish to express to you, " she said, when he had drawn a littlenearer, "my thanks for your kind intentions concerning me. I can onlyrepeat, however, that my decision is quite fixed, and that I shallcarry out the plans I have made known to you. Do not urge me further. Do not write to me. It will be useless. Let me go back to the lifefrom which you never should have taken me. You were mistaken inme from the first, and I have been nothing but a trouble and ahinderance to you. I am sorry. I ask you to forget it all if you can. But, above all things, I ask, if you would really help me and serveme in the one way in which I can be helped by you, that you willconsider that the present moment closes our intercourse in every way, and will show me the respect, little as I deserve it, of proving tome that in this one instance, at least, you believe me capable ofacting with rectitude and dignity, and of meaning what I say. "

He did not answer her. He only stood profoundly still and looked ather. That gaze, the searching, scrutinizing power of it, made herafraid. Trembling with terror of what she might reveal in answer toit, she turned suddenly and vanished through a door behind her, leaving him standing there, and with a consciousness that his keeneyes were on her yet, reading what she so ardently desired toconceal. 

Once in her own room, she locked the door, and then ran swiftly tothe window, which gave her a view of the terrace below. 

There she saw waiting a hired trap, with its driver drowsing in thesunlight. As she looked, she saw the man from whom she had justparted come rather slowly down the steps and get into the shabbyconveyance. His hat-brim hid the upper part of his face, but she sawthe stern set of his jaw, the bronzed pallor of his cheeks. 

She watched the little trap until it had disappeared behind somegreat oaks, which were one of the glories of Kingdon Hall. In astrange way she had come to love this stately old place, and it gaveher a pang to feel that she was about to look her last on it. Thisfeeling, however, was subordinated to another, which literally toreher heart; this was that, by the use of every means of thought andaction within her power, she had quite determined never to run therisk of seeing this man again. 

She knew that her only safety lay in flight, and she set to work atonce to make her preparations to fly. 

CHAPTER XIII

In the days that followed, Bettina's only resource was in bodilyactivity. She wrote at once and took her passage on a steamer to sailfor America one week from the day of Horace's visit. Then, withNora's help, she set to work to do her packing. The French maid wassent away, and her lady refused all other offers of service. 

Her first impulse had been to leave all her wardrobe and personalbelongings behind her, and this she would undoubtedly have done butfor the counteracting instinct to remove from any possibility ofthe sight of the future occupant of these apartments any smallestreminder of the late Lady Hurdly. No doubt another bearer of thatname would soon be installed in them, and to her the least reminderof the beautiful Bettina who had once so strangely come to it wouldnaturally be offensive. 

With this thought in her mind, she eagerly helped Nora to collectand pack away every trace of her ever having lived here. One recordof the fact it was out of her power to remove, and this was thefull-length portrait of her, in all the state and magnificence of herproud position, which hung in the picture-gallery, and which Horacehad never seen. Neither had he ever seen her in such a guise, and, inspite of her, there was a certain exultation in her breast when sheimagined the moment of his first beholding it. Another moment, equally charged with mingled pride and pain, was the anticipation ofthe time when the next bearer of the name and title should come tohave her portrait hung there. No Lady Hurdly who had come beforecould bear the comparison with her, and she knew it. Was it not, therefore, reasonable to believe that those who followed her mightsuffer as much by the contrast?

But these feelings of satisfaction in the consciousness of herappropriateness to such a setting as Kingdon Hall were onlymomentary, and many of those busy hours of work were interspersedwith lonely fits of weeping, when even Nora was excluded from hermistress's room. The good creature, who had never been burdened withmentality, went steadily on with her work and asked no questions;yet it was not unknown to her that Bettina's unhappiness depended notaltogether upon the fact of her recent widowhood, or even upon thedisastrous consequences of it in her future life. 

Two or three times Nora had brought to her mistress letters in ahandwriting which she had not forgotten, and although she made nosign of suspicion, she did connect these letters with Bettina'sunhappiness. 

Certainly it was no wonder that such letters as she received fromHorace now should have so desperately sad an influence on her. Inthem he begged, argued, pleaded with her to grant him this onerequest, even using her mother's name to touch and change her. Indeed, there was a tone in these letters that she could scarcelyunderstand. Keenly conscious as she was of the injustice of which shehad been guilty toward him, it seemed incredible that he could soignore it as to manifest any personal interest in her on her ownaccount. She even felt a certain regret that he could so lose sightof this flagrant fact. It had come to be a vital need to her to havethe ideal of Horace in her life. It was now almost more essential toher to have something to admire than something to love. Under theseconditions she felt a certain sense of disappointment in him, thathe could seem to forget the deep wrong she had done him. And yet, inutter contradiction to this feeling, his kind ignoring of it soothedher tortured heart. 

She sent no answer to these letters. She even hoped that by takingthis course she might make the impression on him that she did notread them. This was her design and her consolation, even while sheread and re-read them with a devouring eagerness. She never pausedto ask herself why this was. She avoided any investigation intoher feeling for Horace. It was enough that, in spite of all theself-accusation and self-abasement which she carried in her heart, this being who knew the very worst of her could still think herworthy of kindness and respect. When she thought of this she felt asif she could go on her knees to him. 

One fear was constantly before her mind, and that was that he mightseek a personal interview with her again. She dared not trust herselfto this, instinctively as she longed for it. It was, therefore, withpositive terror in her breast that she heard one morning from Norathat Lord Hurdly was in the house, having come down by train fromLondon. 

"I cannot see him--I will not!" she cried, in an impassioned protest, which only Nora could have seen her portray. 

"He did not ask to see you, " said Nora. "I met him in the hall, andhe told me to say to you that he required some papers which were inthe library, and that he would, with your permission, like the use ofthe room for a few hours. He told me to say that he had had luncheon, and would not disturb you in any way. "

At these words Bettina felt a sinking of the heart, which was herfirst consciousness of the sudden hope she had been entertaining. This made her reproach herself angrily for such weakness and wantof pride, and with this feeling in her heart, she said, abruptly, "There is no answer to Lord Hurdly's message. "

"I beg your pardon, " said Nora, hesitatingly, "but I am quite sure heis expecting an answer. "

"I say there is no answer, " Bettina repeated, with a suddensternness. "Lord Hurdly is in his own house. He can come and go as hechooses. His asking permission of me is a mere farce. "

Nora ventured to say no more, and withdrew in silence, leaving hermistress alone with the consciousness that Horace was in the veryhouse with her, and that at any moment she might, if she chose, goto him and tell him all the truth. 

And why did she not? That old feeling between them was quite dead. She had a right to clear herself from a condemnation which she didnot deserve--a right, at least, to make known the palliatingcircumstances in the case. In any other conceivable instance shewould not have hesitated to do so. What was it, then, which made itso impossible in this instance?

The answer to this question leaped up in her heart, and so struggledfor recognition that she had an instinct to run away from herselfthat she might not have to face it. She wanted to close her eyes, sothat she might shut out the truth that was before her mental vision, and to put her hands over her ears, that she might not hear the voicethat clamored to her heart. 

Surely a part of this feeling was the compunction which she felt forhaving wronged him. That she might openly acknowledge. But that wasnot all. She was aware of something more in her own heart. Even thatshe might have stifled, and, supported by her pride, might haveconcisely told him of the error under which she had acted. But therewas still another thing that entered in. This was a faint, delicious, disturbing, unacknowledged to her own heart, suspicion about Horacehimself. He had said nothing to warrant her in the belief that hisanxiety about her future was anything more than the satisfactionof his own self-respect, but her heart had said things which shetrembled to hear, and there was a certain evidence of her eyes. Inleaving her the other day--or rather at the moment of her hurriedleaving of him--he had looked at her strangely. 

That look had lingered in her consciousness, and without effort shecould recall it now. In doing so her cheeks flushed, her heart beatquicker. She felt tempted to woo the sweet sensation, and by everyeffort of imagination to quicken it into keener life, but theseductiveness of this temptation terrified her. 

