SIR TOM.*

New Zealand Herald, Volume XX, Issue 6817, 22 September 1883, Page 3

SIR TOM.*

By MRS. OLIPHANT. ) Author of "Tho Chronicles of Carlinsford," "Tho Greatest Ilciroas in England," "Ho that Will Not when llb May," &c., tic. CHAPTER XXXIX. LUCY'S DISCOVERY. When it liappenß to an innocent and simple soul to find out suddenly at a stroke the falsehood of some one upon whose truth the whole universe depends, the effect is such as perhaps has never been put forth by any attempt at pyschological investigation. When it happens to a s/rcat miud we have Hamlet with all the world in ruins round him, all other thought as of revenge or ambition becoming secondary and spasinotic, since neither revenge nor advancement can put together again ttie works of life or make man delight him, or women either. But Lady Randolph was no genius, not oven u great intellect to be unhinged—scarcely mind enough to understand how it was that all the glory had paled out of earth and sky, and all the world seemed different when she rose from her uneasy bed next morning, pale, after a night without sleep, in which she had uot been able to have eveu the relief of restlessness, but had lain motionless without even a sigh or tear, so crushed by the unexpected blow that she could not fathom nor understand what had happened to her. She was too pure herself to jump at auy thought of gross infidelity. She felt she knew not what tbat the world had j;one to pieces—that she did not know how to shape it again into anything consistent, that she could not look into her husband's face, or command her voice to speak to him, for shame of the thought that he had failed in truth. Lucy felt somehow as if she were the culprit. She was ashamed to look him in the face. She made an early visit to the nursery, and stayed there pretending various little occupations until she heard Sir Tom go downstairs. He had returned sc ; much to his told ways, and now that the house

"The proprietors of the New Zealand Hebald hiwe purchased the sole right cJ PnblishiDg '< Sir Tom" In this Colony.

was full, and there were other people to. ocoupy the Contessa, had shewn so clearly (as Lucy had thought) that he was pleased to be liberated from his attendance upon her, that the cloud that had risen between them had melted away ; and indeed, for some time back, it had been Lucy who was the Coritessa's stay and suport, at which Sir Tom had secretly laughed. All had been wel.lbetween husband and wife during theearly partof tbe season parliamentary, the beginning of their life in London. Sir Tom had been much engrossed with the cares, of public life, but he had been delightful to Lucy, whose faith in him and his new occupations waa great. And it was exhilarating tp think that the Cintessa had secured that li'-tle house in Mayfair for her own campaign and that, something like a new honeymoon was about .to begin for the pair, whose bapp'nesa seamed for a moment to tremble in the balance. Lucy had been looking forward to the returfl to London with a more bright and conscious anticipation of well-being than she had ever experienced. In the first outset of life happiness seems at nccesßary of existence. It is calculated.upon without misgiving; it is simple nature beyond question. But when the natural "of course" has once been broken, it is with a warmer glow of content that we seo the prospect once more stretch before us bright as at first and more assured. This is bow Lucy had been regarding her life. It was not so simple, so easy as it once had been, but the happiness to which she was looking, forward, and which she had already partially entered into possession of, was all the more sweet and dear that she had known, or fancied herself about to know, the loss, and absence of it. Now in a moment all that fair prospect, that blessed certainty, was gone. Trie earth was cut away from under her feet. She felt everything to be tottering, falling round her, and nothing in all ■ the universe to lay hold of to prop herself up : for when the pillars of the WorM ars thus unrooted, the heaving of the earthquake and the falling of the ruins impart; a certain vertigo and giddy instability even to heaven. Fletcher, Lucy's maid, who was usually discreet enoufih, waited upon her mistress that morning with a certain air of importance, and of knowing something which she was bursting with eagerness to tell, such aa must, have attracted Lady Randolph's attention in any other circumstances. But Lucy was far too much occupied with what was in her own mind to observe the perturbation of the maid, who consequently had no resource sinpe.her mistress would not question her than : to introduce hecself the subject on which ahe was so anxious to utter her mind.. She began by inquiring if her ladyship had heard the music last night. " The music ?" Lucy said. "Oh, my My, haven't you heard what a singer Miss Beachy has turned out?" Fletcher cried. Lucy, to Whom all this seemed ps dim and far away as if it had happened years ago, answered with a faint smile. " Yes, she has a lovely voice." "It is not my place," said Fletcher, " being only a Servant