THE EMPTY STALL.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5567, 16 May 1896, Page 1

THE EMPTY STALL.

(Pall Mall Magazine.) ".For no man Hvetli ttnto himself."

They were sitting in the conservatory after dinner. She was reclining languidly in a green-rush chair, her dainty dark head outlined against a cushioned background of gold brocade. Her fan of yellow feathers waved gently to and fro and stirred the misty drapery about her neck. He sat opposite to her, watching her with eyes in, which admiration was curiously blended with not a little awe. For he was youngvery young — and this transparent old world was still to him an enchanting mystery, and woman a goddess to be worshipped and * enshrined in a heart that, thanks to a mother who was not too good to be sensible, was still a holy of holies. ' A voice came from among' the palms — a woman's laughing voice. "So you think all married women dangerous. I wonder why?" t "I did not say that," came a man's! graver tones : "I said, I think, that a young fellow's future depended more upon the first married woman he fell in love with than all the lessons learnt at his mother's tnee." " But why a married woman ? Why not I a girl?" ' . "Boysdon't fall in love with girls; they make chums of them. .It's we oldsters the girls make fools of." " Then boys must be the wiser ?" " That depends upon the way you look ; at it. If you allow that a married woman is cleverer than a girl— '' " Don't you think they are, usually ?" "At making fools of boys? Certainly." " According to you, it takes a clever married woman to make a fool of a boy, but a simple girl is enough, to make One of a man. Don't years bring wisdom ?" " More often only FoU^s crop of wrinkles, and — second childhood." " Then we're both alike dangerous — both the girls and we poor married women ?" . " Perhaps. A burnt child — " " Come, Colonel Ricarton : allow me to know you a little better than that. Your heart is asbestos — non-inflammable." " Um — that depends on the heat of tho furnace." >. Lady Airdry's reply did not reach the listeners' ears. And as the sj>eakers moved away, the boy started up angrily. "I hate that Colonel Kicarton ! Don't yon ?" The fan stopped as she looked laughingly into his flushed face. " No, I don't. Why should I?" " Because he always talks in that beastly cynical way about — about women." "Yes? And .why shouldn't he ?" " Because it isn't true." ■ "Ah ! but perhaps it is — from his point of view." " No one wants to hear his point of view ; he should keep it to himself." " Not at all, my dear Ecx — not at all. Come, I can't have you narrow-minded; that will never do. You must listen to other views — listen and learn ; you need not apply." " I won't ! I don't care to hear such views, as those." " Possibly not ; but you mustn't say they are not true, because — they are. Remember, Eex, you know very little of any women— — " ••»; "T>o IP . , Why,, J'ye five.sisters as well as a mother, and there are always lots of girls staying with vs — and " "I daresay; but mothers and sisters don't count." " Well then, sisters' friends do, surely ?' "No; they are merely — sisters' friends. They don't count as women, my dear boy." • "I don't see that. Ive — Ive — " stopping in some confuson as he resumed his chair. " You have been in love with them scores of times ?" "Well, no not scores of times — some times. That counts, doesn't it ?" "No," — smilingly shaking her head, — "no, not that." \ " What does, then ?" I " Ah ! that you'll have to find out. When you do, you won't need to tell me, and you won't care to tell me, nor" — dropping her voice — " nor Ito hear." He looked at her with puzzled eyes for a brief moment ;' then he sighed. " What a sigh ! Poor boy ! has fate already given you a peep into the inevitable?" " Mrs Eomilly, I believe you are a witch ! " One of the Chinese lanterns caught fire as tho words left his lips, and before he could seize it it fell into her lap — a blaming mass. In another moment she was looking ruefully at her blackened gloves ; he, with burnt hands clenched tightly and heel on a heap of ashes, was muttering to himself and staring anxiously, with all his young soul open like a book for her to read — for her, not himself. " Well," she queried, looking, calmly at him, "why did you not let the witch bum ? " " For God's sake don't talk in that light way !" He shuddered. " Why, you might have been burnt to death !" " Dear, no ! Don't be melodramatic, pray. There's that rug there : you could have wrapped me in that." He kicked it contemptuously. "That thing!