figure, which was destined to repose
tranquilly there during many an untold
Sunday service, while gentler or louder voices
would come and succeed the doctor's; while
new and ever succeeding eyes would wander
over and speculate as to the story to whom
this gigantic LAURÆ seemed to belong.
There, too, was the clergyman's pew almost
on a level—so near that a woman's eyes in
that pew could peer into that cold marble
face.

Such a reflection actually occurred to a
veiled and muffled figure, standing in front
of the monument, and gazing at the
sleeping figure with a strange and sad interest.
There was her old enemy lying prostrate
before her in chill stone, with something
like a reproach on her face. Knollys,
B.A., had at least made a good likeness.

She saw even in that dim light the
same perverse look about the lips, closed
with a certain obstinacy. But the idea of
having to sit there, Sunday after Sunday,
with that face gazing at her, and taking,
by force of her own imagination, expressions
of reproach, anger, or superiority,
was, she felt, more than she could endure.
"Not that!" she said, half aloud. "Is
there nothing to save me from that? Yet
if she were to arise now from that cold bed
I would not shrink nor fly; for I am
innocent in all that took place about her.
Even now, as she lies there, she has her
victory, and I do not grudge it to her; but
it falls hardly on me. She might raise her
head from that cold pillow, and give her
old smile of triumph to see me thus
deserted. Yet I cannot bring myself to
blame him. I should have known that this
must have come to pass, that he has been
forced again into the auction room to
extricate his family. Yet it would be more
like retribution if she had still power to
keep him from me now as she had in her
life."

She turned hastily; for she heard a
sound of steps slowly approaching, and
did not wish to be surprised. In a
moment she heard a voice, the music of which
she well knew. She gave a cry of surprise
and joy.

"Jessica!" said Conway. "It seems no
chance that has made us meet here in
presence of her image. The same holy
thought drew you here as well as me, and
takes away my last foolish scruple. We
can both approach to pay this poor homage
to her memory; and you know we dared
not do it unless our hearts were pure. Ah,
Jessica! now at last I can shut out that
dismal day; now we can look to the
future, and think of being happy."

"And you have returned to me," said
Jessica. "I never dreamed of this. I
had given up all hope of seeing you again."
"We have hope now for the future, and
plenty," he said, eagerly. "All will be
well. The clouds have all passed away.
I could have returned here long since, but
hesitated, thinking that you, like myself,
had some weak scruple, and that that poor
girl's end might be supposed to have
changed everything. Yet though I hardly
dare say it, it seems I was saved from a
terrible fate—from a shipwrecked life, from
the degradation of having married for
money, and from the misery which must
have followed. But now all is clear at
last, and I have come back to save you.
You shall at last begin a happy life with
me. We shall never look back! Hush!
who is this?"

A figure came slowly advancing into the
church, and the two hastily drew aside into
the shadow. The figure still advanced
until close up to the monument, clasped its
hands, and, bending passionately over the
marble figure, gazed with an unspeakable
tenderness into the face. Then bent down
slowly and kissed the marble cheek. Turning
round suddenly at some sound of
footsteps the light fell on his face, and his
fierce eyes were directed into the dark
shadow where they stood.

"What!" cried Dudley. "You have
chosen this place and this night for your
unholy meeting! Does SHE dare—of all
creatures in the world!"

"Hush!" said Conway, indignantly.
"This is no place—"

"Come away, then, out of it," he said,
frantically. "I will not have this sacred
spot profaned by your meeting."

They were now outside the church.
"See, Dudley," said Conway, gently, "I
can make any allowance in your case; but
this seems going too far."

"I see the game," said Dudley, looking
from one to the other, "she is out of the
way now, a decent time has elapsed, and
you pick her out the unrelenting enemy—
almost her murderess!"

Conway felt Jessica's arm trembling on
his, and she herself was nearly falling.
"This is intolerable," he said. "And you
must be mad to speak so."

"Take care, Conway," said the other
solemnly. "I give you this solemn caution.
Take care what step you take; if you
profane the dead in that way, I tell you you