simply because Paul's nature is weaker than
yours that he requires more consideration,
Miss Trevelyan," he said this very earnestly,
"you cannot help yourself now. You are
engaged to a man you do not love; whom you
do not respect in some things, as you ought to
love and respect your husband: but you will
find your married life better than you expect,
For, when Paul is happy and calm he will
grow stronger. You will be rewarded for
your sacrifice."

"I wish I could believe you, Mr. Rutherford,"
said Magdalen, sadly. " I wish I could
believe that Paul would ever be as manly
and as good as you are."

"Hush! don't say that again," said Horace,
in a low voice. " You tempt me to become
the very reverse of what you praise in me.
God help us!—we all have need of help;"
and he turned away, Magdalen looking after
him, her heart throbbing violently.

The settlements came down. It was of no
use waiting; they must be signed, and might
as well be signed at once as later. " There
was no hope of the marriage breaking itself
off," as Magdalen said quaintly, and she had
no grounds on which to break it herself. Her
wedding clothes had come, and all was
prepared. At last Magdalen determined on
making the fatal effort, and putting an end
to her present state of suffering. For it was
unqualified misery for them all. They all
assembled in the room together; the Slades
and the lady who had been living with
Magdalen since her father's death, but who, being
blind in one eye, deaf, and infirm, had not been
of any great prominence in the late affairs;
Horace, Paul, and Magdalen. Paul was in
one of his most painful fits of nervousness—
trembling and faint; Magdalen cold, pale,
statue-like, as she had been on the day of
her trial, when she had to take her courage
" by both hands " to maintain her strength
and self-possession by force. The pen was
put into her hand. Paul had signed.
She could not refuse now. Horace was
leaning against the chimney-piece, apparently
biting his nails. Magdalen looked at him.
He was looking on the ground, and would
not raise his eyes. Only when her gaze grew
painful, he waved his hand authoritatively,
and said, " Sign, sign! " as if he had been
her father.

Still the same long earnest asking look
in her eyes, and the friends wondering; still
the same conflict in his heart, and her mute
appeal rejected. Once she said "Horace!"
but he only answered "Silence," in so low a
voice that no one heard him speak but herself.
She turned her eyes from him to Paul. He, the
strong noble man, mastering his passion with
such dauntless courage, the master, the ruler
over himself, even when torn on the rack, and
tortured as few men have been tortured: and
Paul, fainting, sinking, his head drooping
plaintively on his bosom. She looked from
each to each again; then with a wild sob,
she dashed the pen to the ground and cried,
"The truth shall be told I do not love him
—I will not sign—I will not be his wife!"

Horace sprang forward, and held out his
arms. She fell into them blind and giddy,
but not faint. He pressed her to him, " Magdalen!
Magdalen! my own! " he murmured,
She looked up wildly, " Yes! to you and none
other! " she said, " yours, or death's!"

Paul had started up. He came to them,
"What are you saying? " he said tremulously,
"that you love each other?"

Magdalen clung to Horace: " I have
concealed it from you, and all the world, Paul,"
she said, " as long as I could, and would have
concealed it now, but I was surprised."

" I have not dealt dishonourably by you,"
said Horace, offering him his hand. " If
you knew all, you would acquit us both."

"And you love Horace, Magdalen? " Paul
said, in a low voice.

She flushed the deepest crimson as he
looked up. " Yes," she said, " I do love
him."

The boy turned away; then, after a short
pause, laying his hand on Magdalen's, he
said, sobbing bitterly between each word,
" Magdalen, it had been better if you had
told me of this. It would have spared
you much pain—me also some unnecessary
pain—for I would not have been ungenerous.
But let that pass. You do not love me. I
have long felt this, and yet was too
cowardly to acknowledge it even to myself.
I thought it was, perhaps, a fit of general
impatience that would pass. I would not
believe it weariness of me. But, I will not
weary you any more. Though I have been
weak in the fearful conflict that has gone on
so long, yet I can be strong for sacrifice and
good."

He did not dare to look at her, but in his
old way strained her tenderly to his breast.

Magdalen took his hand, her tears flowing
fast over it. " Dear Paul! " she said,
affectionately. " My life shall thank you!"

Paul kissed her; and then, boy-like, placed
his hand affectionately upon Horace's shoulder;
when, feeling his limbs failing him and his
eyes growing dim, he fled from the house, and
in a few hours was wandering through the
streets of London: and the next day, he was
abroad.

Years passed before they met again. When
Magdalen's hair was grey, and her children
were marrying their Horaces and Magdalens,
Paul Lefevre came to stay with them at
Oakfield. He was the same dreamy, tearful,
unreal Paul then that he had been when he
was young; with a perpetual sorrow, which
had grown into a companion and a melancholy
kind of pleasure. He never went
beyond portrait-painting, but he was always
going to begin that great historical picture
which was to rival Michael Angelo; and the
very day before he died he spoke of the