 27 All night the astronomer's mind was on a stretch with curiosity as to what the bishop could wish to say to him, a dozen conjectures entered his brain, to be abandoned in turn as unlikely. That which finally seemed the most plausible was that the bishop, having some interest in his pursuits, and entertaining friendly recollections of his father, was going to ask if he could do anything to help him on in the profession he had chosen. Should this be the case, thought the suddenly sanguine youth, it would seem like an encouragement to that spirit of firmness which had led him to reject his late uncle's offer, because it involved the renunciation of Lady Constantine. At last he fell asleep, and when he awoke it was so late that the hour was ready to solve what conjecture could not. After a hurried breakfast he paced across the fields, entering the churchyard by the south gate precisely at the appointed minute. The enclosure was well adapted for a private interview, being bounded by bushes of laurel and alder nearly on all sides. He looked round, the bishop was not there, nor any living creature save himself. He then sat down upon a tombstone to await Bishop Helm's arrival. While he sat he fancied he could hear voices in conversation not far off, and further attention convinced him that they came from Lady Constantine's lawn, which was divided from the churchyard by a high wall and shrubbery only. As the bishop still elade is coming, though the time was nearly eleven, and as the lady whose sweet voice mingled with those heard from the lawn was his personal property, he then became exceedingly curious to learn what was going on within that screened promenade. A way of doing this occurred to him. The key was in the church door. He opened it, entered, and descended to the ringer's loft in the west tower. At the back of this was a window commanding a full view of Viviette's garden-front. The flowers were in their gayest bloom, and the creepers on the walls of the house were bursting into tufts of young green. A broad gravel walk ran from end to end of the façade, terminating in a large conservatory. In the walk were three people pacing up and down. Lady Constantine's was the central figure, her brother being on one side of her, and on the other a stately form, an accorded shovel-hat of glossy beaver, and black breeches. This was the bishop. Viviette carried over her shoulder a sunshade lined with red, which she twirled idly. There were laughing and chatting gaily, and when the group approached the church-yard many of the remarks entered the silence of the church-tower through the ventilator of the window. The conversation was general, yet interesting enough to swithin. At length Louis stepped upon the grass and picked up something that had lain there, which turned out to be a bowl. Throwing it forward he took a second, and bowled it towards the first, our jack. The bishop, who seemed to be in a sprightly mood, followed suit, and bowled one in a curve towards the jack, turning and speaking to Lady Constantine as he concluded the feat. As she had not left a graveled terrace he raised his voice, so that the words reached swithin distinctly. "'Do you follow us?' he asked gaily. "'I am not skillful,' she said. I always bowl narrow. The bishop meditatively paused. This moment reminds one of the scene in Richard II.' He said, I mean the duke of York's garden, where the queen and her two ladies play, and the queen says, "'What sport shall we devise here in this garden, to drive away the heavy thought of care?' To which, her lady answers, "'Madame, we'll play at bowls.' "'That's an unfortunate quotation for you,' said Lady Constantine, for if I don't forget the queen declined, saying, "'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs, and that my fortune runs against the bias.' "'Then I cite Malapapo, but it is an interesting old game, and might have been played at that very date on this very green.' The bishop lazily bowled another, and while he was doing it, Viviette's glance rose by accident to the church-tower window, where she recognized Swithin's face. Her surprise was only momentary, and waiting till both her companions' backs were turned, she smiled and blew him a kiss. In another minute she had another opportunity, and blew him another, afterwards blowing him one a third time. Her blowings were put a stop to by the bishop and Louis throwing down the bowls and rejoining her in the path, the house-clock at that moment striking half past eleven. "'This is a fine way of keeping an engagement,' said Swithin to himself. "'I've waited an hour while you indulge in those trifles.' He fumed, turned, and beheld somebody at his elbow, Tabitha Lark. Swithin started and said, "'How did you come here, Tabitha?' "'In the course of my calling, Mr. St. Cleave,' said the smiling girl, "'I come to practice the organ. When I entered I saw you up here through the tower arch, and I crept to see what you were looking at. The bishop is a striking man, is he not?' "'Yes, rather,' said Swithin. "'I think he is much devoted to Lady Constantine, and I'm glad of it, aren't you?' "'Oh, yes, very,' said Swithin, wondering if Tabitha had seen the tender little salutes between Lady Constantine and himself. "'I don't think she cares much for him,' added Tabitha judiciously, or even if she does, she could be got away from him in no time by a younger man.' "'That's nothing,' said Swithin impatiently. Tabitha then remarked that her blower had not come to time, and that she must go to look for him, upon which she descended the stairs, and left Swithin again alone. A few minutes later the bishop suddenly looked at his watch, Lady Constantine, having withdrawn towards the house. Apparently apologizing to Louis, the bishop came down the terrace, and threw the door into the churchyard. Swithin hastened downstairs and joined him in the path under the sunny wall of the aisle. Their glances met, and it was with some consternation that Swithin beheld the change that a few short minutes had wrought on that episcopal countenance. On the lawn with Lady Constantine the rays of an almost perpetual smile had brightened his dark aspect, like flowers in a shady place. Now the smile was gone as completely as yesterday. The lines of his face were firm. His dark eyes and whiskers were overspread with gravity, and as he gazed upon Swithin from the repose of his stable figure, it was like an evangelized king of spades come to have it out with a nave of hearts. To return for a moment to Louis Glanville, he had been somewhat struck with the abruptness of the bishop's departure, and more particularly by the circumstance that he had gone away by the private door into the churchyard, instead of by the regular exit on the other side. True, great men were known to suffer from absence of mind, and Bishop Helmsdale, having a dim sense that he had entered by that door yesterday, might have unconsciously turned to the wooden now. Louis upon the whole fought little of the matter, and being now left quite alone on the lawn, he seated himself in an arbor and began smoking. The arbor was situated against the churchyard wall. The atmosphere was as still as the air of a hot-house, only fourteen inches of brickwork divided Louis from the scene of the bishop's interview with St. Cleave, and as voices on the lawn had been audible to swithin' in the churchyard, voices in the churchyard could be heard