to make remarks, but my lady if k might make so bold it do seem to the like of us an 'oirible thing to take advantage of a young lady hke your ladyship that thinks no harm." , "You should not make such remarks, , said Lucy, roused a little. "No, my lady : but still a woman iff a %omim even thuugh but a sen ant. I SJid to Mrs. Freshwater, I was sure your ladyship would never fiatiction it I never thought that of MiBS Beachy, I Will allow. I always said sho was a nice young Hdy ; but evil communications my lady-—wo all know what , the Bible says. Gentlemen upstairs in her room, and her singing to them, and bughint; and talking liko as no housemaid in the house OB valued her character would do " "Fletcher," said Lucy, "you must say no more about ihie. It was Mr, Jock and Mr. Derwentwater only who were with Mibß Bice—aud with my permission," she added after a moment, "as he is goiug away to morrow." Such deceits are easy to learn ' " Oh," Miss Fletcher cried with a quaver in her voice. " 1 beg your pardon, my l.itly, I'm sure; I thought there must be something laying underneath, and that Miss Bice would ntver— And When she was dowu with Sir Thomas in the stody it would be the sane, my lady ?" the woman said. "With Sir Thomas in lhe study." The words went vaguely into Lucy's mind. It had not seemed possible to increase the confusion aod misery in her brain, hut there was a heightening of it, a sort of wave of bcwildernment and pain greater than before, a sense of additional giddiness) and failing. She gave a wave of her hand and said something, she scarcely knew what, which silenced Fletcher. And then she went downstaira to the new world. She did not go to the nursery even, as was her wont; her heart turned from little Tom. She felt that to look at him would be mare than sho could bear. 'There nas no deceit in him, no falsehood—as yet.' But perhaps when he grew up he would cheat her too. Ho would pretend to lovo herfand betray her trust. He would kisa her; ; and then go away and ecoff at her, if HeHwbuld smile and smile aud be a villian. Such words were not in Lucy's mind ; and even the'suspicion was fco contrary to Jjer nature Uhat'it disorgauised everything, liko poison poured into water. And it cannot be told what disv coveries she seemed to make eveafinjithe , course of that morning in this dition of her mind. Them ■Cwasj^ajljaze 5 over everything, but yet lightment oven in the haze. She saw.,in\her little way, as Hamlet saw the» falsehobd^ : 6£; his courtiers, his gallant yOungcompaniphs, and tho schemes of Polonius,'? and'; even Ophelia in t.'ie plot to trap him—the saw how false ;il! these people were in theii- civilities,' in their extravagant thanks and compliments to her as thoy went away. ■■■ For., the Easter recess was just over, and everybody wasgoing away. The mother and her daughters said to her, " Such -t, delightful visit, dei\r. Lady Randolph," with kisses of farewellV'and wreathed smiles ; and she perceived somehow by a sort of nocoud sight that they .added',to each other ( "Oh, what a bore it has'been ; nobody worth meeting !" and "How.thank-* ful 1 am it's over!" which was indeed ;'vvh«it Miss Miunie and Miss Edith said. .If Lucy had seen a.little deeper she would have known that this was a sort of conventional falsify which the young ladies s.nid to each other according to the fashion of the day, without any meaning to speak of ; but OHO must have learned a graat many lessons before;one comes to that. Then Jock, who. bad.been woke up in quite a different way, took leave of Mr. Tutor, that god of his old idolatory, without being able to refrain from some semblance ot tbe old-absorbing affection^k'' l ara ao sorry you are uot coming with me old felJow." Mr. Oerwentwater said. Jook replied, "So am I," with an effort, as if firing a parting volley over his friend, but afterwards turned biick gloomily with an expression of relief. " I'mfilad he's gone, Lucy." "Then you did not want to go with him, Jock?'.' "I wouldn't have gone for anything. ■■: .I've just got to that—tbat I can bear him,", cried Jock, And Lucy, in the midst of the ruins, felt her head go round, though here too the falsehood was fictitious had she but knOvVD. It is not, however, in the nature of Buch a shock that any of those alleviating circumstances which modify the character of any human septiment can be taken into account. Lucy had taken everything for gospel in the first chapter of existence ; trhe had believed what everybody said, and like every other human soul, after such a discovery as sho had made, she went to the opposite extremity now, not wittingly, not voluntarily; but tho pillars of the, earth were shaken, ani nothing stood fast.: They went up to town next day. . In the meantime she had little or no intercourse with the Conteesa, who was preparing for the journey and absorbed in letter writing, makingkncHvn to everybody whom she could thing of, the existence <if the little house in Mayfair. It is doubtful whether she so much as observed any difference in the demeanour of her hostess, having in fact the moat unbounded confidence in Lucy, whom she did