me a rebuff; for I had a letter written to
Sir Charles Panton, but Dudley tells me
Sir Charles is bitter against me."

"What, that Dudley again upon the
scene," she said. "Oh, this is becoming
wretched!"

"The old nightmare," he said, smiling.
"But this quite destroys my scruples, and
should yours. Let a man take the line of
an enemy, and I am always glad. Then I
can take my side. Sir Charles might have
heaped coals of fire on my head. But it is
a relief that he has taken this course."

"And you will go down there—within
sight of that unhappy place, where she who
was to have been your wife met with such
an end. "What will they say even as to the
taste, the delicacy of such a proceeding?"

He coloured. "A man who stands for
a borough must bid adieu to delicacy. But
that is for myself. And your scruples, too,
are for myself. Since you assured me you
had no other reason, I can take the rest
on myself." She was silent. She had
walked so far into this quagmire she could
not turn round. "Dudley will do his best
for us. So, I presume, will your father; he
will expect me to get him a bishopric. I
can hear him ringing, 'My son-in-law Con-
way,' like a bell in his steeple. To-morrow—now
don't be shocked, dearest—I go down
to canvass with Dudley. We shall look up
our Edgar Allan Poe business, too, if we
have time."

Again lurid shadows—wild and jagged
in shape—kept leaping backwards and
forwards in a sort of challenge. She made
no more protest, but seemed to accept the
old "anangke" of the Greeks come back
again to the world. Dudley came the next
day, and found Conway ready for him.

"Is it not curious," said the former, "the
mere accidents that direct the course of a
life? He puts in, on board a yacht, at this
small port, and he is fortunate enough to
find an accomplished lady for his wife, and
probably a seat in the House of Commons.
He is also able to help a poor broken-
hearted creature in what you, Mrs. Conway,
would unjustly call his monomania."

"No, she would not," said Conway.
"She makes me feel ashamed sometimes
that I had so little tenderness about that
time."

"And you have none!" said the other
fiercely. "Not that you did anything to
her. Indeed, you behaved wonderfully—I
own that. But, I repeat, it seems like
another dispensation that you should be
drawn back there again with me, to help
me with your well-trained wits, to what my
poor muddled brains could never reach to
of themselves. One look at the ground,
the detectives tell us, is worth whole volumes
of writing and description."

"Yes," said Conway, "you may count
on my putting my whole soul into it."

"Why are you so eager for this?" said
Jessica, excitedly. " I should have thought
it was a matter we should all be glad to
have done with for ever. Why should you
be raking up this dismal past? For God's
sake leave it so, and leave us alone!"

"Why?" repeated Dudley, coming back
from the door whither he had advanced, and
gazing fixedly at her. "Do you ask in
earnest?" Her eyes flew hurriedly in the
direction of Conway, who was putting some
papers together. "Ah! I was sure not.
Well, one of these days I shall tell you—him
too—and perhaps the whole world!"

She felt this was growing unendurable.
With a sudden impulse she called aloud,
"O George, I should tell you—I must—"

"Tell me what?" he said. "One of
your secrets? Ah! you know you have
no secrets from me. Good-bye, dearest!"

They were gone. She was left alone
to the dismal thought that for every hour
of that tedious absence Dudley would be
dropping some hint, filling her husband's
soul with stray thoughts and reminders,
which would set his mind in train to
receive that one idea. She dwelt on this till
it became a protracted agony, till her heart
fluttered, and the days seemed to drag by
and the nights to stop short as she thought
of this far-off process going on which was
destroying her shortlived happiness.

           MR. DICKENS'S NEW WORK.
On March 31st will be Published, PRICE ONE SHILLING,
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           BY CHARLES DICKENS.
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To be Completed in TWELVE MONTHLY Numbers,
uniform with the Original Editions of " PICKWICK"
and " COPPERFIELD."
London: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

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