without difficulty from that close corner of the lawn. No sooner had Louis lit a cigar than the dialogue began. Ah! there you are, St. Cleave," said the bishop, hardly replying to swithin's good morning. My fear I am a little late. Well, my request to you to meet me may have seemed somewhat unusual, seeing that we were strangers till a few hours ago. I don't mind that, if your lordship wishes to see me. I thought it best to see you regarding your confirmation yesterday, and my reason for taking a more active step with you, than I should otherwise have done, is that I have some interest in you through having known your father when we were undergraduates. His rooms were on the same staircase as mine at all angels, and we were friendly till time and affairs separated us even more completely than usually happens. However, about your presenting yourself for confirmation. The bishop's voice grew stern. If I had known yesterday morning, what I knew twelve hours later, I wouldn't have confirmed you at all. Indeed, my lord? Yes, I say it, and I mean it. I visited your observatory last night. You did, my lord? In inspecting it, I noticed something which I may truly describe as extraordinary. I have had young men present themselves to me, who turned out to be notoriously unfit, either from giddiness, from being profane or intemperate, or from some bad quality or other, but I never remember a case which equaled the cool culpability of this. While infringing the first principles of social decorum, you might at least have respected the ordinance, sufficiently to have stayed away from it altogether. Now I have sent for you here to see if a last entreaty and a direct appeal to your sense of manly uprightness will have any effect in inducing you to change your course of life. The voice of Switain in his next remark showed how tremendously this attack of the bishop had told upon his feelings. Louis, of course, did not know the reason why the word should have affected him precisely as they did. To any one in the secret, the double embarrassment arising from misapprehended ethics and inability to set matters right, because his word of secrecy to another was inviolable, would have accounted for the young man's emotions sufficiently well. I am very sorry your lordship should have seen anything objectionable, said Switain. May I ask what it was? You know what it was, something in your chamber which forced me to the above conclusions. I disguised my feelings of sorrow at the time for obvious reasons, but I never in my whole life was so shocked. At what, my lord? At what I saw. Pardon me, Bishop Helmsdale, but you said just now that we were strangers. So what you saw on my cap and concerns me only? There, I contradict you. Twenty-four hours ago that remark would have been plausible enough, but by presenting yourself for confirmation at my hands you have invited my investigation into your principles. Switain sighed. I admitted, he said. And what do I find them? You say reprehensible, but you might at least let me hear the proof. I can do more, sir. I can let you see it. There was a pause. Louis Glanbel was so highly interested that he stood upon the seat of the arbor and looked through the leafage over the wall. The bishop had produced an article from his pocket. What is it? Said Switain, laboriously scrutinizing the thing. Why don't you see? Said the bishop holding it out between his finger and his thumb in Switain's face. A bracelet, a coral bracelet. I found the wanton object on the bed in your cabin. Out of the sex of the owner there can be no doubt. More than that, she was concealed behind the curtains, for I saw the move. In the decision of his opinion, the bishop threw the coral bracelet down on the tombstone. Nobody was in my room, my lord, who had not a perfect right to be there. Said the younger man. Well, well, that's a matter of assertion. Now, don't get into a passion and say to me in your haste what you will repent of saying afterwards. I am not in a passion, I assure your lordship, I am too sad for passion. Very well, that's a hopeful sign. Now I would ask you, as one man of another, do you think that to come to me, the bishop of this large and important diocese, as you came yesterday, and pretend to be something that you are not, is quite upright conduct. Leave alone religious. Think it over, we may never meet again, but bear in mind what your bishop and spiritual head says to you, and see if you cannot mend before it is too late. Swithin was as meek as Moses, but he tried to appear sturdy. My lord, I am in a difficult position, he said mournfully. How difficult nobody but myself can tell. I cannot explain, there are insuperable reasons against it. But will you take my word of assurance that I am not as bad as I seem? Someday I will prove it. And then I only ask that you suspend your judgment on me. The bishop shook his head incredulously, and went towards the vicarage, as if he had lost his hearing. Swithin followed him with his eyes, and Louis followed the direction of Swithin's. Before the bishop had reached the vicarage entrance, Lady Constantine crossed in front of him. She had a basket on her arm, and was in fact going to visit some of the poorer cottages. You could believe the bishop now to be the same man that he had been a moment before. The darkness left his face, as if he had come out of a cave. His luck was all sweetness, and shine, and gaiety, as he again greeted Viviet. CHAPTER XXVIII. The conversation which arose between the bishop and Lady Constantine was of that lively and reproductive kind which cannot be ended during any reasonable halt of two people going in opposite directions. She turned, and walked with her along the laurel-screened lane that bordered the churchyard, till her voices died away in the distance. Swithin then aroused himself from his thoughtful regard of them, and went out of the churchyard by another gate. Seeing himself now to be alone on the scene, Louis Glanville descended from his post of observation in the arbor. He came through the private doorway, and on to that spot among the graves where the bishop and St. Cleave had conversed. On the tombstone still lay the coral bracelet which Dr. Helmsdale had flung down there in his indignation, for the agitated, introspective mood into which Swithin had been thrown had banished from his mind all thought of securing the trinket and putting it in his pocket. Louis picked up the little red scandal-breeding thing, and while walking on with it in his hand, he observed Tabitha Lark approaching the church, in company with the young blower whom she had gone and searched off to inspire her organ practicing within. She immediately put together, with that rare diplomatic keenness of which she was proud, the little scene he had witnessed between Tabitha and Swithin during the confirmation, and the bishop's stern statement as to where he had found the bracelet. He had no longer any doubt that it belonged to her. Poor girl! He said to himself, and sang, in an undertone, T'RA DE RE DE RA, L'ISTOIS NE PANOUVÈLE. When she drew nearer, Louis called her by name. She said the boy into the church and came forward, blushing and having been called by so fine a gentleman. Louis held out the bracelet. There's something I have found, or somebody else has found. He said to her, I won't state where. Put it away, and say no more about it. I will not mention it, either. Now go on into