not believe capable of any such revulsion Of feeling. Bice was more clear-sighted : but she thought Milady was displeased with her own proceedings, and soueht no further for a cause. And tho only thing the tirl could do was to endoavour by all the little she oould think of to show the warm affection she really felt for Lticy—a method which made the heart of Lucy more and more sick with the sense of falsehood whieh sometimes rose in her almost to tho height of psraion. A woman who had evor learned to use harsh words, or to whose mind it had ever been possible to dp Or eay anything to hurt another, would no doubt have burst fort'i epon the girl with some roproach or intimat :on' of doubt which might have cleared the nisAVpt so far as Bice went. But Lucy had no an.ij words at her command. She. could ni.fc Vay aflything Unkind. It was not in her.' She could ; be silent, indeed, but hot even, that so far as ' to "hurt the feelings" of her companion. • The effect, therefore, was only that Lucy > laboured to maintain a little, ortifioial conversation, whieh in its turn reacted upon her ' mind, ehpwing that even in herself thercs was the Bamo disposition of insincerity which she

had begun to discover in. the world. She could say nothing to Bice about the matters which a little while before, ■when, all was well, she had grieved over and. objected to. Now she had nothing to to say on sneb. snbjecta. That the girl should be pat up to auction, as it were, that she should put forth all those arts in which iihe had been trained to attract and secure young Moatjoie or any like him, were things which had passed beyond her sphere. To think of them rendered her heart more sick, her head more giddy* But if Bice married someone whonV she did not lqve, that was not so bad aa to think that perhaps she herself all this time. had. beeq living with and loving, in sacred trust and faith, a man who eveu. by her side was full of thoughts unknown to her, given to : another life. Sometipies Lucy closed her eyes in a sort of sick despair, feelipg all about her go round and round. But she. said nothing to throw any light upon the state of y her being., Sir Tom felt a little gravity—a, little distance in his wife; but he himself was much occupied with a new and painful subject of thought. And Jock observed nothing at all, being at a stage when man (or boy) is wholly possessed with affairs of hie own. He had his troubles, too. He was not easy about, that breach with hie master now that they Were separated. When Bice waa kind to him a gleam of triumph, rniagled with pity, made him remorseful towards that . earlier friend; and when she was unkind a bitter senee of fellowship turned Jock's thoughts towards that sublime ideal of mascuiine friendship which is above the lighter loves of women, idow can a boy think of his sister when absorbed in such a mystery of his own ? —even if he considered hie sister at all, as a person whom it. was needful to think about, which he did not, Lucy being herself one of the pillars of the earth to hie unopened eyes. '■ 'All this, however, made no difference in ; determination. She wrote to Mr. Rushton that very morning,, after this revolution, in her s soul, to instruct him as to her intentions in respect to Bice, aud to her other trustee in London to request him to see hef immediately on her arrival irxPark-lane. Nothing : should be changed in that matter— for \yhy, she said to herself, should Biee suffer becauee Sir Tom Was uutrue. It seemed to her that there was more reason tfa&n ever why she Bhould rouse herself anrl throw off her in-' aqtion.- No doubt there were many people whoiij she could make, if not happy, yet comfortable. It waa comfortable (everybody said) to have enough money—to. be. well off. ] Lucy had no experience of what it waa to be without it. She thought to herself she would like to try, to have only what she ■ needed, to cook the food for her little family, to nurse little Tom all by herself, to ■ live as the cottagers lived. There Was in her '■ mind no repugnance to any of the details of poverty. ; Ber wealth Was an accident; it was the habit of her race to be poor, and it seemed to Lncy that she would he happier could she shake off now all those external circumstances i which had grown like everything else into falsehoods, giving an appearance of welU . being which did not exist. But other people thought it well to have money, and it was hqr duty, to give it. A kind of contempt rose , within., her for all that withheld hef pre- : "vioualy; 1 :. To avoid her duty because it would ; displease Sir.Tom—what was that but false- , hood too.' « .;,.... ... ■ ihe'y reaened town in the afternoon of a i sweet April day, the sky aglow with a golden ; sunset, against which the trees in the park i stood out with their half-developed buda;. aud ; all the freshness of the spring was in the long stretches of green, and the softened jubilee of < sound to which, somehow, as the air warms j towards summer, the voices of the world out- j side tune themselves. The Contessa and Bice j in great spirits and happiness like two child- j reu hornc from school had left the Katidolpb j party at the railway, to take possession of the little house at Mayfair. They had both j waved their hantia from the carriage window j and called out, "Be sure you come and see us,. , ', as they drove away. "You will come ( to-night," they had stipulated With Tom and ] Jock. .. It was like a new toy which filled them with glee. Could it be possible that | those two adventurers going off to their little j temporary home with smiles so genuine, with ; so simple a. delight in their new beginning, J in their strange way. innocent, full of guile i and shifts as one was, and the other so apt a scholar?.'