She started from her seat and looked about her. How long had she satthere musing--dreaming dreams which every instinct of womanly pridecompelled her to renounce? She wondered if he had gone. Once morecame that mingled hope and fear that he might seek an interview withher before leaving. The hope was stronger than ever, and for thatreason the fear was stronger too. 

A footstep in the hall arrested her attention, and she stoodpalpitating, with her hand upon her heart. It passed, leaving onlysilence; but it had been a useful warning to her. Suppose, in herpresent mood, Horace should make his way to her sitting-room andknock for admittance. Would she--could she--send him away, with herheart crying out for the relief of speech and confession to him asit was doing now?

With a hurried impulse she caught up a light wrap of dense blackmaterial, and passed rapidly into the hall. Her impulse was to go outof doors, to get away from the house until he should have left it;but in order to do this from her apartments, she must pass by thelibrary, and this she feared to do. So she changed her purpose, andstepping softly that no one might hear her, she entered the longpicture-gallery, and closed the door behind her with great care tomake no noise. Many of the blinds were closed, but down at the farend where her picture hung there was some light, and with animpulsive desire to look at this picture, with a view to theimpression that it might make on Horace when he should see it, sheglided noiselessly down the room toward it. 

The full-length portraits to right and left of her loomed vaguelythrough the half-light. She glanced at each one as she passed slowlyalong, with the feeling that she was taking leave of them forever. Inthis way her gaze had been diverted from the direction of her ownportrait, and she was within a few yards of it when, looking straightahead of her, she saw between the picture and herself the figure of aman. 

He stood as still as any canvas on the wall, and gazed upward to theface before him. Bettina, as startled as if she had seen a ghost inthis dim-lighted room, stood equally still behind him, her hand overher parted lips, as if to stifle back the cry that rose. 

And still he stood and gazed and gazed, while she, as if petrified, stood there behind him, for moments that seemed to her endless. 

Presently she saw his shoulders raised by the inhalation of adeep-drawn breath, which escaped him in an audible sigh. The soundrecalled her. Turning with a wild instinct of escape, she fled downthe long room, her black cape streaming behind her, and vanished inthe shadows out of which she had emerged. 

Somehow, she never knew how, she let herself out into the hall, andthence she sped through the long corridor, down the stairs, past theopen door of the vacant library, and out into the grounds. She metno one, and when at last she paused in the dense shadows of somethick shrubbery, she had the satisfaction of feeling that she hadbeen unobserved. Here, too, she was quite secluded, and in the effortto collect herself she sat down on the grass, her knees drawn up, herforehead resting on them, her clasped hands strained about them. 

How long she remained so, while her leaping heart grew graduallycalmer, she did not know. 

A sound aroused her from her lethargy. It was the clear whistle ofsome one calling a dog. She knew who it was before a voice said, "Here, Comrade--come to me, sir. "

The voice was not far off, but the shrubbery was between it and her. She would have felt safe but for the dog. She did not move a muscle. 

The footsteps were drawing near her, and now bounding leaps of adog could be heard also. Both passed, and she began to breathemore freely, when what she had dreaded came. The dog, stopping hisgambols, began to sniff about him. The next moment he had boundedthrough the shrubbery and was yelping gleefully at her side. 

Instantly she sprang to her feet and stood there, slight and tall andstraight in her long black wrap, the image of pallid woe. All theblood had left her face, and her eyes were wide and terrified. 

It was so that she appeared to the man who, parting the branches ofthe thick foliage, stood silent and surprised before her. She mighthave been the very spirit of widowhood, so desolate she looked. 

Raising his hat automatically, he said, in a strained, unnaturalvoice, "Can I do anything for you?"

She tried to speak, but speech eluded her. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said, "but can I do anything for you, LadyHurdly?"

Oh, that name! She had had an instinct to free herself at last fromthe burden she had borne, and to tell him, in answer to his question, that he could do this for her--he could hear her tell of the wretchedtreachery by which she had been led to do him such a wrong, and ofthe misery of its consequences in her life. But the utterance of thatname recalled her to herself. It reminded her not only who she was, but also who and by what means he was also. 

[Illustration: "THE VERY SPIRIT OF WIDOWHOOD"]

"Leave me, " she said, throwing out her hand with a repellent gesture. "I have gone through much, and I am not strong. If you have anymercy, any kindness, leave me to myself. It is not proper, perhaps, that I should ask any favor of you, but I do. I beg you not to speakor write to me again until I have done what must be done here, andgone away from this place and this country forever. "

There was an instant's silence, during which Comrade nestled close toher and tried to lick her hand, all the time looking longingly atHorace. Then a voice, constrained and low, said, sadly: "I will grantyour favor, Lady Hurdly. What of the favor I have asked of you?"

"I cannot. It is impossible, " she cried. "Surely I have beenhumiliated enough without that. It is the one thing you have in yourpower to do for me, never to mention that subject again. "

"I shall obey you, " he said; "but in return I ask that you will notforget my request of you, though you have forced me to silence. Whilea wrong so gross as that goes unrepaired I can never rest. Rememberthis, and that you have it in your power to relieve me of thisburden. Now I will go. "

He turned and vanished through the shrubbery, Comrade after him. 

Bettina sank upon the ground, covering her face with the long draperyof her cape. Suddenly she felt a touch. Her heart leaped, and sheuncovered her head, showing the light of a great hope in her eyes. 

But it was only Comrade, nestling close to her, with human-eyedcompassion. She threw her arms around him, and pressed her faceagainst his shaggy side. 

"Did he send you to me, Comrade, " she whispered, "because he knewthat I was miserable and alone?"

The gentle creature whined and wagged his tail as if in desperateeffort to reply. 

"I know he did! I know he did!" she cried. "Oh, how kind and good andunrevengeful he is! And I can never tell him the truth. I can nevertell that to any human being, Comrade, but I'll tell it to you. " Shedrew his head close to her lips and whispered a few words in his ear. 

Then she sprang to her feet, a great light in her eyes, as she threwher arms upward with an exultant movement, and cried, as if to someunseen witness up above, "I have said it!"

CHAPTER XIV

After this Bettina went about her preparations for departure with aspirit of calm and collectedness which came from the knowledge ofherself, which she had at last fully accepted. Hundreds of times inthese last few days her mother's words had come back to her: "The daywill come when you will know what you are incapable even of imaginingnow--what is the one perfect love and complete union that can ever bebetween two human beings. .. . Test the world, if you will--and yournature demands that you shall test it--but you will live to say oneday: 'My mother knew. My mother's words have come true. '"

It was even so. She knew now, at last, and the knowledge had come toher when inexorable necessity compelled her to separate herselfforever from the man who, not suddenly, but by a system of gradualevolution--from the crude emotions of her girlhood through thegrowing consciousness of later years--had now manifested himself toher as all her heart could desire, all her spirit could crave, allher mature womanhood could need. She realized that he had long beenthis to her, but with a thick veil between herself and him which hadhid the truth from her. The reading of the letter given her by Mr. Cortlin had torn that veil apart, and she saw him as he was, the manof her ideal. She did not, at the same moment, see her own heart asit was. This vision had come to her with her renewed intercourse withHorace, who had appeared before her now the ripe product of the noblepossibilities which she had vaguely perceived in him once, when shehad cared too little to think deeply of him in any way. 

Oh, to have kept the place she had once had at his dear side! To haveshared with him the privations of a life that would have been narrowand obscure indeed compared with the one which she had known in itsstead, but, oh, how rich in the way she had now come to count riches!

Thoughts like these she had to fight against. Perhaps in the end theywould conquer, and would hunt her to the death; but now, until shecould get out of the country, she must put them down. 

She had only a few days left, and she determined to devote a part ofthese to some farewell visits among the tenants. As far as she hadbeen able to do, she had made friends with these poor folk, and hadgiven what she could to relieve their necessities; but, in comparisonwith what was needed, the money at her command had seemed pitifullysmall. 