the church where you are going, and may heaven have mercy on your soul, my dear. Thank you, sir," said Tabitha, with some perplexity, yet inclined to be pleased and only recognizing in this situation the fact that Lady Constantine's humorous brother was making her a present. You are much obliged to me. Oh, yes! Well, Miss Lark, I have discovered a secret, you see. What may that be, Mr. Landville? That you are in love. I don't admit it, sir. Who told you so? Nobody. Only I put two and two together. Now take my advice. Beware of lovers. They are a bad lot, and bring young women to tears. Some do, I dare say, but some don't. And you think that in your particular case the lateral alternative will hold good? We generally think that we should be lucky ourselves, though all the world before us, in the same situation, have been otherwise. Oh, yes! Or we should die outright of despair. Well, I don't think you will be lucky in your case. Please, how do you know so much, since my case has not yet arrived?" asked Tabitha, tossing her head a little disdainfully, but less than she might have done if he had not obtained a charter for his discourse by giving her the bracelet. Fie, Tabitha! I tell you it has not arrived, she said with some anger. I have not got a lover, and everybody knows I haven't, and it's an insinuating thing for you to say so." Louis laughed, thinking how natural it was that a girl should so emphatically deny circumstances that would not bear curious inquiry. Why, of course, I meant myself, he said, soothingly. So then, will you not accept me? I didn't know you meant yourself, she replied, but I won't accept you, and I think you ought not to jest on such subjects. Well, perhaps not. However, don't let the bishop see a bracelet, and all will be well. But mind, lovers are deceivers. Tabitha laughed, and they parted, the girl entering the church. She had been feeling almost certain that, having accidentally found the bracelet somewhere, he had presented it in a whim to her as the first girl he met. Yet now she began to have momentary doubts whether he had not been laboring under a mistake, and had imagined her to be the owner. The bracelet was not valuable. It was, in fact, a mere toy, the pair of which this was one, being a little present, made to Lady Constantine by swithing on the day of their marriage, and she had not warned them with sufficient frequency out of doors for Tabitha to recognise either as positively her ladyships. But when, out of sight of the blower, the girl momentarily tried it on, in a corner by the organ, it seemed to her that the ornament was possibly Lady Constantine's, now that the pink beads shone before her eyes on her own arm, she remembered having seen a bracelet with just such an effect gracing the wrist of Lady Constantine upon one occasion. A temporary self-surrender to the sophism that, if Mr. Louis Glanville chose to give away anything belonging to his sister, she, Tabitha, had a right to take it without question, was soon checked by a resolve to carry the tempting strings of coral to her ladyship that evening, and inquire the truth about them. Miss Decidedon, she slipped the bracelet into her pocket, and played her voluntaries with a light heart. Bishop Helmsdale did not tear himself away from Welland till about two o'clock that afternoon, which was three hours later than he had intended to leave. It was with a feeling of relief that Swithon, looking from the top of the tower, saw the carriage drive out from the vicarage into the Turnpike Road, and whirled the right reverend gentleman again towards Warborne. The coast being now clear of him, Swithon meditated how to see Viviette and explain what had happened. With this in view he waited where he was till evening came on. Meanwhile Lady Constantine and her brother dined by themselves at Welland House. They had not met since the morning, and as soon as they were left alone, Louis said, You had done very well so far, but you might have been a little warmer. Done well? She asked, with surprise. Yes, with the bishop. The difficult question is how to follow up your advantage. How are you to keep yourself inside of them? Heaven's, Louis! You don't seriously mean that the bishop of Melchester has any feelings for me other than friendly? Viviette, this is a vectation. You know he has, as well as I do. She sighed. Yes, she said, I own, I had a suspicion of the same thing. I'm his fortune. I'm his fortune? Surely the world is turned upside down. You will drive me to despair about our future if you see things so awry. Exert yourself to do something so as to make of this accident a stepping-stone to hire things. The gentleman will give us a slip if we don't pursue the friendship at once. I cannot have you talk like this. She cried impatiently. I have no more thought of the bishop than I have of the pope. I would much rather not have had him here to lunch at all. You said it would be necessary to do it, and an opportunity, and I thought it my duty to show some hospitality when he was coming so near, Mr. Talkingham's house being so small. But, of course, I understood that the opportunity would be one for you in getting to know him, your prospects being so indefinite at present, not one for me. If you don't follow up this chance of being spiritual queen of Melchester, you will never have another of being anything. Mind this, Viviette, you are not so young as you are. You are getting on to be a middle-aged woman, and your black hair is precisely of the sort which time quickly turns gray. You must make up your mind to grizzled bachelors or widowers. Young marriageable men won't look at you. Or if they do just now, in a year or two more they'll despise you as an antiquated party. Lady Constantine perceptively paled. Young men what? She asked, say that again. I said that it was no use to think of young men. They won't look at you much longer. Or if they do it will be to look away again very quickly. You imply that if I were to marry a man younger than myself he would speedily acquire a contempt for me. How much younger must this man be than his wife, to get that feeling for her? She was resting her elbow on the chair as she faintly spoke the words, and covered her eyes with her hand. An exceedingly small number of ears, said Louis Dryley. Now the bishop is at least fifteen years older than you, and on that account no less than on others, is an excellent match. You would be head of the church in this diocese. What more can you require after these years of miserable obscurity? In addition you would escape that minor thorn in the flesh of bishops' wives of being only missus while their husbands are peers. She was not listening. His previous observation still detained her thoughts. Louis, she said, in the case of a woman marrying a man much younger than herself, does she get it as like her even if there has been a social advantage to him in the union? Yes, not a whit less. Ask any person of experience. But what of that? Let's talk of their own affairs. You say you have no thought of the bishop, and yet, if he had stayed here another day or two, he would have proposed you straight off. Seriously, Louis, I could not accept him. Why not? I don't love him. Oh! I like those words, cried Louis, throwing himself back in his chair and looking at the ceiling in satirical enjoyment. A woman who at two and twenty married for convenience, at thirty talks of not marrying