SIR TOM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XX, Issue 6823, 29 September 1883, Page 3

SIR TOM.

BY MKS. OLIPHANT. Author o! "The Chronicles ot Cailinpford," "Tho Greatest Heiress in England," "He that Will Not when Ha May," &c, &c. CHAPTER XLI. SBVKBED. Sir Tom returned later, so much later than he intended, that he went home with such a senso of compunction as had not visited him since the days when the alarm of being caught was a part of the pleasure. He had no fear of a lecture from Lucy, whose gifts were not of that kind ; but he was partially conscious of having neglected her on her first night in town, as well as having sinned against her in matters more serious. And he did not know how to explain his detention at the Contessa's new house, or the matters which he had been discussing there. It was a sensible relief to him not to find her in any of the sitting rooms, all dark and closed up except his own room, in which there was no trace of her. She had gone to bed, which was bo sensible, like Lucy's unexaggerated natural good sense he said to himself; thoueh at the same time a wondering question with himself whether she felt at all, passed through his mind ; a reflection full of mingled disappointment and satisfaction. But when a full hour after his return, after a period of smoke and reflection, he went leisurely upstairs, expecting to find her peacefully asleep, and found her not, nor any evidence that she had ever been there, a great wave of alarm passed over the mind of Sir Tom. He paused confounded, Jookiug at her vacant place, startled beyond expression. "Lucy !" he cried, looking in his dismay into every corner, into his own dressing-room, and even into ths large wardrobe where her dresses hung like shells and husks which she had laid aside. And then he made an agitated pause, standing in the middle of the room, not knowing what to think. It was by this time about two in the morning, trie middle of the night according to Lucy. Where could she have gone ? Then he bethought himself with an immediate relief, which was soon replaced by poignant anxiety, of the only possible reason for her absence— a reason which would explain everything— little Tom. When this thought occurred to him all she excitement that had been in Sir Tom's mind disappeared in a. moment, and he thought of nothing butthatbabylving, perhaps tossing uneasily upon his little bed, his mother watching over him, most eacred group on earth to him, who, whatever hie faults might bo, loved them both dearly. He took a candle in his band, and stepping lightly, went up the stairs to the nursery door. There was no sound of wailing within, no pitiful little cry to tell the tale—all was still and dark. Ho tried the door softly, but it : would not open. Then another terror awoke, 1 ard for the moment took his breath from J him. What had happened to the child J Sir Tom suffered enough at ihat moment to have expiated rrany sins. There came before him a vision of the child extended motionless upon hie bed, and his mother by him refusing to be comforted. What could it mean? The closed door looked as if hope had departed, Hβ knooked softly yet imoeratively, divided between thu horror of these thoughts and tho gentle every-day sentiment which forbade any noise at little Tom's door. It was some time before he got any reply, time which Feemed to him interminable. Then he suddenly heard Lucy's voice close to the door whispering. There had been no sound of any footsteps. Had she bren them all tho time, listening to all his appeals and talcing no notice? " Open tho door," ho said anxiously. " Speak to me. What is the matter ? Is he ill ? Have you sent for the doctor ? Let me in." " We are all shut up and settled for the night," said Lucy, through the door. " Shut up for tho night ? he has been very ill;" Sir Tom cried. "Oh, hush, you will wake him ; no, not very ill, but I am goirn; to stay wiih him," said the voice inside with a quiver in it. "Lucy, what does this mean? You are concealing something from mo. Have you had tho doctor ? Heaven tell me! What it the matter ? Can't I see my boy ?" "There is nothing—nothing to be alarmed about," Eaid Lucy from within. "He is asleep, he ia—doing well. Oh, go to bed and don't mind us. I am going to stay with him." " Don't mind you ! that is not so er.sy, be cried, with a broken laugh; then the silence * The proprietors of the >'ew Zealand Heualb have pnrehased the sole right of Publishing '• Sir Tom" in this Colony.