When Lady Hurdly, dressed in her deep widow's mourning, descended thesteps of her stately residence and entered the waiting carriage, whose black-liveried servants saluted her respectfully, she had aconsciousness that servants and tenants alike must feel a certaincommiseration for the great lady, such as they had known her, nowsunk to poverty as well as obscurity. This feeling made her manner alittle colder and prouder then usual as she sat alone in the sunshineof a lovely autumn morning and was driven between the beautifulEnglish hedgerows and through the fertile fields which she hadlearned to love. How soon would all be changed for her! And changedto what? The isolated exile of a place filled with the hauntingmemories of the past--her mother, whom she had lost forever, and heryoung lover, who was as absolutely lost to her. 

Strangely to herself, it was the latter that she felt to be thekeener pain. To the former she was reconciled; as we do, sooner orlater, reconcile ourselves to the inevitable; but the supreme stingof this other grief was that she felt it need not have been. Sittingthere in her carriage, the object of much eager attention, she feltso desolate and wretched that it was with difficulty that she keptback her tears. 

She dreaded the ordeal before her. She felt that she must take leaveof these people and say a word of kindness to them, since she was somiserably unable to do more; but these visits were always depressing. Since the tenants had discovered that they had a sympathetic listenerin her, they had luxuriated in the pouring out of their sorrows. Ofcourse they had not ventured to accuse her husband of being connectedwith them, but the lesson was one that he who ran might read. 

So, when the carriage stopped at the door of the first cottage, shehad made up her mind that she could not stand much in the way ofthese miserable confidences to-day, and would make her visits short. 

But when she entered the house she was conscious of a total change ofatmosphere. Every creature in the room gave proof of this, accordingto his or her kind. The old woman who sat knitting by the hearthlooked up at her with a dim twinkle in the eyes that had heretoforeexpressed nothing but a consciousness that things were bad andgetting worse; and the children, who, indeed, had taken little countof the depression of their elders, now manifestly shared their relieffrom it. It was their mother who, with a strange smile of hope on hercareworn face and a fervent clasping together of her work-worn hands, made the explanation to the visitor. 

But this explanation, when it had been heard, was almost more of anordeal to Bettina than the one which she had feared. Certainly itmade a stronger demand upon her power of self-control. For thekey-note of it all was Horace. He had been here before her, and haddone, or promised to have done, all that she had so passionatelywished to do. His name was on their lips continually; even the littlechildren lisped it. It was "his lordship this" and "his lordshipthat, " in a way that furnished a strange contrast to the studiedavoidance of the word under former conditions. 

Somehow, glad as she was, it was hard for Bettina to bear. In themidst of the accounts of what his lordship had done and said, andhow he was to right all their wrongs and make everybody happy, shegot up and took a hurried leave. 

What was the use of her staying here? What was a little sympatheticfeeling, more or less, to these wretchedly poor creatures? It wastheir material needs that they wished satisfied, and a stronger handthan hers was at work on these. And if--as seemed so plain, as shecould so well imagine from her own knowledge of him--he was able andwilling to give them the sympathy and interest as well as thepractical help they needed, where was any use for her? There wasnone--nobody needed her, she told herself, desperately, and thesooner she lost herself in the oblivion of America the better. 

Each cottage that she visited showed the same metamorphosis in itsinmates. A lame boy to whom she had once given a pair of crutches hada new wheel-chair, and the crutches were thrown in a corner. A sickchild for whom she had bought some prepared food, which it had notbeen able to take, had been sent off to a hospital for regulartreatment, and its poor mother was enjoying the first rest of manyyears, with a consciousness that the child was better off than itcould possibly be with her. An old man who had been long bedridden, and to whom she had sent some clean bedclothes, had been moved intoanother room with complete new furnishings, while the occupant ofthis room had been sent elsewhere, so that the distressing sense ofover-crowdedness for sick and well was entirely gone from the house. 

In almost every cottage that she visited she saw the same evidences. How pitiful her own efforts seemed beside these! What was heartcompared with hand? What was sympathy compared with money? And wasshe so sure that she gave even the sympathy? She felt in her breastnow no sense of pity for their suffering, no consciousness even ofrejoicing in their relief. The only feeling there--and it seemed tofill her whole heart--was pity for her own numb, gnawingwretchedness, for which there could be no relief. 

When the last hurried visit was ended, she drove home, completelyunnerved. Her black veil was lowered before her face, and though shesat erect and composed to outward seeming, the tears rained down hercheeks. 

Her remaining days at Kingdon Hall were spent in a state of suchlistlessness and inertia that Nora began to fear that she was goingto be ill. She urged her mistress to send for the doctor; but, foranswer, Bettina burst into tears, declaring that she was not ill, andbegging Nora to do everything for her that was necessary to get heroff on the steamer on which she had taken passage, as she felt unableto do anything herself. 

How the intervening hours passed she never knew; but, as if takingpart in a dream, she went through them all, and at last found herselfsettled in her state-room, with Nora to take care of her, and no oneto spy on her or notice what she did. Asking Nora, as piteously as achild, to help her to undress, she went to bed, and from that bed shedid not rise until the ship had touched another shore, and thebreadth of the world lay between herself and Horace. 

How glad she would have been to lie there and sail on forever, freedfrom her responsibility to the future, as she was from that to thepast!

CHAPTER XV

It was when Bettina was a matter of three hours out at sea that LordHurdly arrived at Kingdon Hall, and, on being admitted, ordered theservant to say to Lady Hurdly that he wished to see her. His surprisewas great when the man informed him that Lady Hurdly had that daysailed for America. 

Dismissing the servant, he went to the library and shut himself upthere alone. How strangely was this house altered to him in onemoment's time! Just now he had felt a presence in it which had madeevery atom of it significant. Now, how dead, empty, meaningless, ithad suddenly become!

The effect of this change was almost startling to him, and for thefirst time he had the courage to face himself and to demand of hisown soul an explanation. 

He was a man of a peculiarly uncomplex nature. When, on meetingBettina, he for the first time fell deeply in love, he had lookedupon the matter as a finality, and he had never ceased so to regardit. When she deserted him, without giving him a chance to speak, hehad, in the overwhelming bitterness of his heart, forsworn all women. It had never occurred to him to put another in Bettina's place. For along time a passionate resentment possessed him. When he knew thatBettina had married his cousin, this resentment had had two objectsto feed upon instead of one; but at first the bitterness of his angeragainst the being in whom he had supremely believed greatlyoutweighed that against the being in whom he had never believed. LordHurdly had never had it in his power to wound and anger him asBettina could. So, when he got transferred from St. Petersburg toSimla, it was with the instinct of removing himself as far aspossible from Bettina. Of the other he scarcely thought. 

When, however, the first consternation of the sudden blow was over, and he grew calm enough to be capable of anything like temperatethought, he tried to imagine how this strange state of things hadcome about. 

Obviously Bettina must have sought Lord Hurdly out, and it was almostcertain that she had done this with a view to mediating between himand his offending heir. He recalled her having said, more than once, that she intended to win him over, and he pictured to himself whathad probably transpired in the fulfilment of her plan. Lord Hurdly, who was notoriously indifferent to women, saw in Bettina a new type, and, as consequent events proved, became possessed of the wish tohave her for his wife. This being so, he had probably not scrupled asto the means to this end. Gradually, from having held Bettina chieflyguilty, Horace began to feel that it was quite possible that she hadbeen less so than the artful and determined man, who had undoubtedlybrought to bear on her all the wiles of which he was master. 

What the wiles were, how unscrupulously they were employed to effectany end that he had in view, Horace was now more than ever aware. 

And every fresh revelation of them tended to soften him towardBettina. He was in the habit of trusting his instincts, and these hadas determinedly declared to him that his cousin was false. On hisreturn to England, after Lord Hurdly's death, both of these instinctshad found ample confirmation. The more he looked into the affairs ofhis predecessor, in his relations to his tenants, his family, hislawyers, and the world at large, the more did his mistrust andcondemnation of him deepen, while, as for Bettina, it took littlemore than the impression of his first interview with her to restorealmost wholly his old belief in her truth and nobleness. 

On the basis of her having been deceived by Lord Hurdly about him, hecould forgive her her marriage. Where would her desolate heart haveturned for comfort? And he knew her nature well enough to realizethat what Lord Hurdly had to offer might have seemed likely to serveher as a substitute for happiness. He knew, moreover, that Bettinahad never loved him in the sense in which he had loved her, and thisfact made his judgment gentler. 