without love, the rule of inverse, that is, in which more requires less and less requires more. As your only brother, older than yourself and more experienced, I insist that you encouraged that bishop. Don't quarrel with me, Louis, she said piteously. We don't know that he thinks anything of me, we only guess. I know it, and you shall hear how I know. I am of a curious and conjectural nature, as you are aware. Last night, when everybody had gone to bed, I stepped out for a five-minute smoke on the lawn, and walked down to where you get near the vicarage windows. Well I was there in the dark, one of them opened, and bishop Helms then lent out. The illuminated oblong of your window shone him, full in the face between the trees, and presently, your shadow cross it. He waved his hand and murmured some tender words, though what they were exactly I could not hear. What a vague imaginary story, as if he could know my shadow. Besides, a man of the bishop's dignity wouldn't have done such a thing. When I knew him as a younger man, he was not at all romantic, and is not likely to have grown so now. That's just what he is likely to have done. No lover is so extreme a specimen of the species as an old lover. Come, Viviette, no more of this fencing. I have entered into the project, heart, and soul, so much that I have postponed my departure till the matter is well underway. Louis, my dear Louis, you would bring me into some disagreeable position, she said, clasping her hands. I do entreat you not to interfere, or do anything rash about me. The step is impossible. I have something to tell you some day. I must live on, and endure. "'Everything except this penury,' replied Louis unmoved. Come, I have begun the campaign by inviting Bishop Helmsdale, and I'll take the responsibility of carrying it on. All I ask of you is not to make a niny of yourself. Come, give me your promise.' "'No, I cannot. I don't know how to. I only know one thing, that I am in no hurry.' No hurry be hanged. Agree like a good sister to charm the bishop.' "'I must consider,' she replied, with perturbed evasiveness. It being a fine evening, Louis went out of the house to enjoy his cigar in the shrubbery. Unreaching his favourite seat, he found that he had left his cigar case behind him. He immediately returned for it. When he approached the window by which he had emerged, he saw swithing St. Cleve standing there in the dusk, talking to Viviette inside. St. Cleve's back was towards Louis, but whether at a signal from her or by accident, he quickly turned and recognised Glanville, whereupon, raising his hat to Lady Constantine, the young man passed along the terrace walk and out by the churchyard door. Louis rejoined his sister. "'I didn't know you allowed your lawn to be a public thoroughfare for the parish,' he said. "'I am not exclusive, especially since I have been so poor,' replied she. "'Then do you let everybody pass this way, or only that illustrious youth, because he is so good-looking?' "'I have no strict rule in the case,' Mrs. St. Cleve is in acquaintance of mine, and he can certainly come here if he chooses. Her colour rose somewhat, and she spoke warmly. Louis was too cautious of bird to reveal to her what had suddenly dawned upon his mind, that his sister, in common with it to his thinking, unhappy Tabitha Lark, had been foolish enough to get interested in this phenomenon of the parish, this scientific adonis. But he resolved to cure her at once of her tender feeling if it existed, by letting out a secret which would inflame her dignity against the weakness. "'A good-looking young man,' he said, with his eyes where Swithin had vanished. "'But not so good as he looks—in fact, a regular young sinner.' "'What do you mean?' "'Oh, only a little feature I discovered in St. Cleve's history. But I suppose he has a right to sow his wild oats, as well as other young men.' "'Tell me what you allude to, do, Louis.' "'It is hardly fit that I should. However, the case is amusing enough. I was sitting in the arbor today, and was an unwilling listener to the oddest interview I ever heard of. Our friend of Bishop discovered, when we visited the observatory last night, that our astronomer was not alone in his occlusion. A lady shared a romantic den with him, and finding this, the Bishop naturally enough felt that the ordinance of confirmation had been forfeigned. So his lordship sent for Master Swithin this morning, and meeting him in the churchyard read him such an excommunicating lecture, as a warrant he won't forget in his lifetime. Ah! It was very good. Very. He watched her face narrowly while he spoke with such seeming carelessness. Instead of the agitation of jealousy that he had expected to be aroused by this hint of another woman in the case, there was a curious expression, more like embarrassment than anything else which might have been fairly attributed to the subject. "'Can it be that I am mistaken?' he asked himself. The possibility that he might be mistaken restored Louis to good humour, and lights having been brought he sat with his sister for some time, talking with purpose of Swithin's low rank on one side, and the sordid struggles that might be in store from. Sinclique being in the unhappy case of deriving his existence through two channels of society, it resulted that he seemed to belong to neither this nor that, according to the altitude of the beholder. Louis threw the light entirely upon Swithin's agricultural side, bringing out old Mrs. Martin and her connections and her ways of life with luminous distinctness. Till Lady Constantine became greatly depressed. She in her hopefulness had almost forgotten laterally that the bucolic element, so incisively represented by Messer's Hezibiles, Hamos Frye, Sammy Bloor, and the rest entered into his condition at all. To her he had been the son of his academic father alone. But she would not reveal the depression to which she had been subjected by this resuscitation of the homely half of poor Swithin, presently putting an end to the subject by walking hither and hither about the room. "'What have you lost?' said Louis, observing her movements. Nothing of consequent, a bracelet. "'Coral?' he inquired, calmly. "'Yes, how did you know it was Coral? You have never seen it, have you?' He was about to make answer, but the amazing enlightenment which her announcement had produced in him, through knowing where the bishop had found such an article, led him to reconsider himself. Then, like an astute man, by no means sure of the dimensions of the intrigue he might be uncovering, he said carelessly, "'I found one in the church-yard today, but I thought it appeared to be of no great rarity, and I gave it to one of the village girls who was passing by.' "'Did she take it? Who was she?' said the unsuspecting viviet. "'Really, I don't remember. I suppose it is of no consequence.' "'Oh, no, its value is nothing, comparatively. It was only one of a pair such as the young girl wears.' Lady Constantine would not add that in spite of this. She herself valued it as being Swithin's present, and the best he could afford. Panic struck by his ruminations, although revealing nothing by his manner. Louis soon after went up to his room, professedly to write letters. He gave vent to a low whistle when he was out of hearing. He of course remembered perfectly well to whom he had given the corals, and resolved to seek out Tabitha the next morning to