seemed as if only the husk of her were sitting
there, and that her soul was away, away, away,
bathed in the light of a paradise that was
invisible to our grosser sense."

"Some Southern woman, probably," said
Edward. "One sees rays of light stream from
those dark faces sometimes in a marvellous
way."

"No, she wasn't Italian," interrupted Harty,
eagerly; "she was not dark, she was a fair
woman, with heaps of light hair, and a face as
white as marble." (Edward Saville's heart
gave a great jump.) "And what was so
wonderful about her, was her extraordinary
unconsciousness; it seemed to isolate her so
completely from the whole room. She had no one
with her wasn't it odd for so young a woman?
She can't be more than three or four-and-twenty;
she passed out close before me, and I saw that
she was alone— you'll think I am gone quite crazy
on the subject, but her dress, too, was so very
peculiar: she had got on a gown of——"

"Violet velvet, I know, and a diamond
comb!" exclaimed Edward Saville, starting up
in a state of great excitement. "My dear
Harty, can you tell me anything about that
woman?" he said, taking both her hands. "You
say that you left the concert-room together;
did you see her drive off? Did you hear what
direction was given to the coachman?"

"No," said his cousin, in amazement at the
degree of agitation he expressed. "Her
carriage was just before mine; there was an elderly
looking man waiting for her at the door, and
'Home!' was the only direction given."

Mrs. Brande knew the riddle now, and
Medusa was revealed. She was troubled for her
cousin; he looked worn and haggard, and his
manner was so disturbed, that she felt quite
unhappy about him. She moved heaven and
earth to get him to promise to go down with
her the next day into the country, but was
obliged to leave town without him, and, what
was worse, with but little apparent prospect of
seeing him for some time to come.

The months passed; winter had rolled into
spring, and Edward Saville was still in London.
Harty wrote to him continually from Herne
Court, loading him with little commissions to
execute for her, that he might be obliged to
write, and that so she might be kept a little au
courant of his life. She did not gather much
information, however, on this head; he did what
she asked, but was silent about himself; the
letters were short, unsatisfactory, and read
sadly; at least, so it seemed to Mrs. Brande's
kind heart.

One morning he got a note from her containing
a list of plants, which she begged he would
be so good as to order for her from some
nursery-grounds on the Bayswater-road. It
was a lovely morning towards the middle of
May; he got into a Hansom, and went off in
search of the florist. There was a brougham
waiting at the door, which moved a few paces
on to let him draw up. He passed through the
little shop and into the nursery-garden behind
the house. The master of the shop was busily
engaged at some distance with two ladies, who
were coming down the principal walk towards
the shop. They were veiled, but a strange
throbbing seized Edward Saville's heart as they
came nearer, and he saw that the one next to
him wore a checked shawl and common stuff
gown. The other was a lady dressed in black
silk, and held a large nosegay of lilies of the
valley in her hand. He stood aside breathless
as they approached. It was she; he took off
his hat as she passed; she looked full at him as
she went by, and smiled, but did not return his
bow, nor look back once. They got into the
carriage and drove away. "Without thinking of
Harty, or her commission, or of the gaping
shopman who was re-entering the house, and
whom he nearly overthrew in his mad haste,
Mr. Saville precipitated himself into his cab,
and desired the man to follow the brougham,
which was still in sight, but on ahead at some
little distance before them. They drove on for
some time upon the Bayswater-road, keeping
the carriage steadily in sight all the while, until
they saw it stop very nearly opposite the last
gate of Kensington Gardens, before a long, low,
Gothic cottage that stood within walls and a little
way back from the high road. Here Edward
Saville saw the young woman whom he supposed
to be a servant get out and ring the bell. The
door was opened by an elderly man, whom he
recognised as the one he had seen at the Hall.
The carriage drove off empty, and the two
women disappeared into the house.

He discharged his cab, and then walked
leisurely past the cottage. It looked astonishingly
rural among all the other suburban
residences. Home Cottage was the name
of the spruce little white box with the bright
green blinds just before it. It appeared to
have a large garden at the back, for over
the wall he could see a considerable space
untenanted with houses, and in which there were
three or four trees: real trees of respectable
magnitude. The cottage was of a dark stone
colour; there was clear blue in the heavens, soft
white clouds were sailing about, a fresh spring
wind tempered the mid-day heat, and a lithe
young cherry-tree, covered with blossoms, was
nodding its white head in at the latticed bedroom
windows in front; it was a very pretty
picture. Having made this inspection of the
premises, he turned back again and rang at the
bell.

"Pray can you tell me if Mrs. Brande lives
here?" he said, when the old man appeared.

"There is no such person here," was the
reply, very crustily given, and with a strongly-
marked German accent.

"Do you know, by any chance, if there is
such a person in the neighbourhood?" pursued
Edward, as he saw the door gradually closing
against him.

"There is no such person," said the old man
again, and shut the door in his face.

He crossed the road and turned into
Kensington Gardens. The great walk, which is