the agony ever so great; and hers was
of the slow and hopeless kind, which has
such intervals most surely, and with least efficacy.
One of them had come just then, and
she was placid, drowsy, and acquiescent. She
went with Routh to Homburg; he managed
to make some hopeful, promising, and credulous
acquaintances on the way, and was, besides,
accredited to some " business people," of
perfectly authentic character, at Frankfort, in the
interest of the flourishing Flinders.

The change, the novelty, the sight of gaiety,
in which she took no share, but which she
looked on at with a partial diversion of her
mind, did her good. It was something even to
be out of England; not a very rational or well-
founded relief, but still a relief, explicable and
defensible too, on the theory to which she
adhered, that all her ills were merely physical.
The torpid interval prolonged itself, and the
vital powers of the sufferer were recruited for
the wakening.

This took place when Mrs. P. Ireton Bembridge's
pony-carriage passed her as she sat by
the side of the broad shaded road, and the
woman's splendid black eyes met hers. When her
husband passed her without seeing her, absorbed
in passionate admiration, which any child must
have recognised as such, for the beautiful woman
whose pony-carriage was like a triumphal chariot,
so royal and conquering of aspect was she.

Keen were the tormentors, and full of avidity,
and subtle was the new device to tax the
recruited strength and mock the brief repose. It
was raging, fierce, fiery, maddening jealousy.

It was late in the afternoon of the day on
which Mrs. P. Ireton Bembridge had sent her
answer to Mr. Felton' s note, and while George
Dallas was sitting with Mrs. Routh, that the
beautiful widow and her companion — this time
exploring the forest glades in another direction,
in which they met but few of the visitors to the
springs — once more mentioned Mr. Felton and
his son. The grey ponies were going slowly,
and the French groom in attendance was
considering the probable direction of the " affair"
in which his mistress had so precipitately
engaged herself, and which, being conducted in
the English tongue, was interpreted to him by
glances and tones only. The beauty of the
face on which Stewart Routh was gazing in an
intensity of admiration, with a certain desperation
in it, in which a cleverer woman than this
one would have seen indications of character to
warn and alarm her, but which this one merely
recognised as a tribute due to her, was
marvellously bright and soft, as the slanting rays of the
sun came through the tree stems, and touched
it lingeringly, lovingly. Her black eyes had
wonderful gleams and reflexions in them, and
the masses of her dark hair were daintily tinged
and tipped with russet tints. She was looking
a little thoughtful, a little dreamy. Was she
tired, for the moment, of sparkling? Was she
resting herself in an array of the semblance of
tenderness, more enchanting still?

"You knew him, then, in your husband's
lifetime? He is not a new acquaintance?"

"What a catechist you are," she said, with
just a momentary glance at him, and the least
flicker of a smile. " I did know him in my
husband's lifetime, who highly disapproved of him,
if you care for that piece of information; we
were great friends, and he was rather inclined
to presume upon the fact afterwards."

She lingered upon the word, and gave it all
the confirmatory expression Routh had expected
and feared.

"And yet you make an appointment with
him to meet him here, in this place, where every
one is remarked and speculated upon; here, alone,
where you are without even a companion——— "
He paused, and with a light, mocking laugh,
inexpressibly provoking, she said :

"Why don't you say a ' sheep-dog'? We
know the immortal Becky quite as well as you
do. In the first place, my appointment with
Arthur Felton means simply nothing. I am
just as likely to break it as to keep it; to go to
London, or Vienna, or Timbuctoo, to-morrow,
if the fancy takes me; or to stay here, and have
him told I'm not at home when he calls, only
that would please his father; and Mr. Felton is
about the only male creature of my acquaintance
whom I don't want to please. In the second
place, I don't care one straw who remarks me,
or what they remark, and have no notion of
allowing public opinion to take precedence of
my pleasure."

She laughed again, a saucy laugh which he
did not like, gave him another glance and
another flicker of her eyelash, and said:

"Why, how extremely preposterous you are !
You know well, if I cared what people could,
would, might, or should say, I would not allow
you to visit me every day, and I would not drive
you out alone like this."

The perfect unconcern and freedom of the
remark took Routh by surprise, and disconcerted
him as completely as its undeniable truth. He
kept silence; and Mrs. P. Ireton Bembridge,
amused at the blank expression of his
countenance, burst into a hearty fit of laughter
this time.

"I tell you I don't care about public opinion.
All the men admire me, no matter what I do;
and all the women hate me, and would hate me
all the same, for my beauty — which I entirely
appreciate, you know if I made my life as
dull and decorous, as miserable, squalid, and
canting, as I make it pleasant, and joyous, and
'not the thing.' Neither men nor women dare
to insult me; and if they did, I should know
how to meet the emergency, I assure you,
though I am not at all clever. I am only
courageous — ' plucky,' your English ladies call it, I
think, in the last new style of stable and
barrack-room talk. I am that; I don't think I
could be afraid of anything or any one."

"Not of a man who really loved you with all
the force and passion of his heart?" said Routh,
in a hoarse whisper, and bending a fierce, dark
look upon her.