"Is there anything particularly wrong in Frank's performing with Miss Fenton? You know, Mr. Cotherstone, some actress must play with him." Here she took the newspaper, and cast her eye over the column to which Claude pointed. Really, Mrs. Aylesmere, your question is difficult to answer. Of course some woman must play the woman's part. But, you know, Frank and Miss Fenton are upon a footing altogether so-so-"

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"So what, Mr. Cotherstone?"

"I hardly know how to designate it-yet I fear from all I have heard-Mind, I am saying nothing of my own knowledge-one that can hardly be satisfactory to Frank's wife." "Don't you think Frank's wife should be the best judge of that?"

"Naturally, since, no doubt, Frank has in his various letters told his wife he has been playing for nearly six weeks with Miss Fenton!"

Here Claude had, as he knew, touched the wound that rankled deep in Juliana's heart. Startled out of her assumed impassibility, she cried wildly, "No, he has not! If he had, I should certainly have mentioned it to you. If you knew it, and concealed it, you have not acted as the friend I believed you to be."

"I will now confess to you, my dear Mrs. Aylesmere, that I have suspected it. You'll say I might have informed myself. Indeed, that would not have been difficult. But what if I had? Why should I widen the breach already existing between you and your husband?"

"Who says there exists a breach between us? There is no such breach! There have been differences between Frank and my mother, and much, I fear, I increased them by wavering in my duty as a wife."

"Don't reproach yourself, Mrs. Aylesmere. Indeed, you are blameless. Why take upon yourself the faults of others? If Frank has though, pray observe, I don't say he has―shown himself unworthy of the treasure he possessed in you, let him bear the blame, and more than that "-after a pause gravely and impressively—“ let him suffer the consequences." "What do you mean by the consequences?

66 The consequences! Humph! In such a case it remains with the wife-the injured wife-to determine what those

consequences shall be. There are easy-going wives who readily overlook the loss of what they, perhaps, never much cared for. There are others with deeper sensibilities who, though they never can forget, may yet forgive; others, again, who, once finding themselves deceived, have no thought but how to-to-be revenged on the deceiver."

"Revenged!" she repeated mechanically.

"Yes-revenged. If I were of your sex I should be of this last order. Knowng my own value, and finding myself unappreciated by one, I should turn to another who I knew could appreciate me rightly!"

There are some women so pure that even impurity may come to them clothed in the garb of purity. The doctrine thus laid down by Cotherstone would have been comprehended, in the sense in which he intended it, by a majority of young wives moving in Juliana's sphere of life, even without being illustrated-as it was-by the speaker's meaning glances; but in all probability she did not so read it. At all events, she made no demonstration whatever, observing a determined silence, and apparently being absorbed in her own

reflections.

Claude felt puzzled. His knowledge of women was at fault. This woman was above his accustomed standard. His calculations were upset : he could not penetrate to the depths of Juliana's fine nature, which, in proportion with the accumulation of proof against Frank, revolted from admitting others to a share in her conviction of his faithlessness. Claude had misjudged her. Where he had looked for torrents of outspoken

anguish, bursts of indignation, appeals for sympathy, he found silence, reserve, to all appearance complete self-possession. Thus brought to a standstill in his operations, check-mated in the game he was playing with human weaknesses and passions, he almost rejoiced when Juliana put an end to the interview by saying, although abruptly, not without feeling, "Accept my thanks for your good intentions. If I should have any advice to ask of you I am sure you will give it to the best of your judgment: but till then, pray let this subject be dropped between us, and I particularly request that it mentioned to either of my parents-that above everything." Till the hour of luncheon, Juliana remained invisible to her mother, having sent word that she was writing her letters,

may

not

be

and

wished to be alone. The truth was that, secluded from all eyes, she was giving full way to the agony upon which she had during the last hour placed a violent and unnatural restraint. When, however, she came down-stairs, she appeared so perfectly self-possessed that her bearing became more than ever enigmatical to Claude Cotherstone.

During the afternoon Mrs. Leadstone made an attempt to draw her daughter into conversation on the subject of Frank, but it was met by the observation carelessly uttered, “Frank! Oh! you know, mother, I shall see him very soon."

'At Birmingham-eh, dearest ?"

"Yes, Birmingham."

Then, as Juliana was departing, her eyes suffused with irrepressible tears, Mrs. Leadstone drew her-this time with unfeigned tenderness-to her heart, and silently kissed those

tears way.

"She suffers," the conscience-stricken mother said to herself. "Ah! how much of this grief may be set down to my

account!"

CHAPTER XLI.

