malice of a place like Shipley. How I
loathe the name of it! And it is, no doubt,
true that I caused papa some temporary
anxiety. I trust it was brief. I left the
letter on my toilette-table, and I conjectured
that it could not long remain unseen.
The letter, when once read, ought to have
reassured him. Sir John gave me weighty
reasons for not wishing to make our
marriage public at once. I was bound to
respect his secret. From the fact of papa
having preserved an obstinate silence, I am
led to guess that he is nourishing resentment
against me. I shall be sorry if this
be so, but can stoop to no more entreaties.

"The knowledge of the position I shall
one day hold in the eyes of all the world
sustains me against the idea of passing
misconstruction.

"Sir John is all kindness and consideration
to me. I am surrounded by all the
elegant luxuries that wealth can purchase,
or watchful affection suggest. I am
travelling through exquisite scenery, and
drawing near to my mother's native sunny
land. I hate affectation of sentimentality,
but, in truth, my heart beats faster as I
look at the snowy peaks and think 'beyond
there lies Italy!' Direct to me, Poste
Restante, Arona, Lago Maggiore. Within
a fortnight we shall be there. Your letter
must be addressed to Lady Gale.

"Your affectionate (if you will let it be
so) VERONICA.

"Maudie, Maudie, tell me how papa is,
how you are. Love me, Maudie.
"V."

The last few words were apparently
added hurriedly. They were blurred and
almost illegible. But Maud dwelt on
them rather than on the rest of the letter.
They showed that Veronica's heart was not
dead, although her haughty spirit disdained
sympathy or compassion.

Twice, thrice, four times, did Maud read
the letter through her blinding tears,
before she laid it down on her lap, and fairly
thought over its contents.

One conviction stood out clear in her
mind—either Veronica was deceived or
deceiving.

That she could have no right to the title
of "Lady Gale" they in England knew
but too well. But was it equally certain
that Veronica knew it? Was it not much
more probable that Sir John was continuing
to deceive her? Might he not even
have gone through a false ceremony of
marriage? Such things had been!

Maud pondered and pondered.
Suddenly she took a resolution. Come what
might she would answer Veronica's letter.
It could not be right to leave her in
ignorance of the real facts of the case. She
would write to Veronica, and would then
enclose Veronica's letter to Mr. Levincourt,
and tell him what she had done. He
might be angry at first, but in his heart he
would thank her. He could not really
desire to abandon his only child to shame
and misery. If Veronica could only know
the truth she would leave that wicked man
—she must!

Maud peeped into the drawing-room
before sitting down to her little desk in her
own room.

Lady Tallis was asleep on the sofa. She
always slept regularly after her early
dinner, and with equal regularity was
always very much surprised when she
awoke to find that she had "dropped off,"
as she phrased it.

Without allowing herself time to hesitate,
Maud wrote a letter earnestly and
affectionately conjuring the unfortunate
girl to return to them, telling her, with
simple directness, that Sir John Tallis
Gale had a wife living, and who that wife
was; imploring her to disbelieve any
specious tale he might tell her, and to
wrench herself away from him at any cost.
"If you will only believe in the true love
of your friends, dear Veronica," she wrote,
"and come back to us, you shall never
repent it."

Who the friends were whose love
Veronica was conjured to believe in was
not so clear. Maud secretly feared that
Mr. Levincourt would be obdurate for a
time. But he could not harden his heart
against a repentant child for ever. Then
she thought of the Sheardowns, and
believed that they would be kind and
charitable. They might assist Mr. Levincourt
to leave Shipley, and to go elsewhere
—to some place in which his daughter's
story was not known. Fifty plans passed
through Maud's brain, as her pen ran
swiftly, eagerly over the paper. She
wrote with all the eloquence she could.

Would Veronica be willing to return
even when she knew the truth? Did she
assuredly not know it already? On these
questions Maud would not dwell, although
they kept presenting themselves
importunately to her mind. Her one plain,
obvious duty was to tell Veronica the
truth. How might not the lost girl one
day reproach them all if they left her in