and I must give him a lesson. Like the true
savages that we are, he is ' taking it out' of her.
He will cringe before me. Poor helpless child.
She says she has not one to look to. A ruffian
husband, a cold father, and the friend that she
loved, and watched over, turning out to— be shall
we say, a secret enemy? Is it any wonder that she
should come for assistance to the only one who,
in his rude way, seems to have some regard for
her, poor little soul? No, you can't save her,
Manuel."

"O, what shall I do?" said Pauline, in a
tempest of agitation. "O, if on my knees—-"

"Hush, hush!" said Mr. Romaine, rising up.
"Think of the nineteenth century, I beg. Why,
we seem to be on the boards of the Porte St.
Martin. Come, come, Miss Manuel, pull down
your veil, and let me see you decently down
to your brougham."

He did see her down. "God give me strength,
and quick intelligence," she said— almost gasped
— to herself as she drove away. "Sweet Violet,
look down and pray for me. We shall save her
yet."

Alas! It seemed that supernatural aid were
indeed required!

Then Miss Manuel drove away to try again
if she could find Mrs. Fermor. She went
upstairs with a fluttering heart. Mrs. Fermor was
sitting alone, with pale cheeks, and eyes that
seemed to "stare" a little from wakefulness.
She had long been expecting this moment—
panting for it.

Miss Manuel ran up to her. The hand she
took in hers was damp and cold. "You are ill,"
she said, alarmed; "what is the matter?"

The cold little hand drew itself away hastily.
"You ask," said Mrs. Fermor, with a trembling
voice. "Is this what you have come to ask
about?"

"O, indeed it is," said Miss Manuel, hurriedly,
"and I don't know how to begin. I have come
to accuse myself, and to throw myself at your
feet, and beg your forgiveness for what I have
done. I was mad. I knew not what I was
doing. I conjure you not to mind what I said
and what I did. It is my own work, I know,
but I may still save you."

"Save me!" said Mrs. Fermor, bitterly; "this
is indeed good news. And how are you to do
that, pray?"

"Ah, you suspect me!" said Pauline, sadly.
"No wonder. No one seems to heed me now.
But I must speak, and speak out. Fly! shun
him. Never speak to him again. I know him,
and know what he means."

"Whom do you mean?" said Mrs. Fermor,
astonished.

"Romaine! I conjure you never speak to him
again. I understand his hints, for I know
him well; and I have come straight to you
from him, to put you on your guard against
him."

"Ah, now I understand you, Miss Manuel,"
said Mrs. Fermor, with flashing eyes. "Now
I see. So you come to lecture me, too, about
that. But I can understand who has inspired
you. You follow your instructions to the letter.
Romaine! With what face can you come and
speak to me in this tone? Ah, I know you now,
Miss Manuel! There are other people I am to
be on my guard against. God help me! God
help me! I have no friends."

"Dear, dear girl!" said Pauline, rushing to
her; "some one has been poisoning your mind
against me. I know I was wicked and wrong at
the beginning, but I have repented. O, you
know not how I have suffered. But whatever
suspicion I bring on myself, I say again solemnly,
and conjure you solemnly, shun that dreadful
being, whom I know means you harm!"

"I know those who mean me harm," said Mrs.
Fermor, with trembling voice. "I know them
well. I know who are my friends, too. I want
no advice. I am glad you have come, so that
I can tell you so. Henceforth I can stand by
myself. I shall be independent of friends and
of the world. I want no false ones. So now
leave me, please, Miss Manuel."

She stood up. Pauline came towards her and
tried to catch her hand.

"Don't, don't," she said; "for Heaven's sake,
don't take this tone! Think of me, speak to me
as you will, but take care, I conjure you. Do
let me know that I have repaired what I have
done."

The little lady, with heaving chest and quivering
lip, looked at her with scorn.

"If you do not go, I must," she said. "It is
not fit that you should come to this house."

At this moment her servant opened the door,
and announced "Mr. ROMAINE!"

CHAPTER XXXI. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND.

HE entered with his old easy air, and never
even started as he saw the two ladies together.

"Ah, this is a surprise," he said, taking his low
chair. "Two visits rolled into one. Miss
Manuel, you must know, did me the unexpected
honour of a call not an hour ago, and we meet
again here!"

What with confusion and grief, Miss Manuel
was not herself any longer. She had lost her
old readiness and her old sharpness of retort.
Not so Mrs. Fermor, who displayed a wild and
flurried coquetry.

"I am so glad you have come in, Mr.
Romaine," she said. "I was expecting you."

"And I have been looking up a dress for you,"
he said; "for you must go to this show of Mamma
Fermor's. I brought some pictures from that
shop in the Haymarket. Here is a Spanish
Ballerina, Mary Queen of Scots— the old story—
and a Colleen Bawn. Or, what do you say to a
genuine pair, Petrarch and Laura?"

With her eyes fixed defiantly on Miss Manuel,
and her lips brought close, Mrs. Fermor answered
her rather than Romaine.