"The same!" said the major, in astonishment.

"Yes, of course," said Fermor; "it quite
tallies. The description—everything."

"I don't follow," said the major, hopelessly.

"Don't you see," said Fermor, impatiently
"it is he—that Woodward is Carlay. Everything
corresponds; I see it all. But I am
not sorry. I am not indeed. We must make
more of this," he added, excitedly, "and find
more out."

"Good gracious!" said the major, in unfeigned
astonishment, "how you put two and two together.
Wonderful ! Wonderful!"

"I can see my way," said the other, with the
old air of superiority. "But I am glad of it, very
glad of it. They fancy they have me in their
power. But I have them."

CHAPTER XXXIII. A WARNING ON A DOOR-STEP.

DURING these days Miss Manuel, in a strange
state of mind, felt herself drawn in the smooth
current on to the rapids. She seemed to be
catching at the branches and stones as they
passed her. It was of no avail. She went abroad
to the shows and amusements, not from any love
of such attractions, but because they might offer
opportunities of undoing her fatal work. But it
was going on too surely and rapidly. Once
during these days she met Mrs. Fermor, and,
with a wistful and imploring look, ran to her.
But, trembling and flushed, the other turned from
her. Much oftener she met her with Mr.
Romaine—Romaine the Victorious. Him, at
some ball or theatre one night, she caught hold
of and talked to hurriedly.

"What do you mean to do?" said she. "How
is this to end?"

"How can I tell?" he said, calmly. "You
know me sufficiently by this time to guess that
what I mean to-day may not be what I mean
tomorrow. But this I am certain of: what I feel
at this moment to that young girl."

"But you have conscience—you have honour,"
said she, almost frantically. "I cannot believe
that you would go so far——"

"Ah, yes!" he said. "That is not the difficulty.
I don't care to boast, but I have lived stormily—
according to the odd French expression, have
had a jeunesse orageuse. I could count on my
fingers certainly three or four instances nearly
the same, and I knew what I meant then, and how
far I intended to go. Apply that to the present
instance. I am a hard, cold, selfish being, I confess
it. For years I have not known what it is to live
or love. Now, when I feel the rays of the sun
upon me, you would push me into shade.
Nonsense. My dear Miss Manuel, you are laughing
at me—behind your cards—behind your
fan. You threw down a clever challenge; you
are beaten, and now you want to try another
system. It will not do. I have but one thing
in my head now, and I shall follow it out to
the last, as I have done everything else in my
life."

She almost groaned. "O, Heaven help me,
and forgive me! Heaven help her, as indeed it
will!" But her rash purpose was being worked
out without her, and in spite of her: the old
wrong would find a punishment for itself, and
would be, indeed, Never Forgotten.

These were weary miserable days. She lay
under a load of remorse. All the time her
strange brother kept her under his eye
suspiciously. "What is this change?" he said.
"You do not see people. Why do you not
let them come? Why do you not see him as
you used to do? Take care, Pauline; I am
getting tired. I don't follow these fine schemes
of yours." She felt that she dare not tell him
what she knew, or dream even of changing his
purpose; so she could only plead for delay, for a
little longer time. "A week or two more," she
said, "and you shall see. I conjure you do
nothing of yourself. You promised, you know,
to leave all to me."

"Ah, Romaine," said he, with some satisfaction,
"he is doing his work. You have
managed that well. I must give you so much
credit. But Fermor, the guilty miserable creature,
we are far too slow with him. I cannot
bring my eyes to look at him when we meet. I
find this growing on me every day. He is a
standing reproach to me. You remember what
you called him that night, when she was still in
the house—a murderer. It was the exact
description, and now, go where I will, by night or
by day, I always have him present to me as a
murderer."

Miss Manuel groaned to herself, and covered
up her face. She was thinking how every step
had plunged her deeper; every move had been
but too fatally calculated to prevent her going
back. The only course now was to prevent this
wild excitable brother from taking things into
his own hands; and she therefore, with a desperate
hypocrisy, conjured, implored him to leave
all to her.

But all this time there was a great manly heart
bound up in the Manuel family by all the ties of
strong grief, and tender regrets, and softest
associations, and whose state was as miserable as
that of Pauline herself. The tones and colouring
of the younger Hanbury had faded with that
deep trial and the schooling of rough travel; the
old dream of the goodness of all men, and the
unsuspecting trust, which at times looks like
folly, had been scorched out. A graver, sadder,
and more practical Hanbury had come home.
Now it seemed to him that old wounds were
opened afresh. Yet he knew not how to meet
the evil. At devising he had no skill; yet one
evening, relying on his own honest instincts for
assistance, he thought he would go straight to
the bright impulsive little woman, whom he
aIways looked at with a strange sad interest,
from her having stepped into the place of one he
could never forget.

He was coming down the street, when he saw
Romaine standing on the steps, looking in his