. Lucy Would have joined in all this ] pleasue two days ago, but she could not now. • She went homo to her- luxurious heueej where ] all was ready as if she had not bsien. absent j an hour. How wonderfully Wealth smooths • away the inconveniences of change ! and how , little it has to do, Lucy thought, with the ■ o.omforfc of the soul! No need for any exer- ; tjon on her part, any scuffling for the. first arrival, trouble of novelty. She came from • the Hall to Londori without any Bense of change. Had she been compelled to superintend the arrangemsn.t of heijhouse, to make , it habitable, to make it pretty, that would ; have done her good. But the only thing for her to do was to see Mr. Chervil, her trustee, who waited upon her according to herrequst, andjwho, after the usual remonstrances,, took her instructions abont the gift to Bice very unwillingly but still with a forced submission. -?,',.lf I cannot make you see the folly of it, Lady -Randolph, and if Sir Thomas does nob object, I don't know what more is to bo said." .".There ie nothing moire to be said," Lncy said with a smile ; but there waa this diffi' eulty: in the proceeding whieh she had not thought of, that Bice's narne all this time Was:.unknown, to her—Beatrice di FornoPopulo," she supposed but the Coutessa had nevor c.tlled her so, and it was necessary to be;;exact, Mr.-i Chervil said so. He hailed this aa an occasion of delay. He was not so violent as he had been on previous occasions when. Lucy was jounge.r; and he did not, likoiMr. Rushton, assume the necessity of epeaking to Sir Tom.,. Mr. Chervil was a London solicitor, and .knew yery little about Sir. Tom. But he waa glad to seize upop anythin ,: that was good for a little delay. ..:,. After this interview was over it was a mingled ' vexation and relief to Lucy to see the Dowager drive up. to the door. Lady Brndolph the e'.der waa always in London from the first moment possible. She pr<r-' ferred 1;ho fir.'jt bursting of the spriug. in the •squaresi and parks. She liked to see her friends arrive by degree and to feel that she had ao far the better of them. She came in, full, as i sho always was of riiatter, with a Shouaand things to say. " I have come to stay to dinner if you will have me," shesaid, " lor of bourse Tom will be ont. Men are always so glad to get back to their life." And it was, ,'pevhaps, s relief to have Lady Kandolph to dinner, to be Saved from the purely domestic party, to which Jock scarcely added any new element; but it was bard for Lucy to encounter even tho brief qnestioninga whiaft were addressed to her in the short interval before dinner. ''So you have got rid of that woman at last, the dowager said ;. "I hear she has pot a house in Mayfair." "Yes, Aunt Randolph—if you mean the Contessa," said L icy, , ',' And, there she intends to make a bold coup, to get the girl off her hands. These sort of people so often succeed, I shouldn't wonder if she Were to succeed. I always said the girl would be handsome, but I think she might have waited another year." To this Lucy made no reply, and it was nqeceeeary for the dowager to carry on the conversation so to speak at her own cost. ; "I hope meat earnestly Lucy," she said, that, now you have got clear of them you will not n)ix yourself up with them again. You were placed iu a difficult position, very difficult to get out of I will allow ; but nqw that you have shaken them off, and they have proved they can get on without you, don't, 1 entreat you, mix yourself up with them again." Lucy could not keep the blood from mounting and colouring her face She had always Spoken of the Contessa calmly before. She tried to keep her composure now.. "Dear Auut Randolph I have not shaken them offThey have gone away themselves, and how can I refuse to see them ? There is to be a party for them on. the twenty-fifth." "Oh my dear, my dear, that was very imprudent! I had hoped you would keep clear of them in London. It is one thing showing kindness to aa d<l friend in the country, and it is qnito another —" . Here Lucy made aud imperative gesture, almost commanding .silence. Sir Tom was coming ipto tho room. She was seated in the great bay window against the early twilight, the soft radiance of wbicn dazzled tho eyes of the elder lady, and prevented her from | perceiving her nephew's, approach. But Lilly Aandolph, before she rose to meet him gave a startled look at Luoy. " Have you found it out then?" she said involuntarily, in her great surprise.