ascertain whether she could possibly have owned such a trinket as well as her sister. Which at present he very greatly doubted, though fervently hoping that she might. The effect upon Swithin, of the interview with the bishop, had been a very marked one. He felt that he had good ground for resenting that dignitary's tone and heartily assuming that all must be sinful, which at the first blush appeared to be so, and in narrowly refusing a young man the benefit of a single doubt. Swithin's assurance that he would be able to explain all some day had been taken in contemptuous incudulity. He may be as virtuous as the prototype timity, but he's an opinionated old fogey all the same, said St. Cleve petulently. Yet on the other hand Swithin's nature was so fresh and ingenuous, notwithstanding that recent affairs had somewhat denaturalised him, that for a man in the bishop's position to think a memorial was almost as overwhelming as if he had actually been so, and at moments he could scarcely bear existence under so gross a suspicion. What was his union with Lady Constantine worth to him when, by reason of it, he was taught a reprobate by almost the only man who would profess to take an interest in him? Certainly by contrast with his air-built image of himself as a worthy astronomer, received by all the world, and the envied husband of Viviette, the present imputation which humiliating. The glorious light of this tender and refined passion seemed to have become debased to burlesque hues by pure accident, and his aesthetic, no less than his ethic taste, was offended by such an anti-climax. He who had soared amid the remotest grandeurs of nature, had been taken to task on a rudimentary question of morals, which had never been a question with him at all. This was what the exigencies of an awkward attachment had brought him to, but he blamed the circumstances, and not for one moment Lady Constantine. Having now set his heart against the longer concealment, he was disposed to think that an excellent way of beginning a revelation of their marriage could be by writing a confidential letter to the bishop, detailing the whole case. But it was impossible to do this on his own responsibility. He still recognized the understanding entered into it with Viviette before the marriage to be as binding as ever, that the initiative in disclosing their union should come from her. Yet he hardly doubted that she would take that initiative when he told her of his extraordinary reprimand in the churchyard. This was what he had come to do when Louis saw him standing at the window. But before he had said half a dozen words to Viviette, she motioned him to go on, which he mechanically did, ere he could sufficiently collect his thoughts on its advisability or otherwise. He did not, however, go far. While Louis and his sister were discussing him in the drawing-room, he lingered musing in the churchyard, hoping that she might be able to escape and join him in the consultation he so earnestly desired. She at last found an opportunity to do this. As soon as Louis had left the room and shut himself in upstairs, she ran out by the window in the direction Swidden had taken. When her footsteps began crunching on the gravel, he came forward from the churchyard door. They embraced each other in haste, and then, in a few short panting words, she explained to him that her brother had heard and witnessed the interview on that spot between himself and the bishop, and had told her the substance of the bishop's accusation, not knowing she was the woman in the cabin. "'And what I cannot understand is this,' she added. "'How did the bishop discover that the person behind the bed curtains was a woman, and not a man?' Swidden explained that the bishop had found the bracelet on the bed, and had brought it to him in the churchyard. "'Oh, Swidden, what do you say? Found the cold bracelet? What did you do with it?' Swidden clasped his hand to his pocket. "'Dear me, I recollect a letter where it lay on Rubenheath's tombstone.' "'Oh, my dear, dear, Swidden,' she cried miserably. "'You have compromised me by your forgetfulness. I have claimed the article as mine. My brother did not tell me that the bishop brought it from the cabin. What can I do? Can I do? That neither the bishop nor my brother may conclude, I was the woman there.' "'But if we announce our marriage?' "'Even as your wife, the position was too indignified. Too, I don't know what, for me ever to admit that I was there. Right or wrong, I must declare the bracelet was not mine. Such an escapade. Why, it would make me ridiculous in the county, and anything rather than that.' I was in hope that you would agree to let our marriage be known, said Swidden, with some disappointment. I thought that these circumstances would make the reason for doing so doubly strong. Yes, but there are alas reasons against it still stronger. Let me have my way.' "'Certainly, dearest, I promise that before you agreed to be mine. My reputation. What is it? Perhaps I shall be dead and forgotten before the next transfer of Venus.' She soothed them tenderly, but could not tell them why she felt the reasons against any announcement as yet to be stronger than those in favour of it. How could she, when her feeling had been cautiously fed and developed by her brother Louis' unvarnished exhibition of Swidden's material position in the eyes of the world, that of a young man, the son of a family of farmers, recently her tenants, living at the homestead with his grandmother, Mrs. Martin. To soften her refusal, she said, in declaring it, "'One concession, Swidden, I certainly will make. I will see you oftener. I will come to the cabin and tower frequently, and will contrive, too, that you come to the house occasionally. During the last winter we passed whole weeks without meeting. Don't let us allow that to happen again.' "'Very well, dearest,' said Swidden, good-humouredly. I don't care so terribly much for the old man's opinion of me after all. For the present, then, let things be as they are.' Nevertheless the youth felt her refusal more than he owned, but the unequal temperament of Swidden's age, so soon depressed on his own account, was also soon to recover on hers, and it was with almost a child's forgetfulness of the past that he took her view of the case. When he was gone she hastily re-entered the house. Her brother had not reappeared from upstairs, but she was informed that Tabitha Lark was waiting to see her, if her ladyship would pardon the said Tabitha for coming so late. Lady Constantine made no objection, and saw the young girl at once. When Lady Constantine entered the waiting-room, behold, in Tabitha's outstretched hand lay the coral ornament which had been causing viviet so much anxiety. I guessed on second thoughts that it was yours, my lady, said Tabitha, with rather a frightened face, so I have brought it back. How did you come by at Tabitha? Mr. Glanville gave it to me. He must have thought it was mine. I took it fancy in at the moment, and that he handed it to me because I happened to come by first after he had found it. Lady Constantine saw how the situation might be improved, so was to affect her deliverance from this troublesome little web of evidence. Oh, you can keep it, she said, brightly. It was very good of you to bring it back, but keep it for your very own. Take Mr. Glanville at his word, and don't explain. In Tabitha, divide the