striking to Kin heart, he cried out, "Is the child—:■•,:'' But Sir Tom conld not say the word. He shivered standing outside the closed door. JThe mystery eeemed incomprehensible save ! on the score of some great calamity; the bitterness of death went over him. But then he aiked himself what reason could there be to coiceal from him aoy terrible, sudden blow ? Lncy would have wanted him in sneh a case, not kept him from her. In this dread moment of sudden panic he thought of everything but the real cause, which made a more effectual barrier between them than that closed door. < "He \a well enough now," said Lucy's voice, coming faintly out of the daikness. "Oh, indeed, there is nothing the matter. Please go away, go -to bed. It is so late. 'I am going to stay with him." "Lucy," said Sir Tom, "I have never been shut out before. There is something you are concealing from me. Let me see him, and then you shall do as you please."

There was a little pause, and then slowly, reluctantly, Lucy opened the door. She was still fully dressed as she had been for dinner. '1 here was not a particle of colour in her face. Her eyes had a scared look, and were surrounded by wide circles, as if the orbit had been hollowed out. She stood aside to let him pass without a word." The room in which,littlo Tom slept was an inner room. There was scarcely any light in either, nothing but the faint glimmer of thenight lamp. The sleeping room was hushed and full of tho most tranquil quiet, just touched by the'regular soft breathing of the sleeping child in his little bed, and of his nurse by him, who was as completely unaware as he of any intrusion. Sir Tom stole in and looked at hia boy, in the pretty baby attitude of 'perfect repose, his little arms thrown up over his head. The anxiety vanished from his heart, bnt not the troubled sense of something wrong, a mystery which altogether baffled him. Mystery had no place here in this little sanctuary of innocence. But what did it mean ? He stole out again to where Lucy stood scared and silent iu her white dress, with a j-welled pendant at her neck which gleamed strangely in the half light. "He seems quite well now. What wasiW and why arc you so anxious ?" he asked. " Did the doctor—?"

'' There no :iieed. .for : a .'doctor.. It is Only—myself./ I must stay with him,, he might want .me—" And nobody else Lucy was; about , - to sayj but; pride and modesty restrained her. Her hiisbandlooked. at her earnestly. ( He perceived witti.,a. curious pang tf astpmshment that she drew away from, him, standing as far'off as, the. limited spabe permitted and avoiding his eye. "I don't understand it," he. said,',V thereis something underneath ; either, he .has been more ill than you will let nie know, or -i~- , there is something ..,.: -..- ..-:■;.; .; j She gave him no answering. look,: made, n< wondering exclamation what could there: bi else? as he had toped : but replied hurriedly as she had done before, ''I want to stay witl him. I must ,s.tay. with or to-night— It was With the most.extraordinary , seiisi of some ihange which ihe.cpiild'notfathpmp divine that Sir L Tom consented"; at .last ti leave his wife-in the child's room and go ; t< his own. W'hat;;' did it mean?.- What hac happened to hinr pr was about :tq happen.' He could riot explain to himself the aspect o! the slight' little youthful figure in heivairj white dress, with the diamonds still at hei throat, careless of the hour, and .time, standing there in the middle .of the. night, shrinking away'from" ;fiim,. forlorn aiid wakeful; with her scared.eyes... A*.this.honr.on'ordinary occasions . Lucy was ; -fast;, asleep. When she went to see her boy, if society had kept her tip late, it was in the ease of a dressing gown, not with any cold glitter, of ornaments. And.to see her shrink and.draw herself away in thatstranije repugnance from his touch" shadow confounded him.. He was not, angry; as. he; might have ...been in another oase* but pitiful to the bottom of his heart. 