could doubt it? What happiness, what | spot of conscious self-judgment they ever peace even, could she look to were he to willingly abrogate. Mrs. Cathers had recover? It was not merely that he was even abrogated this. From the moment heartless, selfish, unfaithful even the that Algernon-bitten like other young colonel was not more exacting in his men with the eclecticisms of his day standard of masculine virtue than another, had joined the standard of æsthetic revolt, and he had encountered similar failings and proclaimed his abhorrence of all prebefore. It was nothing positive, in fact, vailing modes of apparel, Mrs. Cathers so much as what was negative. It was had submitted. She had followed in his the innate hollowness of the man. Tap wake as a faithful recruit follows his offi him where you would, he rang unsound. cer to the battle-field, had laid down her There was not a point, not even a defect, taste at his feet, as she might have laid upon which you could lay a finger and her life, and accepted his in its place withsay, "Here at least is solid ground." Such out a murmer. She would have worn a union as his and hers—what was it in poke bonnets or white linen caps for the its essence but the union between the liv-rest of her natural life, had Algernon ing and the dead? Life is growth, and there was no growth in him, and had his life been prolonged-yea, to the age of patriarchs- there never would have been. Character, the ethical side of humanity, was to all practical purposes absolutely non-existent.

It was only when he encountered poor Mrs. Cathers a shock which with true manly cowardice he avoided as much as possible that he relented. Pity then got the upper hand. The poor thing's wild despair was enough indeed to move the pity of any creature born of woman. Long as it had been foreseen by others, to her it was the inconceivable, the utterly impossible, that was happening. She was too good and pious, perhaps too matterof-fact for that wild sense of revolt which longs at any cost to avenge itself, which would discharge its unavailing bolts against the smiling heavens themselves. Astonishment was her prevailing feeling, a wonder that the earth and stars, the round sun itself could gaze unmoved upon so inconceivable a consummation. She seemed to those about her to shrink and pine from hour to hour, collapsing like some air-plant whose patron root is dying, and which as a consequence shares its doom.

taken it into his head to become a Quaker or a Cowley brother. What she had worn was scarcely less abhorrent to the natural woman. As for any reason or object for these - to her unaccountable - aberrations she had not a notion. Algernon preferred them, as he preferred many unaccountable things, and that was enough. Why he preferred them, she had no more pretensions to know than the weathercock upon the steeple pretends to know or share the inmost councils of Eolus.

And now the authority upon which she had formed herself was slipping away from her, the prop on which she had leaned was falling to the ground, and the poor maternal parasite, what, in pity's name, was to become of her? Where was she to turn, and what was she to do? Henceforward to all intents and purposes her life was over and done with, more piteous indeed than were it so, seeing that a thing which is doomed, but still lives, is a sadder one by far than where the struggle is already past. Had some form of maternal sutteeism been in force there is little doubt she would have accepted it, would have followed her Algernon to the tomb just as she would have followed him in anything conceivable that he had suggested while living. Poor tender unrequiring mother! What wonder that the hearts of all who saw her in those days bled when they thought of her future?

There are natures which in all tenderness can only be described as parasitic; which are as absolutely dependent upon another as the cytinus of Italian pine The colonel was a good deal puzzled woods is dependent upon the cistus on about his little friend Jan. Had any realwhich it feeds. From the moment of herization of her father's peril presented itself son's birth Mrs. Cathers's whole life, habits, tastes, pride, happiness, had been formed, concentrated upon, centred in this one object. She could hardly be said to have any separate existence, so absolute had been the identification. No more touching proof of this could be found than her dress the very palladium of simple feminine souls like hers - the last

to her small mind? he wondered. He had not seen much of her lately, so had not had any opportunity of talking to or being questioned by her. The next time, however, he went to the villa, she suddenly sprang up from a window-sill upon which she had curled herself to wait for her mother. It was in a passage near the sickroom and was kept dark, the persiennes

being tightly drawn. The child looked | melting indistinguishably one into anmore like a little gnome than ever, in the other, tossed into steeper curves and dim light, penetrated here and there by sharper descent than ever Atlantic billows thin threads of sunshine; her mop of fair hair stood on end like the wig of an electrical doll, her thin arms waved excitedly, as she seized him by the flap of his coat. "Colonel Laurie! Colonel Laurie ! Pleath I want to ask you zumthing. Where is fadie going?" she inquired eagerly. Going? The colonel stopped short. What had the child heard? he wondered. How much did she know? "What do you mean, Jan dear?" he asked gently. "I heard Peacock, muddie's maid, tell Cox zat he was going going fastand I want to know where he ith going

her, so that it was impossible to make out who it was. Presently, however, she moved and lifted her head, and then he saw that it was Lady Eleanor.