strands into two bracelets. There are enough of them to make a pair. The next morning, in pursuance of his resolution, Louis wandered round the grounds till he saw the girl of whom he was waiting enter the church. He accosted her over the wall. But puzzling to view, a coral bracelet blushed on each of her young arms, for she had promptly carried out the suggestion of Lady Constantine. You are wearing it, I see, Tabitha, with the other, he murmured. Then you mean to keep it? Yes, I mean to keep it. Are you sure it's not Lady Constantine's? I find she has one like it. Quite sure. But you had better take it to her, sir, and ask her, said the saucy girl. No, no, that's not necessary, replied Louis, considerably shaken in his convictions. When Louis met his sister a short time after, he did not catch her, as he had intended to do, by saying suddenly, I have found your bracelet, I know who has got it. You cannot have found it, she replied quietly, for I have discovered that it was never lost, and stretching out both of her hands, she revealed one on each, viviet having performed the same operation with her remaining bracelet that she had advised Tabitha to do with the other. Louis was mystified, but by no means convinced. In spite of this attempt to hoodwink him, his mind returned to the subject every hour of the day. There was no doubt that either Tabitha or viviet had been with Swithin in the cabin. He recapitulated every case that had occurred during his visit to Welland, in which his sister's manner had been of a colour to justify the suspicion that it was she. There was that strange incident in the corridor, when she had screamed at what she described to be a shadowy resemblance to her late husband. How very improbable that this fancy should have been the only cause of her agitation. Then he noticed, during Swithin's confirmation, a blush upon her cheek, when he passed her on his way to the bishop, and a fervour in her glance during the few moments of the imposition of hands. Then he suddenly recalled a night at the railway station. When the incident with the whip took place, and how, when he reached Welland house an hour later, he had found no viviet there. Running thus from incident to incident, he increased his suspicions, without being able to cull from the circumstances anything amounting to evidence, but evidence he now determined to acquire without saying a word to any one. His plan was of a cruel kind, to set a trap into which the pair would blindly walk if any secret understanding existed between them of the nature he suspected. CHAPTER XXXI Louis began his stratagem by calling at the tower one afternoon, as if on the impulse of the moment. After a friendly chat with Swithin, whom he found there having watched him enter, Louis invited the young man to dine the same evening at the house, that he might have an opportunity of showing him some interesting old scientific work and folio, which according to Louis's account he had stumbled on in the library. Louis set no great bait for St. Cleve in this statement, for old science was not old art which, having perfected itself, has died and left its secret hidden in its remains. But Swithin was a responsive fellow, and readily agreed to come, being moreover always glad of a chance of meeting Biviette on Famille. He hoped to tell her of a scheme that had lately suggested itself to him as likely to benefit them both, that he should go away for a while and endeavour to raise sufficient funds to visit the great observatories of Europe with an eye to a post in one of them. Hitherto the only bar to the plan had been the exceeding narrowness of his income, which though sufficient for his present life, was absolutely inadequate to the requirements of a travelling astronomer. Meanwhile Louis Glanville had returned to the house and told his sister in the most innocent manner that he had been in the company of St. Cleve that afternoon, getting a few wrinkles on astronomy, that they had grown so friendly over the fascinating subject, as to leave a no alternative but to invite St. Cleve to dine at Wellan that same evening, with a view to certain researches in the library afterwards. I could quite make allowances for any youthful errors into which he may have been betrayed. Louis continued sententiously. Since for a scientist, he is really admirable. Know that the bishop's caution will not be lost upon him. And as for his birth and connections, those he can't help. Lady Constantine showed such alacrity in adopting the idea of having Swithin to dinner, and she ignored his youthful errors so completely as almost to betray herself. In fulfilment of her promise to see him oftener, she had been intending to run across to Swithin on that identical evening. Now the trouble would be saved in a very delightful way, by the exercise of a little hospitality which Viviet herself would not have dared to suggest. Dinner time came, and with it Swithin, exhibiting rather a blushing and nervous manner that was, unfortunately, more likely to betray their cause than was Viviet's own more practised bearing. Throughout the meal Louis sat like a spider in the corner of his web, observing them narrowly, and at moments flinging out an artful thread here and there, with a view to their entanglement. But they underwent the ordeal marvelously well, perhaps the actual tie between them being so much closer and of so much more practical in nature than even their critics opposed it, was in itself a protection against their exhibiting that ultra-reciprocity of manner which, if they had been merely lovers, might have betrayed them. After dinner the trio Julie adjourned to the library as had been planned and the volumes were brought forth by Louis with the zest of a bibliophilist. Swithin had seen most of them before, and thought but little of them, but the pleasure of staying in the house made him welcome any reason for doing so, and he willingly looked over whatever was put before him, from Berthias' Ptolemy to Reese's Cyclopedia. The evening thus passed away, and it began to grow late. Swithin, who among other things had planned to go to Greenwich next day to view the Royal Observatory, would every now and then start up and prepare to leave for home, when Glambel would unearth some other volume, and so detain him yet another half-hour. By George, he said, looking at the clock when Swithin was at last really about to depart, I didn't know it was so late. Why not stay here to-night, Sincleave? It's very dark, and the way to your place is an awkward cross cut over the fields. It would not inconvenience us at all, Mrs. Sincleave, if you would care to stay, said Lady Constantine. I'm afraid the fact is I wanted to make an observation at twenty minutes past two. Swithin. Oh! now! Never mind your observation! said Louis. That's only an excuse. Do that to-morrow night. Now you will stay. It is settled. Viviet, say he must stay, and we'll have another hour of these charming intellectual researches. Viviet obeyed with delightful ease. Do stay, Mr. Sincleave! She said sweetly. Well, in truth I can do without the observation, replied the young man, as he gave way. It is not of the greatest consequence. Thus it was arranged, but the researches among the tomes were not prolonged to the extent that Louis had suggested. In three-quarters of an hour from that time they had all retired to their respective rooms. Lady Constantine's being on