- not' as big as my stable jacket! It's all very fine to say I'm melodramatic, but, by Jove ! you know, it was a near shave. Can't think why I was such an ass as not to see the beastly thing before ! And it's ruined your gloves !" (anxiously) " Hasn't burnt your hands, has it ? How plucky you were to take hold of the d " " Hush ! Don't be theological or silly, there's a dear boy," peeling off her long white gloves as she spoke, and holding out her hands. " Look ! will that satisfy you ? Not even singed through ! And don't talk about pluck ; pray don't insult me " " Insult you I— you ! How ?" " You surely didn't expect me to scream, did you ?" . . " No-o. I— l don't know " "You're honest, at any rate; so I'll forgive you. But if Colonerßicartonhad said such a thing -j — " (she ground her little teeth.) . "Re wouldn't, though/ • "What would ho have said?" Eex looked dangerous. "Don't look so fierce, or I won't tell you. Well, he certainly would not have said ho expected me to scream, whatever he may have thought." . . "Neither did I." • " You only let me see you expected it." " Where's the difference ?' "My dear Rex, I really cannot explain, if you don't see it. I perceive I shall have to apply myself seriously to your worldly education." "How?" "Oh, by teaching you what to say to women, and what not to say, or to look. When shall I begin." "Now, -if you like; the sooner the better.' 2 . "Don't be proas, then." "I'm not cross— indeed I'm not. But may I ask one thing first ?" "A dozen if you like; and I'll answer like— Mangnall's Questions.". " Well then, I don't want to learn to talk like Colonel Ricarton ; I don't want to say the things he says, please " " Not. even if I like them ?" "That's different, of .course." Eex turned pink and stammered, " But I know you don't— you couldn't." Mrs Romilly raised her fan and drew the feathers across her mouth before she spoke again. "Well then, you sha'n't. But, even if you did-want to talk like Mm, I

couldn't teach you; I'm not clever enough for that." "Clever! Sakes! You call him clever! Why, he's the silliest owl " •' Come, come, Eex ; spare my friends." "I beg ybur pardon; I didn't know he was a friend of yours. I thought " "What?", "Why, that he was only a friend of Mr RomillyV' ; ■. ; " Oh,- you queer Tioy.! As if my husband's friends weren't mine ! " " I didn't know that that followed. Does it?" .. "Not always." She paused abruptly. " Rex, let me look at your hands." "What for? I've had enough of that confounded palmistry for one night," put ting his hands intohis pockets. " Palmistry ? What did they tell you ? Who was it ?" " Miss Dalbiac. I don't suppose there's anything in it, do you ?"- ; " I hope not." She shivered just a little as she spoke. " You're not cold, are you ?" "Cold ? I should think not. Some one walking- over my^ " " Don't, please ! Why did you say, ' I hope not ?' " "Because — well, I didn't like all the things Miss Dalbiac told me ; and ■ some — have come true." " Well, I can't say that — yet." "Of course you can't ; you've no past— not had time." "I suppose not, anyway." " Let me see your hand." , "I'd rather not, if you don't mind; they're not over-clean just now." "Ah!, that horrid lantern! I hate them: unbecoming light, very. But tell me what Miss Dalbiac told you. I believe in her rather." "Do you ? I'm sorry for that." "Why? " Don't you like her? I think, she's nice." . " Oh, it's not that. She seems nice, but she didn't tell me nice things — exactly." ' . "Mrs Eomilly stamped her foot impatiently. "Eex, you're very aggravating to-night; I can't' think whafs come to you. What did Miss Dalbiac tell you. I want to know." " She said I should die on or' before my twenty-seventh birthday." " She did ? Qf course you won't bettero* that?" . "Well, no. Bufrtbe funny part of it is, another girl told me exactly the same, thing two years ago. Well; ifs odd, isn't it?" ■■/■■■■.