As he stood there alone, in the great house, strangely empty now thather rich presence was removed from it, he wished with all his heartthat he had gone to her, and forcing her to look at him with thosecandid eyes of hers, had said: "Bettina, tell me the truth. Why didyou do it?" Oh, if he only had!

Then reflection forced upon him the possible answer that he mighthave received. She might have coldly resented the impertinence ofsuch a speech, or she might have given him to understand that whatappeared true was really true--namely, that his cousin's splendidoffer was preferred to his poor one. Yes, he was no doubt a fool tohold on to his belief in Bettina in face of the obvious facts. Thething he had to do was to overcome it, and go on with his life andcareer quite apart from her. 

This would have been the easier to do but for one thing. He hadsatisfied himself that Bettina had been unhappy in her marriage toLord Hurdly. It was evident that the worldly importance which it hadgiven her had not sufficed her needs. He knew--her own mother hadavowed it to him--that Bettina was ambitious; but he knew, what thesame source had also revealed, that she had a good and loving heart. What he felt was that she had been taught by bitter experience theemptiness of mere worldly gratification, and that poor heart of herswas breaking in its loneliness. 

But then came reason again, and pointed to the hard facts before hiseyes. What a fool he was to go on constructing a romantic theoryout of his own consciousness when Bettina, by definite choice anddecision, had proved herself to be, what he must compel himself toconsider her, both heartless and false!

Fortified by the bitter support of this conception of her, he leftthe library, and, for the first time since his return, made thecomplete tour of the house. Through most of the apartments he passedswiftly enough, but in two of them he paused. The first was the longpicture-gallery, where he looked critically at his own boyishportrait, wondering if Bettina had ever looked at it, and whatfeelings it might have aroused, and then passed on and stood beforethat most beautiful of all the Lady Hurdlys who had been or who mightever be. But this was too demoralizing to that mood of hardness thathe had but recently assumed, and so he turned his back on thegracious image and walked away. 

It was not long, however, before he found himself in Bettina's ownapartments. These he remembered well, and in the main they wereunchanged. Yet what a subtle difference he felt in them! Here on thisgreat gloomy bed had that poor orphan girl slept, or else lainwakeful in the dread consciousness which must have come to her whenonce she realized the nature and character of the man to whom she hadgiven herself in marriage. Here in this stately mirror had she seenherself arrayed in the splendid clothes which were the poor price forwhich she had sold her birthright. He stood and looked at himself inthe mirror, with an uncanny feeling that behind his own image therewas that of the beautiful Bettina, whom once he had thought toprotect forever by his love and strength and tenderness, and who now, with only a hired servant, was alone in the great shipful ofstrangers, on her way to the loneliness of that empty little villagewhich her mother's presence had once so adequately filled for her. 

He went to the wardrobe and opened the door, hoping to find sometrace of Bettina. But no; all was orderly and void. Then he passed onto the dressing-table and opened the drawers, one by one. In the lastthere lay a small hair-pin of fine bent wire. He had an impulse totake it, but, with a muttered imprecation on his folly, he called toaid his recent resolution, and hastily left the room. 

CHAPTER XVI

Bettina had been in her old home a week--long enough to recuperatefrom her journey and begin to take up her life, such as it was to be. She would gladly have relaxed entirely and lain in bed to be waitedon and tended by Nora, had this been possible. But she had wearied ofthe physical rest, which only made her mental restlessness thegreater, and she had an impulse to reach out her empty hands so thatsomehow, somewhence they might be filled. 

The neighbors had called on her promptly, but she could not see them. They reminded her too much of the mother she had lost. Mr. Spotswoodhad also called, but he was a reminder of the other loss, now themore poignant of the two. When she excused herself to him also hewrote her a note--the conventional thing, and that merely. It seemedstrangely lacking in the solicitude and affection which she had aright to expect from her old friend and rector. Bettina was struckwith this, and instantly there flashed over her a reason for it. Itwas only natural that he should feel a certain resentment of herjilting of one of his cousins, even though she had done it in favorof another and more important one. She remembered that the rector hadbeen extremely fond of Horace, and at this thought she had a suddendesire to see him. So she wrote him a note and asked him to come. 

It was so long since she had talked with any one, and she was sonervous after all her morbid imagining, that she was feeling utterlyunlike the old self-reliant, active-minded girl he remembered whenthe rector entered the room. She also, on her part, was unpreparedfor the feelings aroused by the sight of him; and when he came in, his grave face and gentle manner so entirely unchanged, in contrastto all the changes she had undergone, Bettina felt a sudden tendencyto tears. The thought of her mother also helped to weaken her, andthe thought of Horace was a still harder strain on her endurance. 

She saw a certain constraint in his manner first, as she hadperceived it in his note. She felt unaccountably hurt by it, and whenhe took her hand a little coldly and inquired for her health, a rushof feelings overwhelmed her and she burst into tears. 

In evident surprise, the visitor tried to soothe her as best hecould. Naturally supposing that this grief was in consequence of herrecent widowhood, he pressed her hand, and said, gently:

"I trust you are not overtaxing yourself by seeing me, my child. Ifyou had preferred not to do so I should not have misunderstood. Yourbereavement is so recent that--"

But Bettina, trying to silence her sobs, interrupted him. 

"Oh, forgive me, Mr. Spotswood, " she said. "I had not thought Ishould break down like this. I have been perfectly calm. It is notwhat you suppose. Oh, I feel so wretched, so lonely, so bewildered! Iwould give the world if I could speak out my heart to one humanbeing. "

The rector looked surprised, but visibly softened. 

"To whom may you speak if not to me, Bettina?" he said. "Surely, whatever trouble is on your heart, you may count upon my sympathy. "

Bettina did not speak. With her face hid in her pocket-handkerchiefshe shook her head, as if in dissent from the idea of his sympathy. 

Feeling rather helpless, he changed his tactics, in an honestendeavor to get at the real cause of her trouble. 

"Naturally, my child, " he said, "the sight of me brings back thethought of your beloved mother. Such a sorrow--"

But again she interrupted him, this time by a silent gesture of thehand. Then she said:

"It is not that. I've got used to that ache, and although my heartwould not be my heart without it, that is a silent and acceptedsorrow now. Oh, Mr. Spotswood, " she said, impetuously, uncoveringher tear-stained face and looking at him with the helplessnessof a child, "you are a clergyman; you teach that God is love andcompassion and forgiveness; you have a kind heart! I know you have. Perhaps if I could tell you all I have suffered, and how deeply Ihave repented, you would be sorry for me, and not blame me as muchas I deserve to be blamed. "

She was looking at him tentatively, as if to see how far she couldtrust to the forbearance of which she felt she had now such need. 

The rector's heart was deeply touched. This show of humility in thehigh-spirited, self-willed girl that he remembered took him bysurprise. 

"It could never be my impulse to blame you, my dear child, and theless so when I see how bitterly you are blaming yourself for thisunknown thing. If you will tell me about it, I will do all that maybe in my power to help you. At all events, you may count upon myloving sympathy. "

"Ah, if I only could! It would be much to me now. But you areignorant of what you are promising. In a certain way it concernsyourself, or at least a member of your family. "

She saw a slightly hardened look come into his face, but it quicklygave way to a gentler one. 

"No matter what it is, if you have suffered and repented, the bestsympathy of my heart is yours. "

"You will regard it as a confidence--a sacred confidence?" saidBettina. "I could only tell you with that understanding. I know thata clergyman is accustomed to keeping the secrets of his people, and Icould not say a word unless I were sure that this thing would restforever between you and me. "

[Illustration: "'TRULY, MY CHILD, IT IS A WRETCHED STORY'"]

Wishing to soothe her in every possible way, the rector gave herhis promise to keep sacred what she might tell him; and thusreassured, poor Bettina opened her heart. The relief of it was soexquisite and the experience was so rare, that she told it all withthe abandonment of a child at its mother's knee, and with a degree ofself-accusation that might well have disarmed condemnation, as indeedit did. 