"He ought to have had a different wife; that has been his misfortune throughout," she went on. "There is no knowing what a difference that might not have made. His heart began to beat and vibrate A wife that would have suited him, that with great thick thuds; a sort of vertigo, would have understood his tastes, and born of the southern night, seemed to sympathized with him, who would have overtake and envelop him, and he half cared for the same sort of things as he lifted his arms towards her. She too saw did; not a stupid headstrong creature who him suddenly, and started a little; but, thought she knew better than any one. after a moment's hesitation, beckoned to Oh, John, what a fool, what a wretched, him to stay where he was, and, leaving wretched fool one is when one is young! the balcony, came slowly down a little And to think "She paused, and her outside staircase, which led into the gar- voice sank again to a yearning passionate den, her white dress and white face mak-pity, "to think of the harm that one may ing her a ghostly enough visitant for those dim reaches of the moon.

'Speak low," she said, when she had joined him," Mrs. Cathers has just fallen asleep. Poor thing, she is so tired! She has worn herself out with hope, and yet - yet perhaps it is better for her that she can hope."

"And you?" he said tenderly. Had his life depended on it he could not at that moment have helped the tenderness of his tone. Her face touched him inexpressibly. It was so wan, and weak, and white, the pale eyelids seeming hardly able to retain their places above the weary

eyes.

"Oh, I am well enough." She paused and sighed a little. "It has been such a comfort having her here. She is so good. She talks to him of what he did when he was a little boy, and repeats verses to him - little verses he used to learn about God and heaven, and he likes it, and listens gladly. I wish I had thought of doing that sort of thing before. I don't know why I didn't. Everything with me comes too late. I suppose it seemed "-she hesitated, and was silent.

"A mockery," was the word with which her hearer would have been inclined to finish the sentence. He did not so so, of course. He waited instead, trying to follow the course her thoughts had taken. He was startled and unprepared, however, when she suddenly broke out again, this time in a voice of yearning unspeakable pity.

"He is so young! Only twenty-seven! John, is it not cruel? Think of it! Twenty-seven! Why, a man of twenty-seven may be anything. His whole life is still before him. No one can tell what he may be. No one!"

do!"

He uttered an ejaculation of impatience. "Don't talk like that, Lady Eleanor," he said irritably. "You have no right to say such things of yourself. You are tired to-night, and overwrought; you cannot judge fairly. God knows, no human being except yourself could find a shadow of blame to throw at you. Be just! Injustice is injustice, even if it is against oneself."

"I know. It is not that; you do not understand. I am not blaming myself foolishly indeed. I do not say that of late- I have not done what I could. But -oh, I can't explain, you would never understand, no one could. It is that he ought to have had a different wife from the very beginning; one who would not have imagined such foolish, impossible things at first, and who would have had more patience, more sense afterwards. If only-oh, if only I could have the time again! If I could have foreseen!

If

There came a slight sound from overhead. She stopped and listened. It was repeated, and with a motion of the hand she glided away up the steps, and disappeared into the house. He waited for some time, thinking that she might reappear, but as she did not do so, he at last turned away and walked down the hill to his hotel.

His soul was hard and sore within him. A numbness, heavy as lead, lay upon him as he walked along through the moonstricken tree-trunks. "She loves him," he said to himself. "In spite of all he has done to cure her, she is not cured; she loves him. He will be dearer to her, too, dead, than ever he could be living. Living, he would have revolted her hourly by his selfishness, his incapacity to underThe colonel was silent. It seemed to stand the very alphabet of anything noble him that the lines of Algernon Cathers's or honest. Now she will make haste to life had been pretty accurately laid down. forget all that. She will invent a touching It was not the moment to say so, however. I fiction, and call it by his name. Dying,

he will be to her forever the lover of her | Young Mordaunt and John Lawrence were youth, the one being she supremely loved. upon the ridge, but did not enter the villa. Her generosity and magnanimity will be his shield and buckler. Once dead safe, therefore, from himself no other dart will be able to assail him. His shrine will be in the very front of her life, empty, but still the symbol of all that she has loved, all that she ever can love!"