■'■'■'■ " I don't believe a word of it" „ i thought; you said just now you did." 1 ; " Oh, past things, perhaps — not ' the future. Ifo one can possibly foretell that. They put ideas into one's head, and one gets to .believe in them ; but you must not do that, Eex. It's very wrong to tell such things— " " But if I saw it myself — and asked them?" " How do you mean you saw it ? " . " What they call my life-line breaks off in the middle. Do you mind holding out your hand, and I'll explain." • Mrs Eomilly held out both hands gaily. " By Jove ! you've got a double life-line — pretty long, too ! Did they tell you what that meant ?" "An extra long Hfe, of course — bar accidents." " Ah ! that's where they come to grief — they can't bar accidents. \ Well, we shall see whether they come off." "What?" . " Why, your double life." "Or your single life ?" " Ah, perhaps thaf s what it means ! Happy thought ! You are married, and I'm not, and never shall be — most likely." " I should think it most unlikely. But, joking apart, I hope you won't let these silly prophecies prey upon your mind." " I don't ; at least, I mean it doesn't prevent my enjoying life. If one's time is really short, one ought to make the most of it, don't you. think ?" " Well, yes, naturally. Depends oh what you call making the most of it, though." Eegrnald Melrose was silent for a moment, then he leant forward, with an unusually eager look in his eyes. " Mrs Eomilly, if you were told you had only two more years to live, what would you do with them ? I mean, how would you spend the time ?" A strange light flickered in her hazel eyes, and she flushed and caught her breath. Then, toying with her fan, and touching Rex's face lightly with the feathers, she said — nonchalantly : " I ? oh, I should just amuse myself ! " Something in her tone jarred, though he was. hardly conscious of it. Then he said, gravely: "Pardon me, I don't think you would. You mustn't give yourself away like that, you know." " Ah, I see," she sighed ; and a tender, pitying smile swept over her face. " You persist in putting me on a pedestal, Eex ! You will have to help to pull me down some day, but it will not be a happy day for you or for me." - " Never ! That day will never come ! I shall hold you there through thick and thin, and I'm strong." "Yes, but not enough for that, I fear." She smiled sadly. " Wait, and you'll see ! I don't mind betting you'll never come , off that pedestal while Fin alive." "Then j r ou give me, how long? Two years ? " " Great Scott ? I forgot I'd got to take myself off so soon I" "I wonder if I can remain on my giddy height till then!" He became grave again. " Please, don't joke about it." "You don't mean to say you pay any attention to those silly palmists ? " " Oh, it's not that— l don't mind how much you chaff me about that ; ifs about yourself, I mean." " I wish, Eex, seriously, that you did not think so well of me." . ' ' "Why? Surely you don't want me to disbelieve in women, as Colonel Eicarton does, or pretends to do ? " "No, but I don't want you to be disappointed. Faith and Hope often go with a boy's first fallen idol." "I wish you wouldn't bo always giving yourself away ! Do let me believe in something good! It's hard enough sometimes —you can't guess how hard." There fell a silence between them. Sounds of music penetrated fitfully to where they sat. Mrs Eomilly had broken, off a frond of fern, and was idly stripping it of its leaves. Eex Melrose sat watching her, but his thoughts had wandered somewhat. At last he spoke again, in alow, serious tone, and with some hesitation. "Do you know, I think ifs not such a

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bad thing after all totell » fellow he'a'got to die pretty soon, even if it isn't true." " Not bad ? I think if s •wicked — doomright wicked — to tell a voting fellow just beginning life " "Ah, but that's just what I think it isn't. You see, when one is-old it doesn't matter so much: one has done all oub wanted to do — bad, good and indifferent/ "■ Of course; thafs why I think it so cruel to stop a young man's fun." "No, Mr 3 Eomilry, not when that fun isn't — well — isn't always the innocent sort of fun"fy<m mean. Now, don't you agree?" " Not quite. But such knowledg&TTOuld drive most men " "To the devil? I daresay. I wonHrsay I didn't see that side of it. I aid. Bat — you don't mind my talking to yon like this?" 1 "Mind? I like it. You ought to know that by this time." " You are very good to me — you don't know what your kindness has dose for me. I won't apologise, then. I hardly know how to-express myself. It- struck me — that if there is .anything in— in religion, you know, it might be just as~w&kbo acfras though there, might be, even if " "Even if- there wastftf* And TSxb Eomilly's face showed more. inbereßb /i fiEQi curiosity. " Yes— and thenJ*" " Well" — (he blurted-out themexbTror&s as if ashamed of the self-rovetstaon they involved)— " Well — I mean — if one could do as little harm as possible TririTe enjoying oneself— hunting, shooting and BueWlkB — not shirking any more than<jne<»aM2jeh>— don*t you know ? " Mrs EonriUy stretched outwher hand sad laid it affectionately on his shcmkter-aslie leant forward. " T think I understand, Bex/ she murmured. . And that wavingfeatherfan^as-rtbrushed his lips, was like the touch of an^angeFs wing. " You agree. then, don't you? " He spoke with joyous-eagerness.