Up to the time of her meeting with Horace in England, she kept backnothing, describing with absolute truth her feelings as well as herconduct. When she had reached that point, however, a sense ofinstinctive reserve came to her, and a few brief sentences describedwhat had happened since. 

At the end of her recital she paused, looking eagerly into therector's face, as if she both hoped and feared what he might say. 

"Truly, my child, it is a wretched story, " he began, as if a littlecareful in the choosing of his words, "but the knowledge of it hasdeepened instead of lessened my sympathy for you. Your fault has beenvery great, but so is your sense of compunction; and as far assuffering can expiate, surely you have done much to atone. My ownknowledge of the character of the late Lord Hurdly was such that Icannot pretend to be greatly surprised at what you have told meconcerning him. I regret to say it, but justice must be done to theliving as well as to the dead. The present Lord Hurdly will prove, Itrust and believe, an honor to the name. My intercourse with him hasbeen comparatively limited, but no young man has ever inspired mewith a stronger sense of confidence. So much do I feel this that Iwill confess to a strong desire that he should know upon what groundyou acted toward him as you did. I have given my word to you, however, and perhaps it is as well. That poor man so lately gone tohis account has stains enough upon his memory without this added one. And when I think of Horace--what he has suffered through thetreachery of his kinsman--I feel that it is perhaps kindest to himalso to leave this dark secret in the oblivion which buries it in ourtwo hearts. "

Bettina seemed not to hear his last words. 

"He has suffered? You think he has suffered, and through me?"

"Is it possible that you can doubt it?"

"He gave no sign, " began Bettina, hesitatingly. 

"To you--certainly not. How could he?"

"Did he to you?" she said, breathlessly. 

The rector looked at her with a sort of sad scrutiny, and was silenta moment. Then he said:

"He wrote me one letter--the most brokenhearted expression ofsuffering I have ever read. It was before your marriage, when hestill had some slight hope that you had mistaken your own feelings, in the statement of them which you had made in your letter to him. But then came the announcement of your marriage, since which timeyour name has not been mentioned between us. "

"Did you keep that letter?" she said. 

"I did. "

"Will you let me see it?"

"I am afraid I cannot properly do that. "

"I beg that you will, Mr. Spotswood. You would be doing me a verygreat favor, and for your cousin's sake also I think I may venture toask it. I was told that he was 'fickle and capricious, incapable of asustained affection, ' and much more in the same line. I should betruly glad to know that this was false. "

"I can give you my word for that. "

"But you can give me also his word, if you will, " she said, beseechingly. "Oh, my dear, dear friend, I too have suffered, and Ibelieve that what I have endured is the worst of pain, for it comesfrom the knowledge of wrong to another. You cannot take away thatpain, but perhaps you can restore to me a lost ideal. I had come tothink that there was no such thing as love--real love--in the world;to believe not only that the man who had professed it for me wasfalse in that profession, but that it really did not exist. Let mesee that letter. It is an impersonal thing to me now, but I feel thatit would strengthen me for all my future life. I am going to try tobe good; indeed I am, " she said, her lips trembling like a child's. "If I feel that that letter would help me, why may I not see it?"

The rector hesitated visibly; then he said:

"You shall see it, Bettina. I cannot feel that it will do any harm, and it will be an act of justice, perhaps, to him as well as to you. Whoever represented him to be lacking in depth of feeling has donehim a wrong indeed. I had no need to have this proved to me, but ifthere be such a need in any breast, the reading of this letter mustdo away with it. "

In a few moments he rose to take leave, having promised to send theletter to her. 

"Will you send it at once?" she asked. "May Nora go with you andbring it back?"

In the stress of her feeling she forgot the impression that hereagerness might make; but it had not been lost upon the rector, whopondered all these things in his heart as he went homeward. 

When he had given the letter to Nora, and she had taken it to hermistress, he wondered if he had done well. Bettina had not pretendedthat she had really loved the man to whom she had first engagedherself. The preoccupied interest and affection which she had givenhim then were not misrepresented in her confession to the rector, and she had been absolutely silent as to her subsequent and presentfeeling toward him. All that she said, the whole burden of her song, was that she had so wronged him in that past time; never once had shehinted at the possibility of any renewal of relations between them. 

In spite of all this, the rector knew Bettina well, and he recognizedthe fact that she was under the dominion of some larger and deeperfeeling than he had ever known her to have except her affection forher mother. And had even that, he asked himself, so permeated herwhole being--mind, soul, and character--as this feeling in which henow saw her so absorbed? He answered that it had not. It was, therefore, taking a certain responsibility upon himself to show thisletter. But he was acting in the interest of truth and justice, andhe could not find it in his heart to regret what he had done. 

Temperate, judicious, deliberate as the rector was in all his mentalprocesses, he could not imagine that any result could come from thecourse which he had taken, except some very remote one. Bettina hadshown plainly her determination never to divulge to Horace thecontents of Mr. Cortlin's letter; he was under promise to keep thesecret also, so there was no ground upon which the intercoursebetween them could be renewed. Besides this, Bettina was but recentlybecome a widow. The proprieties of the situation demanded absoluteseclusion for a year at least, and, in Mr. Spotswood's consciousness, propriety was supreme. He never took count of the fact thatconventions could be disregarded by any right-minded person, and tothis extent at least he conceived Bettina to be right-minded. 

CHAPTER XVII

The reading of that letter from Horace to the rector was a crisis inBettina's life. Its effect upon her was singular. When she eagerlytook in those pages filled with such anguish as possesses the heartbut once or twice in a lifetime, the consciousness that it was she, Bettina, who had created such a love in the heart of the man thatHorace Spotswood was to her now, so exhilarated her that she wascapable of but one feeling--exultation. To have had this love, thoughnow she had it not, seemed to glorify her life. To have caused himsuch sorrow--how greatly he had cared! In spite of all there wasrapture in it!

That mood was followed by one of intense regret--an excoriatingself-accusation that made her spirit writhe before her own bar ofjustice. Then, by degrees, when there came a moment of comparativecalm, she forced herself to recognize the fact that it was theBettina of the past who had been so loved, and that the man who hadso loved her was that youthful and impulsive Horace. Was not thepresent Bettina, the slightingly treated widow of his cousin, a verydifferent being--as different as was the present Lord Hurdly fromthat old and outgrown other self? Surely the change in both wasgreat--a change which she construed as absolutely to her owndisadvantage as it was to his advantage. 

Yet, in spite of this, that letter brought a strange strength toher heart. Since it was now so plain that he had so truly, soworshippingly loved her, she felt a summons to her soul to be herhighest possible, to overcome the slothful and the evil in her, andlive as it became the woman who had been so loved by such a man. Above all, she longed to make her life avail for the good of others, that she might make it a thank-offering for what she had received inthe knowledge that had come to her through that letter. 

For, after its perusal, she knew that never again could she entertainthe doubts which had so often filled her mind at the thought of thecomplete silence in which Horace had accepted her rejection of him. Sometimes she had fancied that it might have been a relief to him--away out of a difficult situation; but now forever in her heart shecould carry the proud consciousness that she had been as passionatelyloved as she had been desperately regretted. 

It was a strange source, perhaps, from which to draw strength, but itavailed her now. With a sudden renewal of the energy of her youth shebegan to look about her for work which she might do. Fortunately therector was ready with practical, immediate employment for heart andhand, and pocket, too, alas! for now the fact was forced upon herconsciousness that she was poor. It would be as one of themselves, only somewhat different in degree, that she must help these sufferingones, and, in spite of being hampered by this limitation, there was acertain sweetness in it. Her work among the poor had begun at KingdonHall, and there she had been often baffled by the sense of thedifference between herself and those whom she wished to help. Sheknew that this consciousness was in their hearts as well as in hers, and that it made an impalpable but positive barrier. But now and hereall was different. She longed for the money that would have enabledher to do so much more, and yet she felt it, somehow, sweet to be asthey. Her consciousness of her own past wrong-doing had so penetratedher soul with humility that she was like a totally different being. 