one side of the west corridor, Swithin's opposite, and Louis's at the further end. Had a person followed Louis when he withdrew, that watcher would have discovered, unpeeping through the keyhole of his door, that he was engaged in one of the audits of occupations for such a man, sweeping down from the ceiling by means of a walking cane, a long cobweb which lingered on high in the corner. Keeping it stretched upon the cane, he gently opened the door, and set the candle in such a position on the mat that a light shone down the corridor. Thus guided by his rays he passed out slipperless till he reached the door of Sincleave's room, where he applied the dangling spider's thread in such a manner that it stretched across like a tightrope from jam to jam, barring in its fragile way entrance and egress. The operation completed, he retired again, and extinguishing his light went through his bedroom window out upon the flat roof of the portico to which it gave access. Here Louis made himself comfortable in his chair and smoking-cap, enjoying the fragrance of a cigar for something like half an hour. His position commanded a view of the two windows of Lady Constantine's room, and from these a dim light shone continuously. Having the window-party open at his back, and the door of his room also scarcely closed, his ear retained a fair command of any noises that might be made. In due time faint movements became audible, whereupon returning to his room he re-entered the corridor and listened intently. All was silent again, and darkness reigned from end to end. However, grove his way along the passage till he again reached Swithin's door, where he examined by the light of a wax match he had brought, the condition of the spider's thread. It was gone. Somebody had carried it off bodily, as Samson carried off the pin on the web. In other words, a person had passed through the door. Still holding the faint wax light in his hand, Louis turned to the door of Lady Constantine's chamber, where he observed first that though it was pushed together so as to appear fast and to curse a review, the door was not really closed by about a quarter of an inch. He dropped his light and extinguished it with his foot. Listening he heard a voice within, Viviette's voice, in a subdued murmur, though speaking earnestly. Without any hesitation Louis then returned to Swithin's door, opened it, and walked in. The starlight from without was sufficient, now the desires had become accustomed to the darkness, to reveal that the room was unoccupied, and that nothing therein had been disturbed. With a heavy tread Louis came forth, walked loudly across the corridor, knocked at Lady Constantine's door and called, Viviette. She heard him instantly, replying, Yes, in startled tones, immediately after which she opened her door, and confronted him in her dressing-gown with a light in her hand. Oh! What is the matter, Louis? She said, I am greatly alarmed. Our visitor is missing. Missing? What? Mr. Sinclave? Yes, I was sitting up to finish the cigar, when I thought I heard a noise in this direction. Uncoming to his room I find he is not there. Good Heaven! I wonder what has happened? She exclaimed in apparently intense alarm. I wonder, said Blanville grimly. Suppose he is a tsunami-list. If so, he may have gone out and broken his neck. I have never heard that he is one, but they say that sleeping in strange places disturbs the mind of people who are given to that sort of thing and provokes them to it. Unfortunately for a theory his bed has not been touched. Oh! What then can it be? Her brother looked her full in the face. Viviette! He said sternly. She seemed puzzled. Well! she replied in simple tones. I heard voices in your room. He continued. Voices? A voice, yours. Yes, you may have done so. It was mine. The listener is required for a speaker. True, Louis? Well! To whom were you speaking? God! Viviette! I am ashamed of you. I was saying my prayers. Prayers to God? To Swithin' rather? What do you mean, Louis? She asked, flushing up warm, and drawing back from him. It was a form of prayer I use, particularly when I am in trouble. It was recommended to me by the bishop, and Mr. Torkingham commends it very highly. On your honour, if you have any, he said bitterly, whom have you there in your room? No human being. Flatly, I don't believe you. She gave a dignified little bow, and waving her hand into the apartment said, Very well! Then search and see. Louis entered and glanced round the room, behind the curtains under the bed, out of the window, a view from which showed that a skate-dence would have been impossible, everywhere in short capable or incapable of affording a retreat to humanity, but discovered nobody. All he observed was that a light stood on the low table by her bedside, that on the bed lay an open prayer-book, the counter-pane being un-pressed, except into a little pit beside the prayer-book, apparently where her head addressed it in kneeling. But where is St. Cleave? He said, turning in bewilderment from these evidences of innocent devotion. Where can he be? She chimed in with real distress. I should somewhat like to know. Look about for him. I am quite uneasy. I will, on one condition, that you own, that you love him. Why should you force me to do that? She murmured. It would be no such wonder if I did. Come, you do. Well, I do. Well, now I look for him. Louis took a light and turned away, astonished that she had not indignantly resented his intrusion, and the nature of his questioning. At this moment a slight noise was heard on the staircase, and they could see a figure rising step by step, and coming forward against the long lights of the staircase window. It was swithin' in his ordinary dress, and carrying his boots in his hands. When he beheld them standing there so motionless, he looked rather disconcerted, but came on towards his loom. Lady Constantine was too agitated to speak, but Louis said, I am glad to see you again. Hearing a noise a few minutes ago, I came out to learn what it could be. I found you absent, and we have been very much alarmed. I am very sorry, sit swithin' with contrition. I owe you a hundred apologies, but the truth is that on entering my bedroom, I found the sky remarkably clear, and though I told you that the observation I was to make was of no great consequence, on thinking it over alone I felt it ought not to be allowed to pass, so I was tempted to run across to the observatory and make it, as I hoped, without disturbing anybody. If I had known that I should alarm you, I would not have done it for the world. Swithin spoke very earnestly to Louis, and did not observe the tender reproach in Viviet's eyes when he showed, by his tail, his decided notion that the prime use of dark nights lay in their furtherance of practical astronomy. Everything being now satisfactorily explained, the three retired to their several chambers, and Louis heard no more noises that night, or rather morning, his attempts to solve the mystery of Viviet's life here, and her relations to St. Cleve, having thus far resulted chiefly in perplexity. True, and admission had been wrong from her, and even without such an admission, it was clear that she had a tender feeling for Swithin. How to extinguish that romantic folly, it now became his object to consider. CHAPTER XXXI Swithin's midnight excursion to the tower in the cause of science led him to oversleep himself, and