* " I^do. But I dont think many would do likewise." "They wouldn't get fun enough, you think? But, 'pon my soul, itpaysbesfc — makes one feel better; doesnt leaved nasty taste behind, as the other tiling does. It is really common-sense selfishness — not to put too fine a point on it" . " Pays best in the-end, you think f " " Yes, thafs good enough foras. I shall not' do right as you do, because it comes naturally. ■ ■ ' "O Eex, Eex! Wbafcishall Lsay-to-ywr? You are wrong— -wrongs you. build an. ideal shrine, and puta Jraman being iaribV A poor, frail being like jne! " She spoke more than sadly t had Bet been older, he might have heard a sound like, the wail of a lost spirit in her tow tones ; as it was, they thrilled fo"n strangely, and his eyes filled unbidden, while his own voice startled him. "For God's sake let me believe-in you! You know you don't mean what you say. But, if I should ever, sink low enough to—make you despise me ." He bxoke-off, rose quickly, and stood with his back towards her. She rose, too, and placing a thin, nervous hand on his arm, said softly — " Eex, we will keep each other up ; let that be a bargain. And don't think -or talk any moreof dying ; its morbid -at your age. You shall send me a bouqueton your twenty-seventh birthday, and weTl laugh over Miss Dalbiac's prophecy an&ohaff her about it, for years to come." He caught her tone, and her hands, forgetting the pain in his blistered -ones. "You are an angel!; Thafs a bargain,! You shall have the bouquet, wberever:l • am — dead or alive — from " " From ' India's coral strand,' or ' Afric^s burning sand ' ? That will be rather difficult, won't it ? " And she laughed gaily. "Not it: I'll do it, you'll see," and he laughed too. "A wire to Covent Garden, then; but I hope it won't have to come like that. Fd rather you brought it yourself, and Jetnie take you to the play as a birthday treat to a good, little boy." "All right: well do it! 11l manage somehow — 'urgent private affairs' unless there's a row on — and thafs not likely, worse luck I" " Well, you must give me due warning, so. that I may keep myself free ; two years is a long time, and a great deal may happen in that time." . Her laugh died away suddenly as she finished speaking. " Mrs Eomilly, Fve been hunting for you everywhere! They are going to dance: can you resist 'Eosen aus dem Suden?"* It was Colonel Eicarton who spoke^and Eex scowled fiercely at him as he led Mrs Romilly away. Then ' his brow cleared and his eyes moistened, as the soft swish, swish of her , silken robe died away in the distance, though the delicate maidenhairs still shivered from its touch. " I don't believe she cares for that'feHow one bit,. Only she's so loyal to every one!" . And Eex stalked off cheerfully through the palms. * # # # # " Whafs the book now? — small enough, in all conscience ! " exclaimed Colonel Eicarton, as he came up behind • Mrs Eomilly's chair and peered over her shoulder, "Browning, by all thafs incomprehensible ! ' Statue onrthe — Bust!' Come, 'that ought to be as exciting as-an iceberg on Vesuvius ! Please to tell me what if a all about." , Ho drew a, cKair close to hers artd laid his hand lightly on the book, which she yielded to. him, while her mouth twitched^, litfclo and a hot flush mounted to her brow. "'Burn upward each to his point of bliss' — is that the iceberg? 'He had burned his way through the world to-flaa' Oh no — the v.olcano, of course ! But> teU me, where's the point of all tins— rubbish?" . " Here," — her white forefinger trembled visibly, as she pointed out the line. " Her©* read that." He looked up, surprised,at her tone. "Do you know, you have true tragic notes in your voice, Evelyn, worthy of the divine- Sara ! " he said lightly, as his • eyes returned to the still pointing finger. ""•"Bob delay was best, as their end wasmma.' Urn— fancy an iceberg and a volcano committing' a crime together — comic, eh_?"**He laughed. "Don't you think thstfs rather like you and me*? Now, isn't it?** She drew a- long, quivering breath. There was a command in his accents. . " Ah-h — you understand — at last P" "That you are an iceberg P Haven't I always told you so ?" She laughed an odd little laugh. "You know me so well, Hamil f "Have you only just found thsfcont?" "Oh, no!" His eyes fell on the bookagain. "Ha! Here: read this. BxssoyJßfe ■ • ' ■..'■■• ...JT^