'What could! have come to Lucy ? Half-a-dozen times.he turned hack on hisway to his room, What meaning ■could she>have in it ? What .could have:,happened to. her ? Her mapifest'sh.i:ink'ing:fr.orn himhad startled him beyond irieasurej ;her, terrified loot Avhen "he spoke filledhis mind -with confusion. ■, iSut controversy , bf any kind: id■' the; child's ropm at the ri.sk.of waking him in the middle of the night was .impossible, and no. doubt; he tried to say tb: himself , it must be some .panic she had taken, some 'dread intensified, by did riPt wsh.tjj) explain to him till.the,rnpruihg light.hadrestored her confidence.. Women were so he had pften. heard; and. the women he. had known in: his. youth ■, had . Certainly been so—unreasoning creatures, subject to thgir imagination,,taking fright where no occasion for fright was, .incapable of explaining. Lucy had never been like thia, but yet Lucy,, though sensible, was a woman too ; and if. it is not permitted to a woman to take.an urif easpnirig.pahic abputher only must be amptig hard judges in* deed. jSirTom was ripta:hard judge;. When he got over the pairifuTs'ense that/there must be something mpreih this than met the eye,, he washaif glad to. find that Lucy was like other . womenr-a; dear-little fool,, not always. 3ensible. He thought almpst. the better pf her for it;:;he ..said to' himself, .'She wduld laugh-alt- her panici whatever, it was; when. little.Tora woke up freshand fair in the. morn, idb light/ With this:idea he satisfied /himself as.well a3 he could. The' situation was. strange, unpre'ced.entQd.in his experience, hrit be had inany subjects of thoughf; dn. his. own Dart which'returned to: his rriuid as the s.ur> the. mement.&almed dpwn. .He had i great dep,l to think about. .Old difficulties ivhiclv seeined. to haVe" passed avyay for long fears/were now coining back again to emliar•ass arid,cpnfiise himV. " Our pleasant- vices ire made.to s.cdurge'.;iis," he : said.:.to himself. Phe past.had. come back, tp him like the ipeningpf a bppk,.no ionger'merely. friyojpus ind ..a.mu?ing as in the Contessa's talk, ouched with all manner of, light emotions, >ut bittei-,. with, in it, and death and leepiation. ... Death and life. : %e had heard if the'deacl Avho were alive again, aind of the iviug. whose existence could scarcely be ex)lained ip.the wprid. ""flis".'jni'n,d. had been nil and trpubled enough when 'he.:returned. o the. etill hpusfe, and. realised with com)uncti6h ihbw many thoughts, which. , he could iot share with,her he was bringing. back to jucy's-sidfi,- He ftpuld : not trust them to. ier, ; oricpufidp in heri and secure her help, is in most: pthor c.ircuniefeace.S'he \vould have lon.ewif.hput hesitatipiii.... But how cpuidhe to that how becaase she was. his wife; )ut'beca;iise she was'so:ybung; sb innpjsen'c, so. ina.w.are of the-epmpjicationsbf. Existence., low dpuld she uiiderstand the temptatipns hat;assail a ybuug: mail in the heyday of life, o whom many indulgences !wef e permissable ir venial, which to "her iimited and ihnpeent oul Wduld , seem unpardonable; sins? To.live iven fbr a few years with a stainless creature ike Lucy,, in w ; hpm there, was ipt evqn so nuch knowledge, as; would make the ap)rbaqhes pf vice comprehensible, ,is a new :ind. of education to the.mostexperiencecl of nen.,, He had nSt believed it to be. ; possible o be s& aUogothcr jgnprabt of eyil as he had puad ;her-4and how cpuld he explain to her in'H gain her indulgent consideration of the lircunistances: wh.ich had , led him into what in ler vocabulary wonld be branded with" he name pf vice ? Sir. Tom even now did not eel- it' to bis vice: It w as jihfOrtunate that it ladsohappuned.. Ho had been a fpol; Jfc. va'ef- almpst ihcbnc.eivahle. to him now,. hb,w or. the indulgence, of a- rnomeutiir.y passiph ie/ could have placed himself in a ppsitipn hat might, bne.day bß.sp. embarrassing: and. lisagreeable'. He had ript. behaved ill ."it the npment/it was. the womah whp, had behaved li. . But h.PW ija. the name of wonder to ixpiaihiall this, tp Lucy—Lucy,' who was nb^ : ibriß.c.iousjpfiany'.reaspn why a man's, code of. liorajs 4hpnid : 'be cliffereiit. frpm : that of a vpmap:) . Sir. : Tbiri returned tO this: iainfvil vand'difficult subject the immediate [u.es.ti(jnas>.tb Lucy's strange cDnduct diet! Rom : hisrnind;: It became iribfe/easyj by dint tf.rppoatirig it,,,tP : 'believe that a mere unreaipriable. panic abbHt.i.ittlc Tom was. the cause if her'.withdrawal; It was ipplisli but a lov.-. ng and lpyeiy. foolishness iffh.ich;a'rtlan mjgbt JoJnipr'e.thanfprgiyej which he might adore ind smilo at'as; men loy.e tp.'db, feeling that to be thus, silly, ii desiraMe, a ■ouhterpdisp to the selfishness and want, of eeling so,cpmnipn in the world. ,But hp\v to nake this spotless ..creature.underdtand that i"man' iiriijjht-ialip.asidei-iiiii'd,yctin6f-.b,fea-dieeo-:ertain proceedings perhaps )ear judges.and/yet: leither beiyicipus hpr; : heartless,i .This prpK: em after ho had considered' - ; ft ini. every. wssiblo-way',: Sir Tote,', finally gave, up with l kind of dispair. , ; Ho.