NEVER FORGOTTEN.

PART THE SECOND.

CHAPTER XLVI.  NEMESIS.

FERMOR had got to Alfred-place. While there
was a block of carriages and cabs at his mother's
house, while the people in the street were stopping
to see the shadows cast upon the canvas of
the illuminated balcony, and the little procession
of ladies flitting from their carriages up the steps
into what seemed an open and refulgent furnace
door, he was hurriedly getting out of his "Hansom,"
and entering Miss Manuel's. Could she
see him for a moment? he sent up word. She
was above all conventionality, and saw him.

He entered in a wild tumult, his eyes flashing.
There was the old trouble on her face in permanence;
but on this night he thought her dazzling
and splendid.

"I have come," he said, closing the door.

"What," said she, "you not at the festival
tonight?"

"I don't care for such things," he went on,
"you know I don't. I got your note. That was
festival enough for me."

"And your wife—that poor gentle thing, who
seems to hate me so—she is there, I know,
glittering like a star. Who can have filled her little
soul with such cruel prejudices? I would give
the world to be loved by her, and that she would
let me love her; but she flies—she shrinks from
me."

At the first part of this speech Fermor's brow
was contracted, but at the second some
complacency came upon his face. He could give a
hint of the reason of this repulsion, but he made
no answer.

"It was good of you to come," she continued.
"I wanted to thank you. I heard of your
generous conduct. Any one else would have
kept back. I did not expect it from any one,
and not from you."

"What," said he, " do you not know me yet?"

"I begin to do so," she said, " but, alas! you
have not begun to know me. It is late for one's
eyes to be opening; yet not too late, I hope. O,
I could tell you such a sad history of humiliation,
which you have a right to know. But you
will be generous, and spare me. I thought I
was doing a holy thing—carrying out what
would have been the dear wish of another; but
now, not too late, I have discovered that I was
in a false, wicked track. O, I have suffered,"
continued Miss Manuel, "and paid a heavy
penalty for my folly—a heavy penalty indeed."

Fermor, who followed but indistinctly, for he
was only thinking of the general purport of this
confession, said eagerly, " Ah, it is easy for me
to forgive. So you ask me?"

"Yes," she said, " I do. And I have something
else to ask, which you will not refuse. I
am glad you have come to me to-night. You
would save me, I know, dreary hours of remorse
—what would be a life of miserable regret. You
do not know what I have suffered during these
few days. I have seen misery, wickedness, guilt,
ruin, all coming on fast, and which I know has
been my own doing, but which I have not power
to stop. O, Fermor, think what it must be for
me to look on while the innocent are hurrying
to destruction—to think that this is my own
doing. I have not slept; I have not lived. I
have spent these many days in rushing through
this great city, crying for help to this person and
that, and now find that you are my last chance."

"What can I do?" said Fermor, hurriedly;
"say it. Can I refuse anything that you ask?"

"Then, save her. That soft, lovable, tender
thing, that I—O, I can't think of it. I cannot
speak to her. Every step I take towards her only
fills her with suspicion. It is you who must act.
Take her away! Fly this miserable place!
Begone yourself! You don't know the dangers.
Why, even at this moment while we talk—–"

A light came into Fermor's eyes. " Ah, you
don't know the whole of that story," he said.
"Gentle and tender! Why, I have left a hell
behind me at home. I have made the great
mistake that so many make, and have found it
out too late. Fly with her? Never! You talk
of suffering; you don't know what I have
suffered. I have been vilely deceived—deceived
in every way. On their heads be the consequence
of their own imposture! But I hope to
have done with them—done with them for ever
—from this night."

"How?" said Miss Manuel, with wondering
eyes.

He went on, with a voice almost breathless
from agitation, " Don't think that I have not
been able to translate your words, and your
letter that I have seen enough of men and