the fire, without a thought for the money
inside. She tried not to think of Agnes. She
did not dare to write to Mrs. Huxley to
inquire what had become of her. Mrs.
Huxley and Miriam never heard from her
again; the Manor House was sold, and Mrs.
Warren passed away like a dream. Meantime
she married Sir Edward Destrayes
against his mother's wishes. It is to be
presumed that he did not find her the angel
she was reputed to be; for, at the end of a
year, they separated. She always got on
better alone; but, as she had married without
settlement, she had not the wherewith to be
so much of an angel in her latter days as in
the beginning.

Agnes wondered and speculated what could
have become of her. Madame Trernordyn
grimly smiled, and said nobody ever made
such mischief in life as those who did at once
too much and too little. "If you begin an act
of benevolence, you are no longer free to lay
it down in the middle. So, my dear, don't go
off into benevolence. You never know where
it will lead you."

When Agnes had been with Madame
Tremordyn a little more than a year,
Madame Tremordyn's son came home from
Africa. He was a handsome, soldierly
young man; but grave and melancholy;
poetical, dreamy, gentle as a woman; but
proud and sensitive. Agnes was nineteen,
extremely lovely, with golden hair, blue eyes,
and a delicate wild-rose complexion; a little
too firmly set in figure for her height, but that
seemed characteristic. She had learned to be
self-reliant, and had been obliged to keep all
her thoughts and emotions to herself. At
first Madame Tremordyn was proud to show
off her son. She insisted that Agnes should
admire him, and was never weary of talking
about him. Agnes had been trained to be a
good listener. Madame liked her son to sit with
her, and he showed himself remarkably
tractable—a model for sons. He did not seem to
care in the least for going out. He preferred
sitting and watching Agnes—listening to
her as she read—whilst he pretended to be
writing or reading. In a little while Madame
Tremordyn opened her eyes to the fact that
her son was in love with Agnes—Agnes, a
portionless orphan, with few friends and
no connexions. But Agnes was a mortal
maiden, and she loved M. Achille Tremordyn,
who might have aspired to the hand of
an heiress with a shield full of quarterings.

M. Achille Tremordyn opened his heart to
his mother, and begged her blessing and
consent to his marrying Agnes. Madame
Tremordyn was very indignant. She accused
Agnes of the blackest ingratitude, and
desired her son, if he valued her blessing in
the least, not to think of her, but dutifully
to turn his eyes to the young lady she destined
for him, and with whose parents she had,
indeed, opened a negociation. M. Achille
declared that he would have his own way;
Agnes only wept. The storm of dame
Tremordyn's wrath fell heaviest upon her, she
being the weakest, and best able to hear it
without reply. The result was, that Agues
was sent away in disgrace.

The Raymonds gladly received her, and
entered warmly into her case. Madame
Raymond declared it was unheard-of
barbarism and pride, and that the old lady
would find it come home to her. M. Achille
Tremordyn left home to join his regiment,
first having had an interview with
Agnes. He vowed eternal constancy, and all
the passionate things that to lovers make
the world, for the time being, look like
enchantment. It was the first ray of
romance that had gilded Agnes's life. She
loved as she did everything else,—thoroughly,
stedfastly, and with her whole heart; but
refused to marry, or to hold a correspondence
with her lover, until his mother gave her
consent. She would, however, wait, even if
it were for life.

After her son was gone, Madame
Tremordyn felt very cross and miserable. She
did not, for one moment, believe she had
done wrong; but it was very provoking that
neither her son nor Agnes could be made to
confess that she had done right.

Agnes remained with the Raymonds,
wrapped round with a sense of happiness she
had never known before. She assisted
Madame Raymond to keep the books; for they
would not hear of her leaving them. Madame
Tremordyn felt herself aggrieved. She had
engaged a young person in the room of
Agnes, with whom no man was likely to be
attracted; but, unluckily, Madame Tremordyn
found her as unpleasant and unattractive
as the rest of the world did. She missed
Agnes sorely. At length she fairly fretted
and fumed herself into a nervous fever.
Mademoiselle Bichat, her companion, became
doubly insupportable. Madame wrote a note
to Agnes, reproaching her with cruelty for
leaving her, and bidding her come back.
She signed herself The Mother of Achille.
There was nothing for it but to go; and
Agnes went, hoping that the difficulties
that lay between her and happiness were
soluble, and had begun to melt away. The
demoiselle Bichat was discarded, and Agnes
re-installed in her old place. The old lady
was not the least more amiable or reasonable
for being ill. She talked incessantly about
her son, and reproached Agnes with having
stolen his heart away from her, his mother;
yet, with curious contradiction, she loved
Agnes all the more for the very attachment
she so bitterly deprecated. If Agnes could
only have loved him in a humble, despairing
way, she would have been allowed to be
miserable to her heart's content. But to be
loved in return! To aspire to marry him!
That was the offence.

Two years passed over. At the end of
them Achille returned on sick-leave. He