-ihust:i:keer): ; his:Becret vithin hie own boapni.'.. He 'mus,t.;contrivp ome means of doing what'was now clearly i duty without exciting;,any...suspicipn ■ on JucyVpart.. That, he themght with,a cpmjanctipn, would be easy enough!; vas no one whom it would take less trouble ;o deceive. With these thoughts he went to leep in the rooms which seemed strangely onely without her. Perhaps, however, it was not ungrateful to him to be alone, to thick all those thoughts without the addi-

tional sense of treachery which must have ensued had he thought of * them iu her presence. There had been no treachery. He had been all along he thought to himself, a man somewhat sinned agaiast in the matter. To be sure it was wrong—according to all rules of morals it was necessary to admit that; but no ; more wrong, not so much_ wrong, as most other men had been. ! And, granting the impropriety of that first step, he had nothing to. reproach him- ! self with afterwards,. In.all Other respects 'he knew he had. behaved both liberally and : honourably, only he had been deceived. But how—how, good heavens !—explain this to Lucy? In the silence of her room, where she was not, he actually laagjed out to himself at tha thought; laughed with a sense of an impossibihty beyond al! laws or powers of ■reasoning.. What miracle would make her understand ?. It would be easier to move the solid earth than to make her understand. But it was altogether a very strange night; such a night as never had been passed in that .house before ; and fearful things were about in the darkness,' ill dreams, strange shadows of trouble. .When Sir Tom woke in the mofnihe;.aud found no sign that his wife had been in the room, or any trace oi her, it roused once more a rjainful apprehension in his mind. He hurried half dressed to the nursery to ask for news of ihe child, but was met by the nurae with the moat cheerful countenance; with little Tom holding by her skirts in high spirits and full of babble and glee. "He has had a good nicht, then," his father cried relieved, lifting the little fellow to shi shoulder. , "An excellent night, Sir Thomas," the woman said, "and DOt.a bit tired with his journey ; and so pleased to see all the carriages and the folks passing." ' * Sir Tom put the boy down with a cloud upon his face.. "What was the cause, then, of, Lady Randolph's anxiety last night,".he said. " Anxiety, Sir Tom ! Oh no, her ladyship was quite pleased. .She do always say he is' a regular little town bird, aud always better in London. And cO she said when I wes putt ing bE him to sleep. And he never stirred, not from the moment he went off till six- o'clock this morning, the darling. I do' think now, S.r Thomas, as uo may hope he has taken bald of his strength."' Sir Tom turned away with a blank countenauce. What did it mean then ? He went back to his dres-ing-room, and'completed his toiletto without seeing anything of Lucy. ' The nurse seemed quite unconscious of her mistress'ti vigil by the baby side. Where i then had Lucy passed the night, and why , taken refuge in that nursery?. Sir Tom, | grew pale, and saw his own countenance' white and full of trouble, as if it had been a , stranger's, in the glass, He hurried down- . stairs to the breakfast room, into which tho J sun was shining. There could not have been a more cheeful sight. Some of the flowers I brought up from the hall were on the table.' There was a merry little fire burning ; the usual pile of newspapers were arranged for him by tho care of Williams, who felt himselt a political character too, and appreciated the necessity of seeing what the country was thinking. Jock stood at the window with a book, reading and watohing the cheerful movements. But the chair at the head of the table was vacant. "Have you seen Luey ?" he said to Jock, with an anxiuty which he could scarcely disguise. At this moment she ] came in, very gentle, very pale,' like a,ghost. She gave him no greeting, save a sort of attempt at a smile and a warning look, calling his attention to Williams, who had followed her into the room, with that one special dish which tho butler always condescended to place on the table.. Sir Tom eat down to his newspapere confounded, not knowing what tj think or to say.

