as he took the tools, 'and I feel that I have
behaved like a coward in abandoning her. Mind,
mind,' he added, in a despairing whisper, 'mind,
I rely on you, Bateman.' The word was then
given. He fired, and to my satisfaction I saw
that his adversary was hit on the elbow. He
gave a cry of rage. I stepped forward, and said
that now the matter could not, or need not, go
further. But the older man swore it should,
and the young man, all bleeding as he was,
stamped and said, unless I stood away, he
would fire there and then. On that Millwood
came himself, said he was ready, and folding
his arms, went back to his place, and waited
calmly. 'Don't forget,' he said to me, 'I have
but a moment more to live.' The young man,
whose hand trembled with pain, now called out,
and his friend said to him in a low voice, 'If
you miss him now, by Heaven, I won't miss
you.' ' Ah!' said the other, 'I have him;' and
he fired. The ball struck him in the centre of
the forehead, and Millwood fell like a stone."

The letter dropped from her fingers. For
many minutes she sat there sobbing, and without
venturing to pick it up, and finish the dismal
story. It was, in fact, already finished. There
was no more to read, and she sat with her heart
turning towards that little Italian town where
her unhappy father had met with such an end.

Suddenly a voice disturbed her. She raised
her eyes, still filled with tears, and saw before
her Mr. Tillotson, looking at her steadily, and
with a letter in his hand. "Tears," he said.
"What are you suffering from now? More
oppression? Perhaps some of my work? I
am sorry to disturb you," he went on, "but
here is a letter just arrived for you. Heaven
knows, I have no wish to be tyrannical, or to
restrain you in any of your desires; but I have
a duty to myself and to you. I have said again
and again that I do not wish any communication
with your friend, this Ross. I have even
commanded this, so far as I have the power. You
set me at defiance."

"I do not," she answered. "But what does
all this mean? I am weary of it. I have no
wish but what you wish. Why do you accuse
me in this way? What is this change that has
come over you?"

"No wish but what I wish?" he repeated,
indignantly. "And you say that to me—you
that make appointments with this man and his
friends, and take his part against your husband.
No wish but mine?" he repeated, bitterly.
"No, no. At least, let us have no shams."

The colour came into her cheeks. " I grieve
for this," she said. "I am sorry. I didn't
think you would have stooped to set spies on
me. I see you have lost all trust, love, and
confidence in me. Well, perhaps it is for the best."

"I lost! No. Don't think that I am ignorant
of what is going on, or of what has been
going on. I am not the poor, soft, weak,
plighted fool that I have been taken for; and I
shall take care to show it yet. Perhaps I am
changed; but who has changed me? What
has changed me? There, take your letter. Do
as you please. Write to him. Defy your husband."

Suddenly she ran towards him. "Dearest
husband," she said, "this is some delusion.
Some wicked people have been filling your mind
with these wild suspicions. Shut them out.
Dismiss them. You know me. As for poor
Ross, it is only for him I am anxious. We are
only anxious that he should go away, and if we
could see some opening——"

"I dare say," said Mr. Tillotson, sadly.
"Nothing more suitable."

A sudden idea came to Mrs. Tillotson. "Or,"
she said, "you would not object to this. I
see that you have taken up some strange ideas
about me and my conduct, which no argument
can dispel. It is useless reasoning. What if
I went away? I want to travel. Then after a
time—a few months—you would take a juster
view of me and my conduct."

"And where would you wish to go, if I might
ask?"

"I have thought of that, and settled it. I
should like to go again to Italy—to that town
on the coast which we passed by—Spezia."

He started back and turned pale. "To
Spezia! What do you mean?"

"I may not tell you now," she said; "but I
have good reasons. If you recollect, we avoided
it on our travels. But it is a duty I have too
long delayed."

"This to me!" he cried, sinking—"this from
you! O Ada, then it is too true. Go, then.
Carry out your schemes; ruin, disgrace us. I
shall make no resistance." She thought he
would have fallen from his chair, so ghastly did
he look. But in a moment he rose, and rushed
away from the room.

"What does all this mean?" she said,
distractedly. "What is going to happen? O
Heaven, look down on me! What are these
dark insinuations? I seem to be in a dream.
It is in vain to argue or resist. God help rne!"
She saw the old letters lying at her feet, and
half mechanically she took them up, half
mechanically she let her eyes fall on the part
where she had left off. She read on:

"If ever there was murder done on this earth,
it was by these two men. God forgive them!
His blood is on their heads, and calls to Heaven
for vengeance. Slowly and surely may it track
them. If I am doing wrong, I am accountable;
but there can be no sin in praying that earthly
retribution may overtake that ruffian Eastwood——"

"Eastwood!" she almost shrieked; but she
read on:

"—And his wicked companions in guilt."

Her faithful maid coming up that night had
found her in a swoon. The household, who,
with the instinct of households, knew pretty
well what was going on of late, set this down
as but a development of the new state of
things—that "not getting on," which had arisen
between master and missus; but it must have