Browning! yon can speak plain enough when you ehooae. Laden: { "!*Statoyotaroowßto*«Bfcoldly every whit, Ventnmsa warily, me-the some skill. Do ytwr best, wkeGberwfaminror losing it, M joocfcooaa-to-plaif! iimy principle.* And mine too !" He murmured some more lines under hia breath ; then-read aloud, in j a clear, triumphant tone : . " ' And the Bin I impute to each frustrate ghost la the unlit lamp and the tmgixt loin, Though the end in sight is a vice, I say.' | Good old Browning! I like him! He's a man, after all! And yet yon women persist in trying to make out he's an ass of a poet! Bather strong meat for babes, Madam ; do you bring up your protegt, Mr Eeginald Melroae, on that diet, eh ?" Mrs Somilly's eyes flashed, and her month curled scornfully. : " And why not pray ? He's a man, not a babe."% .■..-.." : '■•"■ _There. was a short silence. Colonel Eicarton got up and stood with his back to the fire, humming an air. " Mrs Eomilly took a. rose from a vase, and shed its petals feverishly. ' "Do you "agree- with Browning?" he asked at hist, as he came forward and stooped to pick up some of the petals that had fluttered to the floor. " Not .in what you've just read." She spoke with some emphasis. " Then why did you show it to me ?" "I did not. You took the book from my hand. I showed you that about— about delay, and" — her voice sank to a scarcely audible sigh — "crime." "True. I had forgotten. But yon were reading the poem. Is it a favourite of yours?" "No, I do not understand it/ "But you want to, so you read it ?' "Perhaps-^-I don't know." '. Colonel Eicarton stooped again, and picked up more petals. "Have pity on my poor back — if you have none for your housemaid's : you forget lam aging fast!" He took her hands, in which Qnljrfhe'roBe<stalk remained. "What hot, feverish little paws! Come, letup have, some music. Sing and soothe, the savage beast!" . ,■.'.' ,'..... : ■ She dropped the stalk, and rose obedient to the command that lay in his gaze. . She always did. He knew his power over her, though she hoped he did not. She chose Matthew Arnold's ■ f ■■••■•■ " Strew her with roses, roses. And never a spray of yew ; Id quiet she reposes— Ah ! woald that I did, too 1" He seemed deep in Browning the while, mechanically chewing the rose-stalk. When she- had finished, he said, — " I like that setting. Whose is it ?" "A poor thing, but my own," she answered. "It is to be my requiem, mind. ' Its too good for me, still I should like it." " Better put it into your will. No good telling me. You'll see me out." "Shall I?" "Of coarse. I'm ten years older than you, and women live longest." "Well, we women are often old at forty. You men are in your prime at fifty." " Glad you think so." "Hamil, I wish you'd put down that book. I hate singing to people who don't listen." " Very well ; but you ought to be pleased to see I am actually interested in your Browning." She rose, went suddenly forward, took the book from him, turned over many leaves, then—" Here, read that," she said, '• if you must read." "'The Worst of It'? What's it all about? " Too long: I'd rather listen to you." She returned to the piano without a word, and played a few chords dreamily: then sadd flippantly,— " What's it about? Oh, it's only a poor spiritless wretch of a man whose wife left him, and he— forgave her." "Ah ! and that was ' the worst of it ' ? " he laughed. ; If she made answer he did not hear, for heavy, crashing chords drowned all- other sounds. But he. read the poem through, while she played on spasmodically, pianissimo, fortissimo, then da capo. When he had finished he threw the book down with a bang, and sat gazing fiercely before him, gnawing the ends of his moustache. At la3t she ceased playing, and faced round. . " Hamil, tellme, if youhadbeen told youhad only from six months to two years to live, what would you do ? " He started visibly at the sound of her voice. " Make the most of it, of course." , "Ah! but how?" "In meeting the devil more than half way, I suppose." "And how would you do that." "By doing whatever pleased him best, as he's to be my master." " And what would . please him b?st ?" "To take you to him ! And, by God, Evelyn; thafs what I mean to do I" He seized her wrists roughly, and she sank back with a stifled cry, as the door behind him opened. "How this room reeks of paraffin! No 1 wonder! Gad! look at that lamp! You people have no noses, evidently." .And -Mr Eomilly quietly turned down the smoking lamp. * * * * * " I see Bex Melrose is ' mentioned in despatches/" said Mr Eomiliyto his wife as they sat at breakfast. 