heart told her when the message came to her.
And, indeed, she had been wondering why
Paul had kept so long quiet. He did not
know how grateful she had been to him.

"It is about our marriage, dearest," said
Paul, as she entered. He placed a chair for
her by the table, close to himself, and facing
Horace and the window.

Magdalen stood for a moment as if irresolute,
deadly pale. Then, flushing up to her
very temples, she drew her chair farther away
from Paul and sat down.

"O!" she said, as if involuntarily, "I had
forgotten that!"

A faint smile stole over Horace's lips. She
spoke so naïvely, that he could not help
smiling, though, indeed, he was in no humour
for pleasure at this moment. Paul took it
gently enough: only raising his eyes with his
usual expression of injured humility, that
made Magdalen almost frantic. If he had got
up and beaten her, she would have respected
him more: if he had spoken to her harshly,
coldly, even rudely, so long as it was with
manliness, she would have borne it: whatever
he had done, she would have liked
him better, than when he gave her the
impression of lying at her feet to be trampled
upon. When Horace turned to her, and
said in a low tone, "Is that a speech you
think it right to make to the husband of
your own free choice, Miss Trevelyan?" and
looked grave and displeased, Magdalen felt
only respect and humility: if Paul were only
like that!

"I am sorry I said it," she answered, and
then she spoke to Paul, and meant to be kind;
but was only fierce instead.

"Horace thinks," began Paul timidly, "that
you had better be married soon, Magdalen."

"Horace!" said Magdalen, with a laugh
that was meant to express gaiety; but which
was the very heart-essence of bitterness. "And
you, Paul? It seems to me more a question
with you than with Horace!"

"I? Can you ask for more assurances
of my earnest desire to be all to you
that brother, friend, husband, guardian,
can be? Can you doubt of the exquisite
delight with which I shall call you my own,
and feel that our glorious lives have really
begun together? You must not mistake me,
Magdalen. If I spoke of Horace it was only
as the supporter of my own wishes—not as
their originator."

Magdalen had shaded her face while Paul
spoke. When she looked up, to meet the
dark eyes opposite, fixed full upon her, she was
paler than ever. She started and half rose,
as if she waited for him to speak. But he
turned away.

"I leave the matter to you both," she then
said, impatiently, "I do not wish to have
anything to do with it. Arrange it between
you as you like. I do not care for settlements,
Paul. You are both men of honour,
and will do all that is right."

She rose to go. She was almost sobbing
now; not tearfully: but as men sob.

"Generous, noble Magdalen!" Paul
exclaimed. "Perhaps you are right, in wifely
feeling, as well as justified in your trustingness;
perhaps it is better that there be no
legal claims on either side, but that our
fortunes, as our lives, be mingled irretrievably."

"We will talk about that. I think Mr. Slade
ought to be consulted," said Horace, a little
drily.

"You know what I mean, Horace?" said
poor Paul, too happy at this moment to be
wounded by a speech that in general would
have stung his susceptibility to the quick.

"O yes; but now Magdalen—Miss
Trevelyan—that you have agreed to the
marriage taking place soon, you may leave the
rest with us; Mr. Slade, and—if you will
accept me—I will be your trustees."

Magdalen gazed at him reproachfully. She
did not answer, but she held out her hand in
passing. He could not choose but take it;
yet, he took it so coldly that she would rather
he had refused it. He held it without
the faintest pressure; but his lips quivered
and his heart throbbed. Again she looked
at him with the same asking and reproachful
glance; then dashing his hand away, she
left them in a sudden passionate manner, which
made Paul look after her amazed. Horace
looked after her too, and furtively kissed the
light mark left by her fingers on his And
then he began to talk calmly to Paul about
his marriage, and to insist on the conditions.

He was to draw the settlements. After
having arranged all with Paul—which
arrangement was that Magdalen's fortune should
be settled without reserve on herself—he
departed to draw the deeds, and have them
engrossed and "settled" with the family
attorney.

Any one who had seen Horace when engaged
in his task, would hardly have thought that
he was engaged in such a simple matter as
framing the marriage settlements of a
friend. Large drops stood on his forehead;
his eyes were bloodshot; his face haggard
and wild; and those manly, well- formed
hands trembled like a girl's. He quivered
in every limb; every now and then started;
and once he threw down his pen and cried
aloud, as if he had been tortured
unawares, before he had time to collect his
strength. But even with no one to witness
his weakness, he controlled himself, and pressed
back the thoughts that would rush through
his brain. He thought of the sacrifice that
Magdalen was about to make, yet of his
inability to prevent it: of her evident love
for him, and yet of the dishonour which
would rest on his acceptance of it. He
thought of Paul's intense devotion, of his yet
entire unfitness: of her pledged word, and
of her reluctance. It was a sad coil throughout.
Every one was to be pitied, none to
be blamed. It was want of fitness, not of