- CHAPTEK XLU. lAny RAKDOLPU'.S BUSINES- OPERATIONS. Lucy coutriyed somehow to elude all private intercourse with her husband that morning She was net alone with him for a moment. To his question about' little Tom and her anxiety about him bhe made as slight an an-" swer as possible. "Nurse tells me he is all right; he is cjuite well this morning," Lucy replied, with quiet dignity, as if bhe did not limit herself to nurse's observations. She talked a little to Jock about his school, and when the holidays would be over, while Sir Tom retired behind the shield of his newspaper, lie did not get much benefit- from them that morning, or instruction as to what the country was thinking. He was so much more curious to know what his wife was thinking, this simple little girl who knew no evil. Tiie most astute of men could not have perplexed Sir Tom so much. It, seemed to him that something must have happened ; but what? What was there that anyone could betray to her ;—not the discovery that he himself had on'y made so lately. That was impossible If anyone else had known it he surely must have known it. It could not be anything eo unlikely as that. But Lucy gave him no opportunity of inquiring. She went away to see the housekeeper, to look after her domestic affairs; and then Sir Tom made sure he should find her in the nursery, whither he took hia way, when he thought he had left sufficient time for her other occupations. But Lady Randolph was not there. He heard from Fletcher, whose disturbed countenauce seemt-d to reflect his own, that her mistress had gone out. She was the only one of the household who shared, his certainty that some; hing had happened out of the ordinary routine. Fletcher knew that her mistress had not undressed in the usual way; that she had not gone to bed. Her own services had not been required either in the morning or evening, and she had a strong suspicion that Lady Randolph had passed the night on a coFa in the little morning room upstairs. To Fletcher's mind it was not very difficult to account for that. Quarrels butween husband and wife are common enough. But herconsciousness and sympathetic significance of look struck Sir Tom with a troubled senso of the humour of the situation which had broke the spell of his increasing agitation, if but for a moment. It was droll-to think that Fletcher should be in a manner his confidant, the only participator in his woes. Lucy had goue out half to avoid her husband, half with a determination tc expedite the business which shu had begun, with very different fee'.ings, the day b fore. The streets were very gay and bright on that April morning, with all that quickening of life which many arrivals and the approach of the season, with all its excitements, brings. Houses were epeniug up, carriages coming out, even the groups of children and nursemaids in tlu- park making a scnsihle difference ' on the other side of the great railing. It was ' very unusual for her to find herself in the st'eets alone and this increased the curious, daz-'d sensation with which she went out among all these real people, so lively and energetic, while she was still little more than a dream-woman, possessed by one thought, moving along, she knew not how, with a sense of helplessness and unprotectedness which made the unreality all the more sensible to her. She went on for what seemed to be a long time, following mechanically the line of the pavement, without knowing what she was doing, along the long course of Parklane, and then into the cheerful bustle of Piccadilly, where, with a sense of morniDf; ease and leisure, not like the, artificiality of the aftcri.oon, so many people were coming and going, all occupied in business of their own, though so different from the bustle of moro absorbing business, the haste and obstruction of the city. Lucy t\ as not beautiful enough, or splendid enough, to attract much attention from the pa-scrs-by in the streets, though one or, two.sympathetic and observant wayfarers were caught by the wondering look of trouble in her face. She had never walked about London, and she did not know where she was going. But she did not think of this She thought only on one subject — about her husband and thai otbei life which he had, of which she. knew nothing, which might for anything she could tell have bern .going on side by side with the life she knew unci :ihared. This was the point upon which Lucy's triind had given ' way. The revelation as to Bice had startled .' and shaken her soul to its foundations; but ' after the nhock tilings had fallen into their place and she h.ul frit n.