CHAPTER XL. THE DOWAttKR's EXPLANATION. The elder Lady Randolph waa a woman, far more clever than Lucy, who know the world. And she was apt perhap?, instead of. mis&ing the meaning of: the facts around her, to put too much significance in them. Now, when the little; pariy met at a.innet Lady:Ra'hd6lph saw in the faces of both husband and wife

inore than was there; though much was there: Sir Toin was mpre grive than beoame: a man who had returned into, life, as hie aunt said, and waa looking forward, to resuming, the better part of existence—the House; the : elub3, the quick throb of living which i> in London. His countenance was full of thought, and there was both trouble .and perplexity in it, but not the excitement which the dowager supposed she found there, and those signs of having yielded to uawilk ing influence which eyee accustomed to the world are so ready to discover. Lucy for her part was pale and silent. She had little to say,, and scarcely addressed her husband at ail. Lady Randolph, and that was very natural, took those signs, of heart-sickness for tokens of complete enlightenment, for the passion of a woman who had entered upon that strugple with another woman for a man's love, which, even when the man is her husband, has something degrading in. it. There had been a disclosure, a terrible I scene, no doubt, a stirring up of all the I. passions, Lady Randolph thought. No doubt that was the reason why the Contessa had loosed her clutches, and. left. [the honse free of her presence; but Lucy was still trembling after the tempest, and had not learned to take any pleasure in her victory. This was the conclusion of the woman of the world. ; The dinner was not a lengthy one, and the ladies Went upstairs again, with a suppressed constraint, each anxious to know for what the other was on her guard not. to tell. They sat alone expectant for some time, making conversation, taking their coffee, listening, and watching how each other listened, for the corojns*. of the gentleman ; or, rather, for Sir Tom; for Jock, in his boyish insignificance, counted for little. The trivial little words that passed between them during this interval were charged with a sort of moral electricity, and stnng and tingUd in the too conscious silence. At length, after some time had. elapsed : "I am glad I can.e," eaid Lady Eandolph, "to Bit with you, Lucy, this first evening ; for, of couree, Tom cannot resist, the first evening in town, the charms of his club." " His club.! Oh, I think he has gone to see the house," Lucy said. "He promised—; it is not very far off." " The house ? You mean that woman's house. Lucy, I have no patience with you any more than I have with Tom. Why don't you put a etop to-it ? why don't yoii—? for I suppose you have found out what sort of woman she is by this, time, and why ehe came here 1" " She came—to introduce Bice and establish her in her world," Lucy eaid, in a faint tone, " Oh ! Aunt Eandolph, please do not let us discuss it! It is not what 1 like to think of. Bice will be sacrificed to the first rich man who asks her; of at least that is what the Contessa means." " My dear Lucy," said the dowager calmly, "that i 3 reasonable enough. I wish the Gontessa meau.t no worse than that, Most girls are persuaded to marry a rich man if he aeks them. I don't think so much of that. But it will not be so easy as she thinks," the Dowager added. "It is true that beauty does much, but not everything ; and a girl in that position, with no connections, or at least none that she would not be better Without—" : Lucy's attention strayed from this question, which once had been so- important, and which now seemed so secondary; but the conversation must be maintained! She eaid at random, "She has a beautiful voice," "Has she? ; And the Gontessa herself sings very well. That will no doubt be another attraction,". 3aid Lady Randolph, ic her impartial way; " But the end of it all is, who will she get to go, and who will invite them ? It is i-aia to lay snares if there is. nothing to be CJUght.". .. ~ "They will be invited—here," said Lucy, faltering a little." ; " I am to have a great gathering on the 25th," ".. '.°' .. " You ! —and she is to appear here for the first time, to make her debut.