BLACK SHEEP!

BY THE AUTHOR OF "LAND AT LAST," " KISSING THE ROD,''
&c. &c.

BOOK III.

CHAPTER VII. DURING THE LULL.

ON the appointed day, at the appointed hour,
Mr. Felton, accompanied by his nephew, called
on Mrs. P. Ireton Bembridge, who received the
two gentlemen with no remarkable cordiality.
Coquetry was so inseparable from her nature
and habits, that she could not forbear from
practising a few of her fascinations upon the
younger man, and she therefore relaxed
considerably from the first formality of her
demeanour after a while. But George Dallas
was the least promising and encouraging of
subjects for the peculiar practice of the beautiful
widow, and he so resolutely aided his uncle
in placing the conversation on a strictly business
footing, and keeping it there, as to speedily
convince the lady that he was entirely unworthy
of her notice. She was not destitute of a
certain good nature which rarely fails to accompany
beauty, wealth, and freedom, and she settled
the matter with herself by reflecting that the
young man was probably in love with some
pretty girl, to whom he wrote his verses, and
considered it proper to be indifferent to the
attractions of all female charmers beside. She
did not resent his inaccessibility; she merely
thought of it as an odd coincidence that Mr.
Felton's nephew should be as little disposed to
succumb to love as Mr. Felton himself, and felt
inclined to terminate the interview as soon as
possible. Consequently, she made her replies
to Mr. Felton's questions shorter and colder as
they succeeded one another, so that he felt
some difficulty in putting that particular query
on which George had laid restricted stress. He
did not perceive how deep and serious his
nephew's misgivings had become, and George
grasped at every excuse that presented itself
for deferring the awakening of fears which,
once aroused, must become poignant and
terrible. He had learned from Mrs. P. Ireton
Bembridge some of the facts which she had
communicated to Routh: young Felton's intention
of visiting Homburg at about the period
of the year which they had then reached;
his departure from Paris, and the unbroken
silence since maintained towards her as
towards Mr. Felton himself. The information
she had to give was in itself so satisfactory, so
tranquillising, that Mr. Felton, who had no reason
to expect obedience from his son, felt all
his fears—very dim and vague in comparison
with those which had assailed George's mind
—assuaged. It was only when his nephew
had given him some very expressive looks, and
he had seen the fine dark eyes of Mrs. P. Ireton
Bembridge directed unequivocally towards the
allegorical timepiece which constituted one of
the chief glories of the Schwarzchild mansion,
that he said:

"My nephew has never seen his cousin, Mrs.
Bembridge, and I have no likeness of him with
me. I know you are a collector of photographs;
perhaps you have one of Arthur?"

"I had one, Mr. Felton," replied Mrs.
Bembridge, graciously, "and would have shown it
to Mr. Dallas with pleasure yesterday, but,
unfortunately, I have lost it in some unaccountable
way."

"Indeed," said Mr. Felton; "that is very
unfortunate. Was it not in your book, then?"

"I wore it in a locket," said the lady, with a
very slight accession to the rich colour in her
cheek—"a valuable gold locket, too. I am
going to have it cried."

"Allow me to have that done for you," said
Mr. Felton. "If you will describe the locket,
and can say where you were yesterday, and at
what time, I will take the necessary steps at
once; these may not succeed, you know; we
can but try."

So Mrs. Bembridge described the lost trinket
accurately, and the visit came to a conclusion.
As the two gentlemen were leaving the house,
they met Mr. Carruthers, who accosted Mr.
Felton with stately kindliness, and, entering at
once into conversation with him, prevented the
interchange of any comment upon the interview
which had just taken place between the uncle
and nephew. George left the elder gentlemen
together, and turned his steps towards Harriet's
lodgings. In a few minutes he met her and
joined her in her walk, as Routh had seen from
the window.

He stood there, long after George and
Harriet had passed out of sight, thinking, with sullen
desperate rage, of all she had said. He felt like
an animal in a trap. All his care and cunning,