- anger, though much pain and,pity. Her mind had thrown itself back into the unknown pi'-t----almoat ti-nderly towards the poor mother who had, no doubt, died long ngo, to whom perhaps Bice had been what little Tom was now to herself.. But when the further s'.atu- , ment reached her ears, all the softening influenccsjwhieli pcomed to have swept over her dinappoared in a moment, a horrible bewilderment had seized her. - Wns ,ho two men, with two wives, two lives.two children dear to him? It is usual to talk of women as. being the most soverc judges of each other's failures in one particular at least, an accusation which no doubt in trne of both sexes, though generally applied like so many universal truths to one. And an injured wife is a raging fuiy in those primitive characterisations which are so common<in the'world,. But the ideas wbicb.

circled like the Hates in a snowstorm through the mind of Lacy were of a kind incomprehensible to the vulgar critic who judges humanity in the. general.-.- Her ways "c« thinking, her modes ol judging, were as different 33 possible from those of minds accusomod to generalisation aad lightly acquainted wita the .vices of the world. Lucy knew no genenil. She kuew three persons involved iu an imbroglio so terrible t'iiat she saw no wny out of it 5 herself, her husband, another woman. Her mind was the mind almost of a ehi'd. It hod resint«d ail that dismal information which the chatter of society conveys. She knew that married people were "not bappy" sometimes. She ' knew that there were wretched stories of j which she held that they could not be true. She wa3 of micd, and. did not believe that there were any such women. And when she was suddenly, strangely, brought face to face with a tragedy of hf r own, that was not enough to turn this innocent and modest girl into a raging Eleanor. She was profoundly reasonable in her simple way, unapt to blame, thiuking no evil, and full of those prepossessions and fixed canons of innocence which the worldinstructed are incapable not only of understanding, but of believiug in the existence of. A connection between a mau and a woman was to her, in one way or other, a marriage. Into the reasons, whatever they might have 'been, that could have brought about any such connection without the rites that made it sacred, she could not penetrate or inquire. It was a subject too terrible, from which her mind retreated with awe and incomprehension. Never could it, she felt, have been intended so, at least on the woman's side. i The mock marriage of romance, the deceits practised on the stage and in novela upon the innocent,"she believed in without hesitation, (.everything in the world being more compre'herisible,.than impurity. Tiiere might be yillaihous : i men, betrayers, seducers, Lucy could :not tell; there might be monsters, griffihsj fiery dragons, for anything she knew; but a woman abandoned by all her natural guard of modestiee and reluctances, moved by passion, capablo of being seduced, she could not understand. And still more impossible was it to imagine such sin without any tragic circumstances, the outcome of mere levity; or to conceive of the mysteries of life, as outraged and Intruded upon by folly, or for the horrible bait of interest. Her heart sickened at such suggestions. She knew there were poor women in the streets, .victims,,of want and vice, poor degraded creatures for whom her heart bled, • whom ehexould not think of for.the intolerable .pang of pity and shame. But all these questions had nothing to do with the sudden ] revelation in which she hereelf had so painfill.a part.;.. These broken reflections were in her , mind ■ like the '.felling of snow. They whirled through the vague world of her troubled 7soul without consequence or coherence :" all ;that had nothing to do with her/: Her husband.was no.villain; and the beautiful,.smiling woman—so much fairefj; greater j'more important than Lucy;' 1 she. • Svas no wretched, degraded creature.; .What was she then I His wife— his ; true ; wife ?v And if so,- what was Lacy 1 Herbrain.reeled.and the world went round her in a sickening whirl. ..The circumstances were ;to6; terrible , '-- for -resentment. What coiild anger do,; orany'other quick-springing, short-lived, emotion? What did it matter ! eyen what Lucy felt,, what anyone felt? It vvas;far beyond that. Here was fact whiyjh and a child on. either- side.. -And what-was to come!of it? and-how- could:life-..go' on with this to. think of,'.never, to ba forgotten, not to be put aside moment ?,It .'brought existence to:a standstill.;. She, did;not.know what was .the.