She had said nothing to the rector of her determination not to touchthe money that her late husband had left her, but she strictlyadhered to this resolve. It was impossible. She simply felt she couldnot. She found no difficulty in forgiving him for all that he haddone. She was too tender-hearted to bear malice toward the dead, but she could not touch his money. Since she had once thought aboutit--receiving food and clothes and comforts from his hands--she hadrealized that it was an impossibility. She knew that the money wasdeposited in bank for her, but there it might remain. She had toldHorace that she would not touch it, and he should see that she wouldkeep her word. 

Then came a thought that made her smile. He had wished to force uponher the acceptance of a larger sum, because it was not proper thatLord Hurdly's widow should live otherwise than in pomp andcircumstance. If he could see her now! This it was that made hersmile. 

She had shut up all the house except the rooms on the first floor, inwhich she and Nora lived alone. She kept no other servant, and thiseconomy it was that enabled her to give to others. She had almost nopersonal wants, and the income which had sufficed for her mother andherself was more than enough for her alone. A little sting of injuredpride there had been at first, when her poverty became apparent tothe neighbors, who naturally expected her to enlarge rather thancurtail her expenses; but she soon got the better of this. The issuesof her life were in a wider field than mere neighborhood comment, and, besides this, her friends and associates were now chosen chieflyfrom the class who were too ignorant for such comment andspeculation. 

For Bettina had thrown herself with a passionate fervor into the workwhich her hands had found to do. The one assuagement for the pain inher own heart seemed to be the alleviation of the pain in otherhearts. She felt, also, a sense of thankfulness for the knowledgewhich had come to her through the rector, which made the whole workand service of her life seem all too little for her to give in returnfor this boon. As for Horace, her feeling for him was akin toworship. It was he who represented to her henceforth the ideal which, like a fixed star, should give light to her path, though soimmeasurably far above her. 

What a strange life was this into which she had now entered! She feltthe certainty that her courage would be sufficient for it, but withall her resolution she could not always keep back the bitter tears ofher wordless, hopeless, uncontrollable longing. At times this was athing so mighty that she had the feeling that, if her body were onlyas strong as her spirit, she would be able to swim through thosethousands of watery miles that separated them, only to tell him thetruth, and then lay down her life at his feet. 

CHAPTER XVIII

It was one of Bettina's weary days. Its hours had lagged and draggeduntil the evening had come, and she had sunk down, exhausted anddepressed, in a big old-fashioned chair in front of her wood fire, which seemed the only ray of cheerfulness within or without. She hadhad these feelings before, and she knew that they would probablypass, but never before had it been so borne in upon her that life wassad and wretched alike for those whom she was trying to help and forher who was so in need of help herself--little as they dreamed it. Were they worth helping, those poor evil-environed creatures who socontinually disappointed her hopes and efforts? Was she worthhelping, either--weak, aimless creature that she was--who had vowedto be content in the mere consciousness that Horace lived, and thathe had once supremely loved her, and then again and again had falleninto this hopeless discontent which thirsted so for what she hadpledged herself to give up--the possession of that love to satisfythe present hour's need?

She lay back in the big deep chair, her white hands loosely graspingits arms, and her white lids lowered. Now and then a tear wouldtrickle from beneath those lids and a slight contraction of painwould move her lips. Any one looking in upon her so might well havewondered where were the friends and companions of this beautiful, lonely woman, shut into this small room, in the silence of a twilightthat hung damp and gray outside, and that the smouldering firelighted but fitfully within, while the low murmur of flames fitfullybroke the silence. 

Not a sound escaped her lips. She gazed longingly, sadly into theglowing heart of the fire, and saw visions and dreamed dreams, butnot pleasing ones; they only served to make her sadness deeper. 

Presently the door opened, and Nora came in with the lamp. Glancingat her mistress, who did not move, the woman then went out andbrought a small tea-service on a tray. 

"Don't light the kettle yet, Nora, " said a low voice from the depthsof the chair. The speaker did not move; her manner was that of aperson who deprecated the least noise or intrusion, and Nora tookthe hint and silently put down the tray. Then, in the same dull tone, her mistress said:

"I know you want to go to church. Go. I can make tea for myself whenI want it. "

Nora, in comprehending silence, left the room. 

Still the relaxed figure in the chair moved not. The fire whiffed andcrackled now and then, but beyond this there was no sound. Thelamplight showed more plainly the fair youth and loveliness of thatblack-clad form, which never, in its most brilliant days, had lookedso exquisite as now, when there was none to gaze upon its beauty orto share its solitude. The hands were ringless, for Bettina had takenoff her wedding-ring after the reading of the letter which the lawyerhad brought her, and with it she had renounced the last vestige ofallegiance to her late husband's memory. There was no bitterness inher heart toward him. Simply he existed not, as though he had neverbeen. 

Vaguely she heard the sound of Nora's departure, as the door wasclosed behind her, and still she sat there wordless, motionless, almost breathless as it appeared, for her bosom scarcely seemed tomove. 

Presently there came two tears from under the closed lids; thenquickly others followed them. The sense that she was freed even fromthe danger of Nora's observation weakened her more and more. Thenwith the helpless, whispering tones of an unhappy child, she said:

"My God, how desolate I am! How can I bear it? How long must itendure?"

Still she did not move except to raise her lids and cast upward hertear-drenched eyes, while she caught her lower lip between her teeth. 

Suddenly there was a step upon the piazza--a man's step, as if inhaste. She started and sat upright. Who could it be? No man exceptthe rector ever visited her, and this was not the rector's step. Shehastily brushed away the traces of her tears and sat listening. 

Then came a tap at the door--not loud, but firm, distinct, decided. It sounded strange to her, unlike the tap of any messenger or servantwho had ever come to her house. 

She got up, leaving the door of the sitting-room open that the lightmight enter the dark hall. 

Then, most unaccountably, a sense of fear, very unusual to her, seemed to possess her. She stood still a moment in the hall andwaited. 

The knock was repeated, so near this time that it made her start. Shewas not naturally a timid woman, but she felt a sense of physicalfear which was totally unreasoning. What harm was likely to come toher from such a source? She compelled herself to go forward and openthe door. 

It was very dark outside, and she vaguely distinguished the outlineof a tall man standing before her. The light from the open door ather back threw out her figure in distinct relief, and it was evidentthat she had been recognized, for a voice said, in low but distincttones, "Lady Hurdly. "

She gave a cry and pressed both hands against her breast, sharplydrawing in her breath. Then she took a few steps backward, throwingout one hand to support herself against the wall. 

"Forgive me, " said the well-known voice--the voice out of all theworld to which her blood-beats answered. "I have come on you toosuddenly. I ought to have written and asked permission to call. Ishould have done so, only I feared you might deny me. "

Somehow the door was closed behind them and they had made their wayinto the lighted room. Bettina, still pale and breathless, began tomurmur some excuses. 

"I beg your pardon; I was frightened. Nora had gone out, and I wasall alone. I did not know who it might be. I never have visitors, andI was afraid to open the door. "

He was looking at her keenly. 

"You should not be alone like this, " he said, both resentment andindignation in his tone. "Why do you never have visitors? Why didNora leave you? Where are the other servants?"

"There are no others. There is only Nora, " she said, recoveringherself a little. "I let her go to church to-night. I am not usuallyafraid. Why should I be? Perhaps I am not very well. " As she utteredthese incoherent sentences she sank into a chair and he took one nearher. 

The expression of his face had changed from anxiety to a sternsadness. 

"And you live alone like this, " he said, "without proper service orprotection? And, in spite of all that I could say and do, you willnot take the miserable pittance which is your own, and which iswasted there in the bank, where it can avail for no one? Do you thinkthis is right to yourself--or kind to me?"

The quiet reproach of his tone disturbed her. 

"I do not mean to be unkind, " she said, her voice not quite steady, "and indeed I have all that I need. Nora has more than time to attendto me, and as for company, it is because I do not want it that I donot have it. "

"And you think you can live without companionship?" he said. "Youwill find you are mistaken; but of that I have no right to speak. There is one subject, however, on which I do claim this right, and itis the fulfilment of this purpose which has brought me to America. "

"You came all this way to see me?" she said, lifting her brows as ifin gentle deprecation. "You were always kind. " Her voice broke andshe said no more. 