'She was reading a letter and did not appear to hear him, so he repeated his .remark, looking at her amusedly over his spectacles. "Despatches! what despatches?" she said, vaguely conscious that something had been said to which an answer was . necessary. " Oh, the General's despatches— from Daghestan." " Daghestan ? That's where Eex is, isn't he?" " My dear Evelyn, I wish you'd pay more attention. You can read that letter after breakfast-. You always let -everything get cold; but I ■suppose,, as you never eat anything, it doesn't matter. Who's the letter om ?' She busied herself with some minute fish-bones. " Oh, only from Hamil Eicarton." "What the deuce can he find to write about? Why, you saw him only last Sunday ! He never wrote to me, even in the old days; never saw such a beggar to forget to answer. You seem to have improved him, my dear, all round. Where is . he?" "At Ascot. He writes amusingly about the house-party at Hawthorne Hill. Shall I read it to yon ? " She crumpled a slip of paper as she spoke, and pushed it into her pocket. "Thankr, no, that sort of thing doesn't interest me." And Mr Eomilly resumed his paper and breakfast with alternate impartiality. "How long is it since Eex went to India? "he asked presently as he cracked his second egg. • "It must be about— aboutrr-eighteen months." . ;.. j , "Surely ..longer that that. You've a shocking 'memory, my dear Evelyn- — worse than my. own. Well, I should - think he'l get home now this business .is fairlj aettled/V .\' - ... ... .:•:... ■ •'■ ■ " I saw bis mother the other day. She showed me his last letter. He seemec to think being 'potted af (as he calls it] night and day great fun." "Of course he doe 3: he's a fine, whole some young fellow, and, thank God, ther< are lots like him, ana he's no more likely t< be killed fighting out there than he is playing polo at home/ Mi 1 Romilly was beginning to look oat for a confidentia Weight-carrying hunter. "Ah! that reminds me: some sill] palmists told hin\ he'd die before hii twenty-seventh birthday ! He must b< . past that now. I forget his exact age." "You surely don't believe thatpernicioui rubbißh?" " Well, not all ; but some things the] have told me have come — true." Sh flushed a little. " Coincidence — mere coincidence. wonder sensible people can waste their tim over such nonsense. Well, Fll wager Ec: Olelrose has something better to occup; Mi Bomilly rose as he spoke. **Shall you bo home to dinner?" hi

wife asked, as she helped herself to butter, not noticing that she had already done so twice, and that two litye golden balls were staring her in the face. "My dear wife! Surely yon haven't forgotten that there is a big debate on ? I'm off to the City now, and shan't be home to lunch, so I'll say good-bye until this time to-morrow, my dear ! I sha'n't want the brougham — so you can keep it out all night, if you like." And with a smile and a wave of Mb band, handsome, portly, kindly Mr Eomilly departed, thanking heaven for his comfortable home, and above all for his still pretty wife. "How;jwell she wears ! "he thoughtas he closed the door ; " very few women of forty look so fresh and bright-eyed of a morning as my Evelyn, God bless her ! " "Thank God!" said Mrs Eomilly fervently, as she went into her morningroom, and took the crumpled paper from her pocket. " Thank God ! But, oh, how dare I say that !" She was standing near a mirror, and saw her flushed cheeks and brilliant eyes. ." Oh, how I loathe myself ! Evelyn, Evelyn Eomilly, what is this thing that he calls his ' dear wife ' — what is it ?" She sank on to the sofa, hiding her face in her hands. "He is so good and kind: why can I not love him — best? If only I had never seen you, Hamil — you, his friend! Oh, why could I not have been loyal to you both ! I was— l was — until — not so very long ago !" She spread out the paper on her knee, read it carefully, then tore it into mimite pieces and buried them in the soil of a tall palm. „ " Hamil says I must go — this very night — leave this — for ever ! Well, Dr Bavelaw says I may live two years at most— not more; no one