-next 'step;she:..m.ußt. take, of-how she could go back;.or-what she must say to the man, : whp, : perhaps v; waß,npt her husband, or; .how could -eh'e continue/iindet:.that,.roof, or ar^augeithefcommbriest,details of life. There was.but;pne tL : ih"a; clear'beforo. ; :her, ; the busi ; . nesswhicsh -she;; was"bent.-on hurry Lng-.io a .conclusion now, :'.'-. ■"■''-.■;■. ,„".- ".'■ , -::;'/yi-?;-':■':-.%■

She found herself in the bustle of'the streets that,con verge upon the circus at , the end of -Piccadilly, as she,thus went on thinking ; and there Lacy look'eVl about her in some ; dismay, finding-that she had reached the limit.ot'.thojiitlo world she knew. She was afraid of plunging alone into those bustling ways, and almost afraid of the only other alternative, however, she adop. tedj of calling a cab and giving the driver the address, of 'Mr. Chervil in the city. To do this and to mount into -the uneasy jingling cab;" whicH gave her a little ehock of the nnaccustomed, was like a breach of morals to Lucy. It seemed, though she had been independent euough.in more.important matters, the most daring' step she.had ever taken on her.own responsibility! • But the rattle of the cab, and the uepect of. the unknown world into 'which it conveyed' her, occupied, her mind a little, aud stopped tbo tumult.of her thoughts. . She seemed scarcely to-know what she , had come about .when'she found herself set down at the door of Mr. Chervil's office, and ascending the grimy. staircase, meeting people who stared at her, and wondered what a lady could be doing there:, Mr.'Chervil .himself was scarcely less surprised/. said,'" Lady' Randolph !" with a cry .of. astonishment when.she was shown in; And she found 'some/difficulty, which she had not thought of-in explaining her' business. He reminded, her that- she had c;iven t!;o same instructions yee'terday whr-n he had the honour of waiting upon her in Park-lane.. , He Was far more'respectful, to Lady .Kandlolph , than he had been, to Lucy Trevor in her first attempts to carry out her father's'will. ■ ' \ .. '■

"I assure you," he said, "I have not neglected your wishes. I have written to Rushton on the subject. "We both know by this time, Lady β-n dolpb, that when you' have made up your mind--and you have the most perfect right to do so—though we may not like it, nor think it anything but a squandering of money, still we aro aware we have no riglit to oppose—" "It is not that," said Lucy, faintly. "It is that the cirenrnstances have cbauged since yesterday. I want'to—l should like to—" " Give up your intention ? 1 am delighted to hear it'. For you must me to say, as a man of business—" "It is not thrt,' , Lucy repeated. "I want to increase the sum. I find the young lady has a claim —; and I want it done immediately, without the loss of a' day. Oh, I am mpre, much more in earnest about it than I was yesterday ! I want it settle 1 at once. If it is not settled at once difficulties might arise. I want to double tho amount aad to have it done without delay, Could you not telegraph to, Mr. "Rushlon instead of writing? 1 have heard that people tuleg-apt) about business." " Double trie aruount! -Have you thought over this ? Have you had Sir Tom's advice? It is a very important matter to decide so s iddenly. Pardon me, Lady Randolph, but you must know that if you give awayat this irate you will soon not have very much left to you.'" "Ah that would be a comfort! cried Lucy; and then there came over her the miserable thought that all the circumstances were changed, and to have a subject of disagreement between her husband and herself removed would not matter now. Once it had been the only subject, now —. The 3'icldeuness of this realisation of the change filled her eyes with teara. But she restrained herself with a ,;reat efT-rt. "Yes," she said, "I should be glid, very glad to have done all my father, wiihed—for many things might happen. I might die—and then who would doit?" - " We need not discuss that very unlikely contingency," said M.