HE did not see her again for nearly a week. The last struggle, as often happens He had lain there for perhaps threein consumption, was a hard one; hard quarters of an hour, soothed by the stillupon the sufferer, but perhaps harder stillness and the greenery, when a sound upon those who stood by. There came floated down to him from the ridge, a an afternoon, however, when it was known sound which to less attentive ears might to every one that the end had nearly come. I have been a mere wailing of wind amongst

the tree-tops. He hurried up, and five | and stern, and whatever had to be done minutes later stood with his hand upon must be done at once. John Lawrence the latch of the little gate. The deadly and young Mordaunt hurried away in difsilence was broken; there was a subdued ferent directions. A messenger was sent sound and movement everywhere percep- to Lucca to see that all was in readiness. tible. Doctor Mulligan came for an in- Finally it was decided that they should go stant to a window, and nodded his head on in front, so as to smooth the way as significantly; he could hear a moving to much as possible. Mrs. Cathers's condiand fro of feet, an opening and shutting tion was a serious embarrassment. The of doors, but over every other sound came poor thing passed from one state of unthe one which he had heard below, now consciousness to another, the intervals grown louder, the wailing of a creature in being filled with plaints, sobs, and wild anguish, inarticulate, terrible, uncontrol- appeals to her son to come to her, to lable. It tore into the hearts of all who speak one word, only one little word to heard it, that supreme expression of im- his poor mother; she wouldn't detain him potent agony, hardly human in its self- indeed she wouldn't! Her mind, worn abandonment. It seemed to ring, vibrate, by the prolonged strain, seemed to have beat in its passionate misery all about the suddenly given way completely. So ensilence; the woods, the walls, the very air feebled was it that the doctor seriously to be filled with the heart-piercing clamor. doubted the possibility of moving her, and At last it died away, changing first to suggested her being left where she was wild sobbings and moanings, then ceasing until she was a little recovered. She was suddenly, as if the merciful hand of un-aware, however, that her son was being consciousness had been laid upon the sufferer's eyes. The further windows had been opened for additional air, and against the light John Lawrence could see Lady Eleanor and the doctor bending over a prostrate figure which they were helping to lift and carry from the room. The poor mother's hopes had given way at last. Hope may be an angel, but it is one which carries a spear, and when it leaves it often kills.

John Lawrence's heart was full of pity; nevertheless after the first minute once those cries of agony were out of his ears his thoughts turned with the precision of a magnet to a yet more pressing preOccupation. How was she feeling? Was her heart, too, torn with an agony which only regard for others, only the stoicism of self-restraint, prevented her showing in the same fashion? He had a wild desire to rush into the house into the very chamber of death-to take her by the hand, look into her eyes, assert his own claim - an older, better claim, he felt, than that of the man who was lying dead upon the bed, whose ring was upon her finger. It was an impossible impulse, he knew, to follow, an impossible right to claim. He must be patient; he must forbear, he must wait. Wait! Torturing lesson! slowest of all lessons to be learnt, even by women who have had millenniums to do it in. He turned away, sick, cold, aching with the sense of his own impo

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moved, and, that being the case, it was impossible, they found, to persuade her to remain behind, indeed there seemed a cruelty in the bare suggestion. Fortunately, as long as she was only allowed to go, in all else she was docility itself. Her natural submissiveness seemed to be even increased by her mental weakness. It was as if, in following her son to the grave, she felt herself still under his direction, still obeying the voice which, ever since it could articulate, had been to her as the voice of Heaven. In the train she sat all day gazing at a spot a little in advance of the windows, never speaking, evidently seeing and heeding nothing. When night came, they could not induce her to lie down, it seemed as if she feared to interrupt her journey by so doing. She sat and sat unweariedly, till the long darkness wore away, and the sun again shone pitilessly upon their travel-worn faces. Paris; another eye-wearying stretch of daylight, followed by the noise and jar of the embarkation; then the paler sunshine, the green fields speckled with that universal smuttiness which to all newly arrived eyes seems to be rapidly overwhelming the whole of England. London, a blur and a rattle, then a few hours' rest, and then on and on again, till the broad fields and familiar red-brown banks of Devonshire were at length around them.

At the Redcombe station John Lawrence met the party. It was the first time he had seen Lady Eleanor since the evening of her husband's death, and he had looked forward to the meeting as a clue to what she was feeling. Now that he saw