so sudden, that for a second I was powerless
to move. But almost instantly I released myself
from his embrace, and, retreating a step or
two, held out my hand. I was astonished at
my own strength, now that the test had come.

"Forgive rne," said Horace, passing his hand
over his forehead, " it was so unexpected.
I—-I did not know what I was doing when I caught
sight of your face. Forgive me."

"Forgive you!" cried a voice, so hard and
strained, that I started, scarcely knowing it for
my sister's. She stood looking at us, and her
dark brows were knit, and her eyes flashed
menacingly, and I saw what the change was that
the year had made in Anna's face. All the youth
had gone out of it.

"Forgive you!" she exclaimed. " Do you
remember that your wife is present? Has the
sight of Margaret so overwhelmed you, as to
blot out from your memory the past twelve
months?"

Horace dropped my hand and turned towards
her.

"No, no, no," he answered, " I have not
forgotten, Anna, that you are my wife"

Something in his tone jarred upon her irritable
nerves and set her in a flame. The old furious
temper took possession of her, and shook her
slender figure. She heaped reproaches on us
both, until I stood aghast to hear her.

"You had best be silent, Margaret," said
Horace, turning to me. " She is a mad woman
while the fit is on her."

He then sat motionless, with his head bowed
upon his hands. Anna's loud angry tones
awoke the child, who set up a piteous wail. I
stooped to take it in my arms and soothe it;
but she snatched it from me, and pressed it to
her breast with a fierce clasp.

"She is mine, my child! You shall not
touch her! Her love, at least, I can. claim."
Then, turning to her husband: " You are a weak
fool. Do you think I cannot see what old
infatuation has come back at the sight of
Margaret? You are a weak fool. What was
her love to mine? She never loved you. Why,
at this moment, see how calm she stands!
What did she ever do to prove her love? Would
she have planned, schemed, defrauded, lied, to
win you?"

"Stop, Anna, in Heaven's name!" cried
Horace, rising. " Say no more while this mad
temper possesses you. Spare us, and spare
yourself."

"No; I will not spare myself. I did plan,
I did scheme, I did defraud, I did lie. I was
false to my sister, to my uncle, to every one.
There was nothing I would not have done
or risked for you, because I loved you so, and
because it seemed as if my great love must win
yours in the end."

"If neither for my sake nor your own, then
for our child's, I beseech you to command
yourself," said Horace.

The vehemence of her passion had so
exhausted her that she burst into a storm of
hysterical sobs, and fell back upon the couch with
the baby wailing and moaning in her arms.
Horace went to her, and motioned me away
as I advanced:

"Go now, Margaret. You can do no good," he
said softly. And indeed Anna's sobs redoubled
at my approach, and she shrank away from
me. " Go, and try to forget this miserable scene.
God ever bless you for coming, Margaret!
Don't—-" he hesitated, and then went on in a
lower voice—-" don't quite desert us. We deserve
nothing at your hands, but you are not one
to balance that bitter truth against our need of
you. And—-and, for the sake of this innocent
little one, don't desert us, Margaret. Don't
quite desert us."

I went away from the room and from the
house; and, out of the dark sea of sorrow
around me, only one thought rose clearly into
my mind. That he had loved me, until she
turned his heart against me. That he had been
deceived. That he had not been coldly false.

For some days after, I hesitated whether or
not I should tell my uncle that I had been to
see Anna. Had my visit ended peacefully, or
given me any hope of happier relations arising
between us, I would have risked his short-
lived anger, and confessed the truth at once.
But I shrank from the idea of a recurrence of
such harrowing scenes. I could not tell whether
he knew of Horace's return to Willborough;
but I thought it almost impossible that he
should still be ignorant of it. So the week
went by, and I was still undecided. At last I
resolved to let Uncle Gough know by indirect
means. So I requested Stock to gather some
choice wall-fruit, for which the gardens of the
Gable House were famous, as I wished to send a
present to a friend. The old man brought
the fruit wrapped in vine-leaves to the
morning-room, where I was sitting, and where
Uncle Gough was deep in the perusal of the
weekly Gazette from London. Poor Stock
was very feeble now, and bent by rheumatism.
My aunt's death had been a real grief to the
old man, whose few attachments were very
strong and lasting.

"I've been an' got what's left on 'em, Miss
Margrit. They bain't like they used to be, but
the Lord's will be done!"

"Thank you, Stock. They look very fine, I
think."

"Ah, look! If looks was all, some on us
'ud stand but a poor chance. Them nectarines
—-why, I can remember the season afore
iver Bill Green set foot in the place, they
was one mash o' juiciness. Bustin' they was
with ripeness. Seems to me as tho' summat
had clean took the flavour out of everythink."
Uncle Gough glanced over the newspaper:

"Ay, ay, Stock. I begin to find that out
myself. I'm afraid you and I are both suffering
from a complaint that is apt to take the flavour
out of everything. Old age, Stock, old age.
But," he added gently, "it will cure itself, it
will cure itself."

"Yes, sure, sir," answered Stock, conveying
something like softness into his hard immovable