what sort of people I had to deal with in my
client's interests, and how their assumed indignation
was appeased.

"Having, in the first instance, left England
for Ireland, Mr. Vanstone and Miss Blake
remained there afterwards, for some years. Girl as
she was, she faced her position and its necessities
without flinching. Having once resolved to
sacrifice her life to the man she loved; having
quieted her conscience by persuading herself that
his marriage was a legal mockery, and that she
was 'his wife in the sight of Heaven;' she set
herself, from the first, to accomplish the one foremost
purpose of so living with him, in the world's eye,
as never to raise the suspicion that she was not
his lawful wife. The women are few indeed
who cannot resolve firmly, scheme patiently, and
act promptly, where the dearest interests of their
lives are concerned. Mrs. Vanstone—she has a
right now, remember, to that name—Mrs.
Vanstone had more than the average share of a
woman's tenacity and a woman's tact; and she took
all the needful precautions, in those early days,
which her husband's less ready capacity had not
the art to devise—precautions to which they were
largely indebted for the preservation of their
secret in later times.

"Thanks to these safeguards, not a shadow of
suspicion followed them when they returned to
England. They first settled in Devonshire,
merely because they were far removed there from
that northern county in which Mr. Vanstone's
family and connexions had been known. On the
part of his surviving relatives, they had no curious
investigations to dread. He was totally estranged
from his mother and his elder brother. His married
sister had been forbidden by her husband (who
was a clergyman) to hold any communication with
him, from the period when he had fallen into the
deplorable way of life which I have described as
following his return from Canada. Other
relations he had none. When he and Miss Blake left
Devonshire, their next change of residence was to
this house. Neither courting, nor avoiding notice;
simply happy in themselves, in their children, and
in their quiet rural life; unsuspected by the few
neighbours who formed their modest circle of
acquaintance to be other than what they seemed—
the truth, in their case, as in the cases of many
others, remained undiscovered until accident
forced it into the light of day.

"If, in your close intimacy with them, it
seems strange that they should never have
betrayed themselves, let me ask you to consider
the circumstances, and you will understand the
apparent anomaly. Remember that they had
been living as husband and wife, to all intents
and purposes (except that the marriage service
had not been read over them) for fifteen years
before you came into the house; and bear in
mind, at the same time, that no event occurred to
disturb Mr. Vanstone's happiness in the present,
to remind him of the past, or to warn him
of the future, until the announcement of his
wife's death reached him, in that letter from
America which you saw placed in his hand.
From that day forth—when a past which he
abhorred was forced back to his memory; when
a future which she had never dared to anticipate
was placed within her reach—you will soon
perceive, if you have not perceived already, that they
both betrayed themselves, time after time; and
that your innocence of all suspicion, and their
children's innocence of all suspicion, alone
prevented you from discovering the truth.

"The sad story of the past is now as well
known to you as to me. I have had hard words
to speak. God knows I have spoken them with
true sympathy for the living, with true tenderness
for the memory of the dead."

He paused, turned his face a little away, and
rested his head on his hand, in the quiet
undemonstrative manner which was natural to him.
Thus far, Miss Garth had only interrupted his
narrative by an occasional word, or by a mute
token of her attention. She made no effort to
conceal her tears; they fell fast and silently over
her wasted cheeks, as she looked up and spoke
to him. "I have done you some injury, sir, in
my thoughts," she said, with a noble simplicity.
"I know you better now. Let me ask your
forgiveness; let me take your hand."

Those words, and the action which accompanied
them, touched him deeply. He took her
hand in silence. She was the first to speak, the
first to set the example of self-control. It is one
of the noble instincts of women, that nothing
more powerfully rouses them to struggle with
their own sorrow than the sight of a man's
distress. She quietly dried her tears; she quietly
drew her chair round the table so as to sit nearer
to him when she spoke again.

"I have been sadly broken, Mr. Pendril, by
what has happened in this house," she said, "or
I should have borne what you have told me
better than I have borne it to-day. Will you
let me ask one question, before you go on? My
heart aches for the children of my love—more
than ever my children now. Is there no hope for
their future? Are they left with no prospect
but poverty before them?"

The lawyer hesitated before he answered the
question.

"They are left dependent," he said, at last,
"on the justice and the mercy of a stranger."

"Through the misfortune of their birth?"

"Through the misfortunes which have followed
the marriage of their parents."

With that startling answer he rose, took up
the will from the floor, and restored it to its
former position on the table between them.

"I can only place the truth before you," he
resumed, "in one plain form of words. The
marriage has destroyed this will, and has left Mr.
Vanstone's daughters dependent on their uncle."

As he spoke, the breeze stirred again among the
shrubs under the window.

"On their uncle?" repeated Miss Garth. She
considered for a moment, and laid her hand