pointed to it, silently. Lady Tallis stared
in alarm and bewilderment; but Maud,
springing to the vicar's side, looked over
his shoulder at the writing.

"Oh, Aunt Hilda!" she gasped. "What
does this mean?"

"What, child? What in the world is
the matter? That? Sure that's a bill,
sent in by my shoemaker!"

"But the name?" said the vicar, with a
sudden, startling fierceness.

"The name? Well, it's my name; whose
else should it be? Oh, to be sure — I see
now! Ah! ye didn't know that he took
another name about two years ago. Did
ye never hear of his uncle, the rich alderman?
The alderman left him thirty thousand
pounds, on condition that he should
tack his name on to his old one, and give
him the honour and glory of sending down
his own plebeian appellation with the
baronetcy. So of course when he changed
his name, I changed mine; for I am his
wife, though I make no doubt that he
would be glad enough to deny it if he
could. Only that, being his wife, he has
more power to tyrannise over me than he
has over anybody else. But then—"

"But what is he called now, Aunt
Hilda?" interrupted Maud, seeing that
her guardian was in an agony of speechless
suspense. " What names does — does
your husband go by?"

"Indeed, my pet, that's more than I can
say; but his rightful style and title is Sir
John Tallis Gale, Baronet, and I suppose
you knew that much before!"

"O my God!" groaned the vicar, sinking
into a chair, and letting his head drop
on his hands.

"Uncle Charles !" screamed Maud, throwing
her arms around him. "O Uncle
Charles! It will kill him!"

But the vicar was not dying. He was
living to a rush of horrible sensations;
grief, astonishment, shame, and anger. The
indelibility of the disgrace inflicted on him;
the hopelessness of any remedy; the
infamy that must attend his child's future
life, were all present to his mind with
instant and torturing vividness. But of
these mingled emotions, anger was the
predominant one, and it grew fiercer with
every second that passed. His love for
his daughter had ever been marked more
by pride than by depth or tenderness.
This pride was now trampled in the dust,
and a feeling of implacable resentment
arose in his mind against her who had
inflicted the anguish of such a humiliation.

He raised his face distorted by passion.

"From this hour forth I disown and
abandon her," he said in quivering tones.
"No one is my friend who speaks her
name to me. In the infamy she has
chosen, let her live and die. And may
God so punish her for the misery she has
caused —"

Maud fell down on her knees before
him and seized his hands. "Oh hush, oh
pray, pray hush, dear Uncle Charles!"
she sobbed out. "Think how sorry you
would be if you said the words! How you
would repent and be sorry all your life
long!"

"For mercy's sake!" exclaimed Lady
Tallis, in a tremulous voice, "what is it
all about? My dearest child, you
positively must not sob in that heartbreaking
manner! Sure you'll make yourself
ill."

"And for one who is not worth a tear!"
added the vicar. " For one who — But
I will never mention her name again. It
is over. She is lost and gone irrevocably.
Lady Tallis, I would have spared you this,
if I could have guessed the extent of the
degradation that has fallen upon me. My
presence in your house at this moment is
almost an outrage."

The poor lady sat down in a chair, and
pressing her hands to her forehead, began
to whimper. "I'd be unspeakably obliged
to ye, Mr. Levincourt," she said, "if you
would do me the favour to explain. My
poor head is in a whirl of confusion. I
really and truly am not strong enough to
support this kind of thing!"

"We have each of us a horrible burden
to support," rejoined the vicar, almost
sternly. "And God knows that mine is
not the least heavy. You have been
entirely separated from your husband for
some years?"

"Oh, indeed I have! That is to say,
there never has been a legal separation,
but —-"

The vicar interrupted her. "He has
assumed another name and has been living
abroad?"

"As to the name, I am sure of that,
because I learnt it from his agent, to whom I
am sometimes compelled to have recourse
for money. But for where he has been
living, I assure you, my dear Mr. Levincourt —-"

"The villain who has carried away my
daughter — stolen her from a home in which
he had received every kindness and
hospitable care that my means permitted me to