\ Chervil. (He s.iid : to himself, "Sir Tom wouldn't, tint i'i certain.") "But oven under Mr. Trevor'ii will,' he added, "this will be a very larg.3 sum to give—larger, don't you think, than he intended; ui:le3s there is some very special claim ':" '_ ' "It is a special claim," cried Lucy, "and papa made no conditions. I was to be flee iu doing it. He left me quite frte." "Without doubt," the lawyer said. _ "1 need not repeat my opinion ou the subject, but you are certainly quite free. And yon have brought nic the ynung Jatly's name, no doubt, Lady Randolph? Yesterday, you recollect you were uncertain about her name. It is necessary to be quite accurate in, an affair of bo much import ince. She :s a lucky young lady. A great many would like to learn the secret of pleaelng you, to this extent." Lucy looked at him with a gasp. She did not understand the rest of his speech or care to' hear it. name? W'.at was her name ? - If she had not known it before, still less did she know it now. • "Oh," she cried, "what dres it matter about a name? People, girls, change their names. She is Beatrice. You might leave a blank and it could he filled up after, bhe is going to-marry. She is-must everything be delayed ior that ?—and yet it_ia of no importance—no importance that I can see " Lucy said, wringing her hands. " My dear Lady Randolph"! Let me say ' that to give a very large sum of money to a

person with whose very same yon ere unacquainted ?—forgive me, imt; in yonv own interests I must speak. "Lot me consult with Sir Thomas." • '■■■■■■■■ - ....... : : "I do not wish my. husband to be «cnHo has promised me not t<; interfere ; and it is my business, not his," juuey said, with a flush ,of excitement. And taou'gh there was much further conversation and the lawyer did all he could to move her, it, need not ba said said that Lucy was immovable.-' He went down to th;e door with h-r to put her into he"r carriage, 'as he supposed not liny willing even in .that centre of practical life to have the surrounding population see on what confidential terms he was with this fine young lady. But when he perceived that no carriwaa there, and Lucy not without a tremor, as of a very strange request and one wbieb, might shock the nerves of her companion, asked_ him to get a csb for her, Mr. Chervil's astonishment knaw no bounds. "I never thought how far it was," Lucy said, faltering and apologetic. "I thought I might perhaps have been able to walk." ; . " Walk !" he cried," " from Tark Lane?" with consternation. He stood looking after her as she drove away, saying* to himself that the old man had undoubtedly been mad, and that this poor young thing waa evidently cracked too. He thought it wouldbe best to write to Sir Thomas, who was nos Sir Tom to Mr. Chervil; but if it was going to happea that the poor young lady should show, what, he had no doubt, was a hereditary weakness Mr. Chervil could not restrain a devout wish that it should be before half her fortune was alienated. No Sir Thoiuas in existence Wonld carry out a father-in-law's will of such an insane character as that.

In the meanwhile Lucy jingled home in her cab, feeliug more giddy, more heartsick than ever. There came upon her with more potency than ever, since now it was the matter imme> diately before her, the question what was she to do?' Wiat'wasshetodo? She had eluded Sir Tom OE the night before, and obliged him to accept, without any explanation, herstrang retirement. Bat now what was she to do ? Little Tom would not answer for a pretest again. She mast either resume tho former habits of her life, subdue herself entirely, meet him with a cheerful face, ignoro the auddea chasm that had been made between them—or— She looked with terrified eyee at this blank wall of impossibility, and could see no way through it. Live with bim aa of old, in a pretence of lonion where no union could be, or explain how it was that she could not do so. Boih these things were impossible—impossible !—and what, then, waa she to do ? [To bo continued.]