"It is not a question of kindness, " he said. "It is a matter of thesimplest right and duty. Will you hear me? Are you able to hear meto-night, or shall I come again to-morrow?"

"Speak now, " she said. "I am perfectly well, and am ready to hearwhatever you may have to say. "

Her voice gave proof of a recovered self-control. The necessity ofmaking this a final interview between them was borne in upon her, andsitting very still and erect, with her hands clasped tightlytogether, she waited to hear what he might say. 

"Your leaving England so suddenly, " he began, "was, as I need notsay, a disappointment to me. I had hoped to change your mind andpurpose concerning the acceptance not only of money which is your ownby legal right, but of such as is also yours by every rational law ofpossession. It was to me an insupportable idea that you should goaway without the means of living as becomes your rank and station. "

Bettina, with a rather chill smile, shook her head. 

"Rank and station I have none, " she said. "I have money enough tolive as becomes my mother's child; that I am, and no more. It is theonly bond to the past which I acknowledge. The name and title which Ibore a little while were never mine in a real and true sense. I donot care to speak of it; it is all past; but the very fact that yourcousin saw fit to leave me with what you call a mere pittance showsthat he felt the distance, the lack of union, between us, as I feltand feel it. "

It was a relief to her to say this much. He could gather nothing fromit, and she wanted him to know that she had freed her soul fromevery vestige of its bondage to the man whom she chose to designateas his cousin rather than by any relationship to herself--even a pastone. This point did not escape him. 

"It is with humiliation that I receive your reminder that that manwas, in flesh and blood at least, akin to me, " was the answer; "andfor that reason I have felt it to be my duty to make whatever poorreparation may be in my power for the evil that he has done. "

He spoke with extreme seriousness, and there was a tone in his lastwords which conveyed to Bettina the suspicion that they referred tosomething more than any act of Lord Hurdly's which had heretoforebeen mentioned between them. 

She waited, therefore, in some agitation to hear what his next wordsshould be. 

"I shall have to ask your forgiveness, " he said, "for touching upona matter which might well seem to be an impertinence on my part. Thenecessity is forced upon me, however, and I shall be as brief aspossible, if you will be good enough to listen. "

Bettina answered merely by a bend of the head. 

"As long as I can remember, " he began, "I have had a certaininstinctive distrust of the late Lord Hurdly. It grew with mygrowth; but I never thought it proper, under the then existingcircumstances, to give expression to it. As time went on, observationconfirmed instinct, and it became evident to me that he was a man ofpowerful will, and was more or less unscrupulous in the attainment ofits ends. After his death, in going into the affairs of the estate, and various other matters which came under my observation, I foundthat the truths laid bare before me revealed him as a far worse maneven than I had imagined. It was a revolting manifestation in everysense; but even when those matters had been closed up--when Isupposed that I was done with the man and aware of the worst--arevelation was made to me which, though of a piece with the rest, and no worse in its essence and kind, came home to me with athousandfold intensity, from the fact that it nearly concerned bothmyself and you. "

Bettina's heart beat wildly. She dared not look at him, and with aninstinct to protect herself from betrayal at every cost, she said, ina voice which was so cool and calm that the sound of it surprised heras it fell upon her ear:

"Go on. Explain yourself. "

She had taken up a paper from the table and was using it as if toscreen her face from the fire, but she managed to get somewhat in theshadow of it, so that her companion had only a partial view of herfeatures and expression. In this position, with her eyes bent uponthe fire, her countenance was wholly inscrutable to him. There was amoment's silence before he continued. 

"How far the explanation is necessary, " he said, "I do not know. I amaware that you received a sealed letter, through Cortlin, from a mannamed Fitzwilliam Clarke, who is now dead. What that letter containedis your own affair. I also received a letter from the same source andby the same hand. It is of the revelation contained in that letterthat I am come to speak to you. "

Bettina hardly knew whether she was waking or sleeping. Theastounding suddenness of the consciousness which had come to her nowseemed to stun both her body and her mind. She made no sign, however, as she sat absolutely still, and her companion went on. 

"The letter to you was delivered, you remember, before my return toEngland. The interval which elapsed before the delivery of the letterto me--which occurred scarcely more than a week ago--was due to thefact that Cortlin had been instructed to put each of these lettersinto the hands of none but the man and woman to whom they wereaddressed. In the second instance he was prevented by illness fromthe prompt performance of his duty. He has had a long and seriousattack of fever. As soon as his condition of health permitted he sentfor me and put the letter into my hands, telling me that he wasignorant as to its contents, but that a letter from the same sourcehad been delivered to you by him immediately after the death of thescoundrel whose treachery had betrayed you into a marriage with him. "

Bettina could not speak or look at him. The thoughts which wereseething through her brain were too confused for speech. One thing, however, was quite clear to her. The resentment that this man sofiercely manifested was for her sake, not his own. His anger was animpersonal thing. He had a manly and chivalrous nature, and the merefact that her mother had once committed her into his keeping wouldconstitute a strong claim on such a nature. He was outraged that acountryman and kinsman of his own could so villanously have dupedher. As for his own wrongs in the matter, he apparently did notconsider these. For all consciousness of them in his words and tonesthey might never have existed. 

While these thoughts were passing through her mind, he had risen, andwas pacing the floor with restless strides. Now he paused in front ofher and said:

"I trust it may not seem to you that I did wrong to come to you andtell you of the revelation that had been made to me. I have done itin the belief that the letter which you received conveyed the sameinformation. May I be allowed to know if this is true?"

Bettina bent her head, but said no more. 

"Then I feel myself justified in having come, " he said, in a tone ofrelief. "If I could have known you ignorant of the infamous wrongthat was done you, by the unscrupulous means used to beguile you intoa marriage which must so have tortured and humiliated any woman, Imight have kept silent. It might perhaps have been best to omit fromthe list of the wrongs you must have suffered this crowning infamy ofall. But since it seemed certain that you knew it, and since it haddoubtless been the reason of your refusing to touch the money whichwas so rightfully your due, and of your leaving the country wherethis great wrong had been done you, I could not rest until I hadspoken. I could not still the longing to give you a certain solacewhich I hoped it might be in my power to give. I knew how sad andlonely you were. I had written to the rector and asked for tidings ofyou. "

"You had? He never told me, " she said, wonderingly. 

"I particularly bound him not to do so; but I did write more thanonce, and got his answers. In that way it came to me that you wereunhappy--courageously and unselfishly, yet profoundly so, and it wasnot difficult for me to comprehend the reason. You will forgive mefor going into a dead and buried issue for this once; but I knew yournature, and it was obvious to me that you were torturing yourselfbecause you felt that you had done a wrong to me. "

Bettina caught her breath suddenly, and covered her face with herhands. 

"Is it not so?" he said. 

But she could not speak. The shrinking anguish of her whole attitudewas her only answer. 

Then he took the seat nearest her, and said:

"It is with the hope of lifting this totally unnecessary burden fromyour mind that I have come. I beg you to have patience with me whileI speak to you quite simply and tell you why you would be doing wrongto blame yourself on my account. For this once I must ask you to letme speak of the past--not the recent past--let us consider that inits grave forever--but the remote past, in which for a short while Ihad a share. I, too, have my confession to make and pardon to beg, for I am conscious that I wronged you, though it was throughignorance, youth, inexperience, and also--forgive me for mentioningit, but it is my best justification--also because I loved you, with alove which I was then too ignorant even to comprehend. I needs mustbeg you to remember that, in owning my great wrong to you. Thiswrong, " he continued, after an instant's pause, "consisted in myurging you to marry me when you did not love me. I feared it was so, even then; but I was selfish; I thought of myself and not of you. When the whispered misgiving would rise up in my mind I forced itdown by vowing that if you did not already love me I could and wouldmake you do so. When the blow fell, and I knew that I had lost you, Iknew that my selfishness in thinking chiefly of my own happiness hadbeen properly rewarded. At least this was the feeling that possessedmy heart after the first. You were young, confiding, inexperienced. Iknew better than you possibly could know that you did not love me. Later, you knew it also. "

He waited, as if for her response. From behind her close-pressedhands the answer came. 