knows, no one need know yet, and the time is so short, I may as well make Hamil happy ! He says he must end this deception, quotes 'far better commit a fault and have done' to me; and he is right — right! This double life cannot go on. For all these months I have lived two separate lives; I want to live one only; — until — until — the end. It is kindest to John. But is it? . Ah! that's what I don't know, when the sin is only in thought —as yet. If there were' only some one I could ask!" She looked hopelessly round, her beautiful flower-filled room, and lost herself in it for some moments. " ' Why comes temptation, but for us to meet, to conquer, and to make crtnich beneath our feet, and then be pede3talled in triumph?"' She said this aloud, as her eye caught sight of a little worn volume. "Ah, Browning! how little I have learnt from you after all; and yet — I tried. What will Lady Melrose think of me ? and ah! what will poor Eex do? Even his boyish worship cannot keep me on my pedestal. Well, two years ago — is it only two, not twenty ? — it might have mattered . to him : but he is a man now ; he knows how weak women are, so perhaps he'll forgive and pity me, and some sweet girl will come and take him by the hand before he has lost all his beliefs. O God !"— she sank on her knees, and buried her face in a mass of cushions — " 0 God ! don't let my— my sin — destroy his faith in goodness ; for there are good women — plenty — plenty, like his own mother— he niuat believe that : but — oh, Eex ! I would have spared you could I have lived a lie — any longer ! I must have one little bit of happiness before I die — with him, with Hamil- — " * • . # .. * * * Mrs Eomilly and Colonel Eicarton sat side by side in the stalls atCovent Garden. The church scene in Faust was being played. • She shivered and, drew her white cloak tighter around her, just as Mephistopheles appeared in the confessional and his deep metallic bass notes filled the vast auditorium. Colonel Eicarfcon turned to her in surprise. " You don't mean to say you feel cold?" he whispered; "why, the heat is awful! You must have caught a chillinfluenza or hay fever — surely ?" he spoke anxkrasly. "I think I must, though I didn't feel it until — until jusfc now." A bouquet of white flowers, chiefly roses, was lying on the empty stall next to her. She took it up, and buried her, pale face in it; but when she removed it, as Marguerite's wailing tones pierced her ear, she was so white that Colonel Ricarton was really alarmed. " Put down that confounded thing ! No wonder you feel faint— those flowers smell like a funeral bier. Put them down : they weren't meant for you, remember. Evelyn* do you hear me f" ■ "Yes, I hear," she said faintiy, obeying him as usual. "It must be the flowers. Where do they come from ? They have a strange seent — unlike other roses." • " Where are your salts ?" He spoke curtly, as anxious people generally do. "Here!" — and he took them out of the satin bag on her arm. "Now give me that bouquet, please. I'll take it outside. The woman it's meant for isn't coming, evidently ; and if she does — well, she can have it." "Hush! no: wait— listen! I want to listen — please." Marguerite and the organ wailed on, and Mephistopheles' harsh tones broke in, and Mrs Eomilly still shivered, and a red spot came on either cheek as she drew her breath in gasps, neither seeing nor hearing anything around her. An icy hand seemed laid on her heart, and now and again a sharp pain went through her. She felt as if she were slipping, falling through endless space, she knew not whither ; and then a strong, cold hand seized her, stayed her, and dragged her up. With an effort she roused herself froiu this waking dream, turned, and saw Eex Melrose, very pale and sad, with a pitying smile on his face. He holdout the bouquet to her, and as he did so his voice seemed to say in her ears — was it his voice ? it sounded so far away — " I shall hold you through thick and thin, and I'm strong." She sank back, conscience-stricken. Dimly she heard the tlevil-cboir singing " She is Lo3t." She felt herself swooning ; she could not speak or move. The light in Eex's eyes seemed to grow and blind her, yet she heard the angel-choir — or was it Eex ?