-. Good heavens, Lucy ! What can I say to you girl !" " Why not. Aunt Randolph ?" said Lucy (Oh, what does it matter—what does it matter ! that she should make so much fuse about it, she was saying in herself); "I have always liked Bice, aad she has been very good to little Tom." "Well," cried the abgry lady, forgetting herself, and smiling the fierce smile of wrath, \ " there is no doubt that it is perfectly appropriate—the very thing that ought to happen if we lived according to the rules of nature, without thought o£ conventionalities and decorums and so forth-roh, perfectly appropriate i If you don't object I know no one who has any right to say a word." Even now Lucy was scarcely roused enough to be surprised by the vehemence of these words, " Why should I object J" sbe said; "or why should anyone say a word?" Her calm, which was almost indifference, excited Lady Randolph more and mere. " You are either superhuman, 1 ' she said with exasperation, "or you are—.Lucy, I dpu't know what words to use. You put one out of every reckoning. You are likencbody I ever kaew bffofe. Why ehould you object? Why, good heavens! you are the oaly person that has any rights-Who should object if not you?" ; ' ■ ... " Aunt Randolph," said Lucy, rousing herselE with an effort, "wonld you please tell me plainly what you mean ? I am not clever. I can't make things out. I have always liked Bice. To save her from being made a victim I am going to give her Eome of the money under my father's will—and if I could give her—What is the matter?" she cried, stopped short suddenly, and in spite of herself, growing pale, . . :. Lady Randolph flung up her hands in dismay. She gave something like a shriek as she exclaimed, "And Tom is letting you do this ?" with horrpr in her tone, "He h.'s promised that he will not oppose," Lucy said; " bat why do you speak so, and look so ? Bice—has done no harm." " Oh, no ; Biee has done no harm," cried 1 Lady Randolph bitterly ; ." nothing, except being born, which is harm enough. I think. 1 But do you mean to tell me, Lucy, that Tom —a man of honour notwithstanding all his vagaries—Tom—lets you do this and never saysa word ■? Oh, it is too much. I have always stood by him. I have been his support when every one else failed. But this is too much ; that ho should put the burden upon you —that he should make you responsible '. for this girl of his—" ■ "- ■,".■■•■ "Aunt Randolph!" cried Lucy, rising up quickly and confronting the angry woman. She put up hef hand with a serious dignity that was doubly impressive from her usual simpleness. " What is it you mean ? This girl of his! I do not understand. She is not much more than a child. You cannot, cannot suppose that Bice—that it is she—that she is—." Here she Suddenly covered her face with her hands. " Oh, you put things in my mind that I am ashamed to think of," Lucy cried. "I mean," said Lady Randolph, Who in the heat of this discussion had got beyond her owe power of self-restraint, " what : everybody but yourseif must have seen long ago. That woman is a shameless woman, but even She would not have had the effrontery to bring any girl to your house. It was more shameless, I think to bring that one than any other, but she would not think so. Oh, cannot you see it even now ? Why the likeness might have cold you ; thao was enough. The girl js Tom's girh She is your husband's—" Lucy uncovered her face, which was perfectly colourless, with eyes dilated and wide open. "What?" she whiskered, looking intently into L'dy Randolph's face. "His own child—his—daughter—though I am bitterly ashamed to say it," the Dowager said. For a moment everything seemed to waver and turn round iii Luey's eyes, ae though the walls were makiug. a circuit with her in giddy space. Then she came to her feet with the sensation of a shock, and found herself standing erect, with the most amazing incomprehensible sense of relief. Why should sbe Uave felt relieved by this communication ■which filled her companion with horror? A softer air seemeel to bro.ithe about Lucy, she felt solid ground under her feet. For the first moment there seemed nothing but ease, and sweet soothing and refreshing in. what she heard. • < His—daughter 2" she said. Her blind went back with a sudden flash upon th.eipast, gathering up iostantan.eously pieces of corroborative evidence, things which she had npt notfed tho moment, which she bad forgotten, yet which came back nevertheless when they were needed. The Contessa'a mysterious words about Bice's parentage, her intimation that Lucy wou'd one day be alad to have befriended her, Sir Tom's sud^ den agnation when ehe had told hini of Bice's English descent. Finally, fetid most conclusive of all, touching Lucy with a mo. ; t unreasonable conviction and bringing a rnsh of warm feeling to her heart, Baby's adoption e.f the girl and recommendation of her to hie mother. - Was it riot the voice of nature, the voice pf God? Lucy had no instinctive sense of recoil; no hprror of the discovery. She. did,'iiot realise the guilt involved, nor wae