THE reader will remember the incident of the "peppering received by Frank Aylesmere and the head-keeper Mathew Gibson, in a certain "hot corner" of the Lentworth coverts. Mathew was the brother of Charlotte née Gibson, now Mrs. Bigge, of the Green Dragon, Dimborough. A great favourite was Mathew with Frank and Juliana, a master of his craft, and withal as honest a fellow as ever broke dog or collared poacher.

The keeper's lodge, erected under the present dynasty, was picturesquely situated in the midst of the higher woods, space from which had been cleared for the house and stables, a garden and a paddock-in all between three and four acres. The road leading up to it was never particularly good, owing to the quality of the soil, and its inaccessibility to the action of the wind. In wet weather it was such as fect encased in hob-nailed boots alone could traverse with ease. Along this road, however, early one afternoon-the afternoon, as it happened, of the identical Monday selected for the first night

of Hamlet at Manchester-a young lady, richly clad and lightly shod, might be seen cautiously picking her steps, and pausing from time to time, partly to rest, partly to look back suspiciously, as if fearful of being observed.

"Lawk, Jane! If here beant our young Missus a-comin' up t' road, and a pretty muck it's in arter last night's rain." Thus Mathew to his wife, as the two stood at the lodge door. Surely it is Mrs. Aylesmere!" quoth Jane. "Go down, Mat-help the dear lady up. It's a bit steep where she is."

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"Who'd ha' thought

"If I might be so

Mathew ran down to meet Juliana. for to see you, mum!" he exclaimed. bold, please lean on my arm. You looks tired, mum-walkin' wi' ever so many hosses and men in they stables up at t' house!"

"I came purposely alone, Mathew. I'm very glad to find you at home. I have something very particular to say to you." There was a curt decisiveness in Juliana's speech which effectually silenced Mathew, who, without replying, led her into the lodge, and placed her in his wooden armchair by the fire.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Gibson," Juliana began. “I'm here to ask Mathew's assistance. I know I can trust you both. I would not ask you, Mathew, to do anything likely to displease my father: but I ask you to assist me in-in serving-Mr. Aylesmere." A slight hesitation was perceptible in these last words. "I am going to meet him, and for reasons of my own I wish nobody—not a single person about the place to know where I am going, when I go, or how I go! You understand me, Mathew?"

Oh, yes-Mathew understood her she might depend on him for anything in mortal life to serve her or the young Squire, as the Lentworth people generally styled Frank. Pray what was it she wished him to do?

"It is this, Mathew. I am going to-night to Manchester. Here is Bradshaw's Railway Guide. I am not able to make the route out exactly. As far as I can understand it, I must change the line three times, and have a good deal of waiting at the stations. But I cannot help that. Now, Mathew, look here"-pointing to the hieroglyphical pages with her gemmed finger. "I find I can neither take

66

the Middleford nor the Market Dimborough Stations, but must go more northward to the Bullfield Junction. I want you to go over, not to Middleford, but to Market Dimborough, and order a fly here to take me to Bullfield Junction. The train I go by is due at 9.29. I ought to be there by a quarter past nine."

It had taken Mathew some minutes to recover from the astonishment occasioned by young Missus' arrival on foot and alone at his lodge; but he was thrown into a state of indescribable mental confusion by the orders for such he considered her request-thus imposed on him. Before offering a word of observation, he pulled out his spherical silver watch (inherited from his grandfather), and fell a reckoning on his fingers,occasionally expediting his calculations. by scratching his head. Having arrived at what appeared a conclusion, he began, "It's now half arter three. I start a quarter afore four-hour and a half a-ridin' to Market Dimborough-quarter of an hour to get fly ready-fly'll take a good hour and three quarters a-comin' to fetch you, and every minute o' two hours to get you over to Bullfield Junction. Let me see-that makes-stop a bit! Stop a bit! Now don't ye 'urry me, Jane!"

"Nonsense about hurrying you, Mat!" Jane exclaimed sharply; "you aint got the time as you think—why, you're abringin' Mrs. Aylesmere's startin' to a quarter to seven, and then a-gettin' her to Bullfield only just time to meet t' train."

"Jane's right, Mrs. Aylesmere, mum-she's right-she's better at figures nor I be. She allus checks my game book, she does. It's just what she says. We should only get you to Bullfield five minutes afore t' train's due, even supposin' all goes straight and smooth, with never a hitch on the road, which aint to be reckoned on with they flys and their brokedown hosses. No, no, mum, that'll never do. Please what may be the next train as is suitable?"

"I can make out none till the mail train, at some minutes after eleven. Too late-much too late, Mathew. I must catch the 9.29!"

Mathew first shook his head, then scratched it, finally scrubbing his thick crisp beard. "You'll be 'avin a lot o' luggage, mum," he presently said, "and the lady's maid, and one o' the men ? "