— singing " She is Saved," but at an infinite distance. Then his hand was pressed against her burning brow — it felt so cool ! Then came darkness. # * # * * " John, my poor old John ! Don't grieve for me ! Dr Bavelaw is cruel only to be kind. I knew it months ago." " Would to God I had !" " Why, dear ?" "I might have been better to you, thafs all." " Better ? You couldn't, dear — no one could ; you were always too good to me, John. Better for me if you hadn't been so good." "Hush, my poor child, hush! I can't stand it." There was silence in the sick room, as she turned her face to the wall. At last she spofee brokenly, without turning her head. " I want to tell you something, John." . ' "Not if it hurts you, please." " Ah ! but I must." •Mr Epmillv's face showed much pain, •but he ' compressed his lips, and walked to the window aud back before he replied. - "Don't tell me anything, Evelyn, my child, that would hurt you or anyone else. Tell me first, will this that you want to tell me make me think worse of — of — any living human being ?" "Yes, yes," she sobbed: "of me— of me!" "Of you?" . "Of me, and " "Then" —he put his haud on her shoulder, which was turned away from him — " then don't tell me." "But— surely— you guess ?" " Perhaps I would rather not guess." "Not if it were a relief to my conscience ?" " Not at another's expense, Evelyn. Our consciences ate apt to get above themselves, like our passions and feelings." "But, John, have pity! I cannot leave you to believe a lie." '• Evelyn, if you have sinned against me in •• thought or deed, it is not for me to judge you." '• Or to forgive me ?" ''To forgive you, yes — if there is anything for me to forgive."

He spoke very gently, but his voice, trembled a little. , , , , She sat up in bed, holding out her hands imploringly. „ ■„ . " Johnfonlyin-thotipht, only m thought —and— l loved you all the time— all the time! Oh, do believe me !" "Hush!" he took her in his arms, and soothed her as if she were a child. "Hush ! I want to hear nothing more. Ido believe you ; I know yon loved me all the tune. My poor, poor wife, be <K>mforted, # and do not let us speak of this ever again. A j spasm passed over his face. Nights of anxious watching had set their mark for ever in this world on the haggard features of the man who was no longer young nor hopeful. . " Tell me, then, John, something.^ That night— you know— November 14th "—she shuddered: that date was indelibly scorched into her brain, for on that night her "happiness" was, to have begun. "I remember nothing after— after— l fainted." "There is little to tell, dear chad. Lady Melrose brought you home inher brougham, and never left you until— — " He stopped suddenly. "And what did Eex do? Dear, kind Eex! so stupid of me to faint just as he came — but it was those flowers—^he sent me : they smelt so strong,— just lik^e those — they'll soon put — on me—John." She shuddered and nestled closer to him. "Lady Melrose must.be glad to have Eex back, but he was looking so pale and ill." Mr Eomilly was watching her with alarm in his eyes, " I may see Eex, mayn't I ?" she went on. "He has been such a good friend to me : you don't know what he saved me from — by coining— that— night. You see, he thought , he would die on his twenty-seventh birth- ] day, so he tried hard to be good. Please let me see him. I want — I want to tell him something — before " "What does my wife want to tell him? or is it a secret ?" f He was trying to humour her until the nurse came;' he thought the delirium had returned. ■ "Oh no: 1 want to tell . him— that I understand what he felt; — tbat-it isbetter to live for others than for oneself— than to go to the bad — because one has only a short time to live. I want you to believe, I wouldn't do it now, John, so fetch Eex, won't you ? Now, please !" ' "Can my wife bear to be told something very sad — about — about Eex ?" She looked into his eyes. " Oh, I see, I. see ! don't— don't speak ! I know ! I see it in your face. I saw it in his — that night. He is dead — Eex is dead ! Oh, poor, poor Lady Melrose ! let me go to her ! When waa" ; it ? — tell me !" "On the 14fch of November." " Oh, no ! It couldn't be — that was the very night we were at the opera." "He was not at the opera, dear wife: you fancied it — you have been delirious. He died that very day— in India ; a stray shot " "OGod!" Evelyn Eomilly fell back on her pillows, and turned her face to the wall. Many things were growing, clearer to her. There was something to hold on to, after all. Her husband's strong haud to keep her safe, until she could feel that stronger, firmer clasp, leading her "gently into the mysterious land, of which all we know is,, that it is warmed by the sun of illimitable hope. ■