she painfully street, as, some women might' nave;been y by thio evidendevjf herhnsband'a -f previous life. "If it j 3 so/' ahe said." quietly, " there Ja more reason than ever Aunt Randolph,., that I should -do everything I can for Bice. It. never camo into my mind: before. I see various things-Jodt Ido not see why it should make me-unhappy," she added, with a faint smile;, which brought the water to her eyes; "it must have been —long before J knew him. vVilt yp.u tell me who was her mother ? Wa3 ghe a fpreigne:: I Did she die-—]png ago ?" ..,." P h > Lnc y. Lucy," cried Lady Randolph, is it possible, you ucp't see ? Who would bnnien themselves with another woman's girl that was no concern of their's ? Who Would-can't you see ? can't youEee ?" There rime over Lucy's face a hot and feverish, flush. She grew red to her hair, agitation and shame tool? possession of her ; something seemed to throb and swell 43 if it would burst in her forehead. She could not speak. She conld not look at her informant , for Bbame of the revelation that had been rnade. All the bewildered sensations which for the moment had. been stilled in her breast spracg up again with a feverish whirl ?nd tumult. Sbe tottered back tp the chair .on which she had been sitting, and dropped down upon it, holdmg. by it as if that were the only thing in the World secure and steadfast. It. was only now that Lady ftaadolph seemed to aw&ke to the risks and dangers of this bold step she had taken. She had roused the placid soul at last. Tα what strange agony, to What reveago might ehe have roused, it. She had looked for tears and misery and fleeting rage 3:3 d tyild. jealousy. But Lucy's look of utter sidafness and overthrow alarmed her more than she could, say. " Lucy I Oh, my love, you mast recollect a? you say, that it was all loner before is knew, yon, that there was no injury to you !" Lucy made a movement Tvith her hand to bar further discussion, but She could not say anything. She pointed Lady .Randolph to her chair, and made that mute prayer for silence, for no more. But in such a moment .of excitement there is nothing that is more difficult to grant than this. '' Oh, Lucy," the dowager crioa, '' Forgive me ! Perhaps I ought not to have said anything* Oh, my dear, if yoii Will but think what a painful position it Waa for me ! To see you so tinspiciou-3, ready to do everything, aad even Tom taking advantage of you. It. is not more than a week Since I found it all out, and how could 1 keep silence. Thicfe what a painful position it was, for me!" Lucy made no reply. There, seemed nothing but darkness round her. She pat out her hand imploring that no more jnigb.t be said.. And though there was 9, great deal more said, she scarcely made out what it was. Her brain refused to take in any more. She Buffeted herself to be kissed and blessed, and said good night to, almost mechaniAnd When the elder lady at last went away, Lucy sat where Lady Randolph had left her, she did not know how long, gazing ■wofully at the ruins, of that cruuibled'wOrld which had all fallen to pieces about her. All was to pieces now. What was she and what was the other ? Were thero 6wo, two with equal claim upon him? Was- everything false, even the law, even the external facts which made her Tom's wife. He had another wife and a child. He was two, he waa not one true map ; Oae fur baby xin-l her, another for Bice and the Contessa. When she heard her husband coming in Lucy fled upstairs like a hunted thing, and took refuge in the nursery where little Tom was sleeping. Even her bourgeois horror of betraying herself, of letting the servants aaspect thatanything was wrong, had no effect upon her to*njght. ■:■ ..;..... .■.,■■■,.. [To be continued.]