"Yes, " she said, lowly, "I have long known that it was a mistake onmy part. You are right. I did not love you. "

Had she been looking, she would have seen a shadow cross his face--avery faint one, as the hope that it obscured had been faint also. 

"Therefore, " he said, "I took advantage of you, and obtained from youa promise which I should never have asked. I want you to feel that Irealize the wrong I did you in that, and ask your forgiveness forit. "

Slowly she lowered her hands and looked at him. 

"And you can ask forgiveness of me?" she said. 

"I humbly beg it--as on my knees. "

"Then what should be my attitude to you?"

"The proud and upright one of never having done me any consciouswrong. "

"But when I left you, rejected you, threw you off--"

"That was not done to me, but to the man you supposed me to be--theman who had been proved to you a scoundrel, by such proof as any onewould have deemed you mad to doubt. "

She looked at him somewhat timidly. 

"You are generous indeed, " she said. 

"I am no whit more than just. You were absolutely warranted in sucha course toward me. What I long to do--what I have crossed the worldin the hope of doing--is to get you to forgive yourself, to freeyourself of a hallucination which is casting a needless shadow onyour life. "

"Oh, you are good--good!" she said. "I never knew so kind a heart. Therefore must my unending misery be the greater that I have oncewounded it. "

"That consciousness should have no sting for you hereafter. You didit in utter ignorance. I cannot claim that I was half so ignorant inmy wrong toward you. But surely we may remember that we have oncebeen friends, and so we may feel that there is full and freeforgiveness between us before we part. "

She did not speak. That last word had pierced too deeply to herheart. 

"You do forgive me--do you not?" he said, as if he misunderstood hersilence. 

"I thank you--I bless you--I seek _your_ forgiveness, " she said. 

At these last words he smiled--a smile that had a certain bitternessin it. Then suddenly his face became rigidly grave. 

"If I had not given you my forgiveness, long ago, " he said, "I shouldlike to offer it to you now, at a price. I wish to God that I could. "

"What do you mean?" she said, a sweet perplexity upon her face. "Whatprice have I to pay for anything?"

"Ah, there it is! It may seem brutal of me to put a literalconstruction upon what you have used as a figure of speech, but letthe truth come out. You are poor, unprotected, alone, and you ask meto go and leave you so! God knows it is little enough that I have itin my power to do, but the possession of money would enable you atleast to live as it becomes you to live. I do not speak of yourtitle--it is not what you are called, but what you are, that I havein mind. If you had money, even the small income which I so desirethat you shall accept, your life would be different. "

But Bettina looked away from him, and shook her head in the gentlenegation which he knew to be so final. 

"How would my life be different?" she said. 

"You could make it so. "

"In what way?"

"You could travel, for one thing. "

"I do not want to travel. I desired it once, and I got my wish. Butwith it came a wretchedness that all the travelling in the worldcould not carry me away from. "

"Then what is to be your life?"

"What you see it now. I do not wish to change it for any other. Ihave tried the world and its rewards. There is nothing in them. "

Her tone of absolute, unexpectant decision maddened him. 

"My God, Bettina!" he exclaimed, too excited to notice that the namehad escaped him. "Are you in earnest? Can you mean it? I wish I couldbelieve that you did not. But there is a deadly reality about you nowwhich makes me fear that you will keep your word. That you shouldspend your life in this isolation, that you--you--"

He broke off, as if words failed him. 

"What better can I do?" she said. "You must not think of me as idleand useless. I am going to try not to be that. I have tried a little. Ask the rector. And I am going to try more. There is but one thingthat I deeply desire, and that is to be a better woman than I havebeen in the past. Oh, I will try hard--I will, indeed I will--to do alittle good in the future, to make up for all the harm I have done!"

She ceased, her voice failing her, and as she looked at the manstanding near her she saw that he was scarcely listening. Someintense preoccupation made him take in but vaguely what she wassaying. She saw that he was deeply moved in some way, and theconsciousness that this was so gave her a sense of alarm. She felther own will weakening, and she knew that somehow she must get thisparting over, if her strength were to suffice for it. 

"Good-bye, " she said, holding out her hand. 

"Don't be too sorry for me. You have lightened my heart inexpressiblyby what you have told me. Now that I can feel that you knowall--that, wrong and wicked as I was, I was not so false as itseemed--I can bear the future with courage. I am sure of it. I wantto say good-bye now, because I prefer not to see you again. You wouldonly try to shake me in a determination that is not to be shaken. Don't trouble about me--please don't, " she added. "I have health andyouth, and these will suffice me for what I have to do. "

"Health and youth!" he cried, ignoring her proffered hand, andthrowing his own hands up in a gesture of repudiation. "And what dothese signify in a situation such as yours? They only mean that youwill prolong an existence which, for such a woman as you, seems worsethan death. You ask me to leave you so? To say good-bye--"

"Yes, I beg it, I implore it, I insist upon it, " she interrupted him, feeling that her strength was almost gone. "You have said that youwere willing to do me a service--then leave me. "

She sank back in her chair exhausted. 

"My God! am I a brute?" he said. "Have I made you ill with my idioticpersistency? I will go. I will rid you of the distress and annoyanceof my presence. But before I go, Bettina, " he said, with a suddenbreak in his voice, "I must and will satisfy my heart by one thing: Imust, for the sake of my own soul's peace, tell you this. I havenever ceased to love you, and I never shall. I gave you up when I sawthe renunciation to be inevitable, but I knew then, as I know now, that I can never put any other in your place. You were the love of myyouth, and you will be the love of my old age, if my lonely life goeson till then. Don't turn from me. Don't hide your face like that. Iask nothing but this sacred right to speak. I know you never lovedme. I know it is not in me--if, indeed, it be in any mortal man--toenter into the heaven of being loved by you. But, at least, you havebeen the vision in my life--the sacred manifestation of what girl andsweetheart and woman and wife might be--and for that I thank you. Inthe shadow of that beatific vision I shall walk henceforth, andbelieve me when I say that I shall walk there alone. "

Bettina, with her face buried in her hands, remained profoundlystill. When he had waited a moment he began to fear that he hadovertaxed her strength too far, and that she might have fainted. 

Kneeling in front of her, he took her two wrists gently in his handsand tried to draw them away from her eyes. The strong resistance thatshe made to this gave evidence enough that she was conscious in everysentient nerve. 

"Forgive me, " he said; "I am going--I have been wrong to force allthis upon you--but it is the last time that we shall meet. Let me, Ipray you, see your face once more before I turn away from itforever. "

The tense hands relaxed within his grasp, but he caught no more thana second's glimpse of the beautiful face before it was hid againsthis shoulder. 

At the same instant a low voice whispered in his ear:

"Don't move until I speak to you. "

Overwhelmed with wonder, he felt the hands which he had grasped nowholding fast his own, that she might compel him to the stillnesswhich she had commanded. Then the soft voice at his ear went on:

"You were right in saying that I did not love you--that you wouldhave urged me into a marriage to which I could not have brought thetrue feeling. I did not know it then, but I know it now. And I knowit now because--because--" her voice trembled and her breath camequick--"because now I do love you. Oh, Horace, better love than thisman could not have or woman give. "

She ended in a burst of tears, and her exhausted body leaned againsthim for support. 

For a moment he felt an amazement so overwhelming that he seemed halfunconscious from the whirling in his brain. Then, as a lightningflash lights up the whole dark heaven in an instant's time, the truthwas revealed to him, and, with that consciousness, his arms weretight about her and his kisses on her lips. 

If he questioned her at all, it was with his spirit, and her answercame in that ineffable sense of union which fused their souls in one. For long still moments they rested so, in that embrace, and when theymoved apart and looked into each other's eyes it was to take upforever that united life which was to bind them in true marriage. 

 * * * * *

When Nora returned from church she found them sitting quietly beforethe fire, the lamp burning brightly under the kettle, from which theLady Hurdly that was and was to be had just made tea for her lord. 

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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetter errors;otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author'swords and intent.