suppose you will have the means of learning the
tenor of Mr. Felton's interview with this lady
who knew his son so well. If no discovery be
then made, let us take it as another indication
of luck, circumstance, what you will, and go."

"What for?" said Routh, in amazement.
"Are you returning to that notion, when all I
have said is to show you that you must not lose
sight of Dallas?"

"I know," she said—"I know; but you are
altogether wrong. George Dallas must make
the discovery some time, and must bear the
brunt of the suspicion. I don't speak in his
interests, but in yours—in mine. Let it come
when it may, but let us be away out of it all.
We have money now, Stewart—at least, we are
not so poor but that we may make our way in
another country—that we may begin another life.
Have I ever talked idly, Stewart, or given you
evil counsel? No, surely not. In all the years
for which you have been all the world to me, I
have never spoken vainly; let me not speak
vainly now. I might implore, I might entreat,"
she went on, her eyes now bright with eagerness,
and her hands clasped. "I might plead a
woman's weakness and natural terror; I might
tell you I am not able for the task you dictate
to me; but I tell you none of these things. I
am able to do and to suffer anything, everything
that may or must be done, or suffered for
you. I don't even speak of what I have
suffered; but I say to you, be guided by me in
this—yield to me in this. There is a weak spot
in our stronghold; there is a flaw in our
armour. I know it. I cannot tell, I cannot
guess where it is. An instinct tells me that
ruin is threatening us, and this is our way of
escape. Oh, my husband, listen to me!"

He was standing opposite to her, leaning
against an angle of the wall, mingled fury and
amazement in his face, but he did not interrupt
her by a word or a sign.

"There is no power in me," she went on,
"to tell you the strength of my conviction that
this is the turning-point in our fate. Let us
take the money we have, and go. Why should
you stay in England, Stewart, more than in
any other country? We have no ties but one
another." She looked at him more sharply
here, through all her earnestness. "Friendships
and the obligations they bring are not for
us. The world has no home-bonds for us.
Where money is to be made you can live, in
such content as you can ever have; and where
you are I am as content as I can ever be."

"You are a cheerful counsellor," Routh
broke out, in uncontrollable passion. "Do
you think I am mad, woman, when I have
played so desperate a game, and am winning it
so fast, that I should throw up my cards now?
Let me hear no more of this. Come to your
senses, if you can, and as soon as you can, for I
will not stand this sort of thing, I can tell you
I will not leave this place an hour sooner than
I intended to leave it. And as to leaving England,
if the worst came to pass that could
happen, I should hardly be driven to that
extremity. What devil is in you, Harriet, to
prompt you to exasperate me, when I looked to
you for help?"

"What devil is in you," she answered him,
rising as she spoke, "that is prompting you to
your ruin? What devil, do I say? Words, mere
words. What do I know or believe of God, or
devil, or any ruling power but the wicked will
of men and women, to waylay, and torture, and
destroy? The devil of blindness is in you, the
devil of wilfulness, the devil of falsehood and
ingratitude; and a blacker devil still, I tell
you. See that it does not rend you, as I read
in the old book—for ever closed for me."

Her breast was heaving violently, and her
eyes were unnaturally bright, but there was not
a ray of colour in her face, and her voice was
rapid and unfaltering in its utterance. Routh
looked at her, and hated her. Hated her, and
feared her, and uttered never a word.

"The madness that goes before destruction is
coming fast upon you," she said; "I see it none
the more clearly because that destruction must
involve me too. Let it come; I am ready for it,
as I have been ready for any evil for a long time
now. You speak idle words to me when you
reproach me, Stewart. I am above and beyond
reproach from you. I am as wicked a woman,
if the definition of good and evil be true, as
ever lived upon this earth; but I have been,
and am, to you what no good woman could
be—and look to it, if you requite me ill. I don't
threaten you in saying this—no threats can
come from me, nor would any avail—but in
your treachery to me, its own punishment will
be hidden, ready to spring out upon and destroy
you. Scorn my influence, slight my counsel,
turn a deaf ear to the words that are inspired
by love such as only a wretch like me, with no
hope or faith at all in Heaven, and only this hope
and faith on Earth, can feel—and see the end."

He stepped forward and was going to speak,
but she put out her hand and stopped him.

"Not now. Don't say anything to me, don't
ask me anything now. Don't speak words
that I must be doomed for ever to remember—
for ever to long to forget. Have so much
mercy on me, for the sake of the past and for
the sake of the present. Ruin is impending
over us; if you will, you may escape it; but
there is only one way."

She had drawn near the door as she spoke
the last words. In another instant she had left
him.

Left him in a most unenviable state of
bewilderment, rage, and confusion. The emotion
which had overpowered him when he had made
the discovery of yesterday was almost forgotten
in the astonishment with which Harriet's words
had filled him. An uneasy sense, which was not
anything so wholesome as shame, was over him.
What did she know of his late proceedings?
Had she watched him? Had any of the gossiping
tongues of the place carried the tidings of
the beautiful American's openly paraded
conquest? No, that could hardly be, for Harriet
knew no one at Homburg but George, and