when the brother and sister met at breakfast in the morning he did not appear. Don't disturb him, don't disturb him," said Louis leconically. Hello, Viviet, what are you reading there that makes you flame up so? She was glancing over a letter that she had just opened, and that his words looked up with misgiving. The incident of the previous night left her in great doubt as to what her bearing towards him ought to be. She had made no show of resenting his conduct at the time from a momentary supposition that he must know her secret, and afterwards finding that he did not know it, it seemed too late to affect indignation at his suspicions. So she preserved a quiet neutrality. Even had she resolved on an artificial part she might have forgotten to play it at this instant, the letter being of a kind to banish previous considerations. It is a letter from Bishop Helmsdale, she faltered. Well done! I hope for your sake it's an offer. That's just what it is. No, surely," said Louis, beginning a laugh of surprise. Yes, she returned indifferently. You can read it if you like. And I don't wish to pry into a communication of that sort. Oh, you may read it, she said, tossing the letter across to him. Louis thereupon read as under. The palace, Melchester, June 28th, 18th something. But here, Lady Constantine, during the two or three weeks that have elapsed since I experienced the great pleasure of renewing my acquaintance with you, the varied agitation of my feelings has clearly proved that my only course is to address you by letter, and at once. Whether the subject of my communication be acceptable to you or not, I can at least assure you that to suppress it would be far less natural, and upon the whole less advisable than to speak out frankly, even if afterwards I hold my peace for ever. The great change in my experience during the past year or two, the change that is which has resulted from my advancement to a bishopric, has frequently suggested to me of late that a discontinuance in my domestic life of the solitude of past years was a question which ought to be seriously contemplated. But whether I should ever have contemplated it, without the great good fortune of my meeting with you, is doubtful. However, the thing is being considered at last, and without more ado I candidly ask if you would be willing to give up your life at Welland, and relieve my household loneliness here by becoming my wife. I am far from desiring to force a hurry decision on your part, and will wait your good pleasure patiently should you feel any uncertainty at the moment as to the step. I am quite disqualified by habits of experience for the delightful procedure of urging my suit in the ardent terms which would be so appropriate towards such a lady, and so expressive of my inmost feelings. In truth a prosaic cleric of five and forty wants encouragement to make him eloquent. Of this, however, I can assure you, that of admiration, esteem, and devotion can compensate in any way for the lack of those qualities which might be found to burn with more outward brightness in a younger man, those it is in my power to bestow for the term of my earthly life. Your steady adherence to church principles, and your interest in ecclesiastical polity, as was shown by your bright questioning on those subjects during our morning walk round your grounds, have indicated strongly to me the grace and appropriateness with which you would fill the position of a bishops wife, and how greatly you would add to his reputation, should you be disposed to honour him with your hand. Formerly there have been times when I was of opinion, and you will rightly appreciate my candour in owning it, that a wife was an impediment to a bishops' due activities. But constant observation has convinced me that, far from this being the truth, a meat consort infuses life into a piscable influence and teaching. Should you reply in the affirmative I will at once come to see you, and which your permission will, among other things, show you a few plain practical rules which I have interested myself in drawing up for our future guidance. Should you refuse to change your condition on my account, your decision will, as I need hardly say, be a great blow to me. In any event, I could not do less than I have done, after giving the subject my full consideration. Even if there be a slight deficiency of warmth on your part, my earnest hope is that a mind comprehensive as yours will perceive the immense power of good that you might exercise in the position in which a union with me would place you, and allow that perception to weigh in determining your answer. I remain, my dear Lady Constantine, with the highest respect and affection. Yours always, see Melchester. Well, you will not have the foolhardiness to decline, now that a question has actually been popped, I should hope, said Louis when he had done reading. Certainly I shall, she replied. You will really be such a flat viviet. You speak without much compliment. I have not the least idea of accepting him. Surely you will not let your infatuation for that young fellow carry you so far, after my acquainting you with the shady side of his character. You call yourself a religious woman. Say your prayers out loud. Follow up the revived methods in church practice and what not, and yet you can think with partiality of a person who, far from having any religion in him, breaks the most elementary commandments in the decalogue. I cannot agree with you, she said, turning her face as scant, for she knew not how much of her brother's language was sincere, and how much assumed, the extent of his discoveries with regard to her secret ties being a mystery. At moments she was disposed to declare the whole truth, and have done with it, but she hesitated, and left the words unsaid, and Louis continued his breakfast in silence. When he had finished, and she had eaten little or nothing, he asked once more, How do you intend to answer that letter? Here you are, the poorest woman in the county, abandoned by the people who used to be glad to know you, and leading a life as dismal and dreary as a nun's, when an opportunity is offered you of leaping at once into a leading position in this part of England. Bishops are given to hospitality. You would be welcomed everywhere. In short, your answer must be yes. Yet it shall be no, she said in a low voice, and at length learned, from the tone of her brother's latter remarks, that at any rate he had no knowledge of her actual marriage, whatever indirect ties he might suspect her guilty of. Louis could restrain himself no longer at her answer. Then conduct your affairs your own way. I know you to be leading a life that won't bear investigation, and I am hanged if I'll stay here any longer. Saying which, Glanville jerked back his chair, and strolled out of the room, in less than a quarter of an hour, and before she had moved a step from the table, she heard him leaving the house. CHAPTER 32 What to do, she could not tell. The step which Swithin had entreated her to take, objectionable and premature as it had seemed in a county aspect, would at all events have saved her from this dilemma. But she allowed him to tell the bishop his simple story in its fullness, who could say but that that divine might have generously bridled his own impulses, entered into the case with sympathy, and forwarded with zest the designs for the future, owing to his interest of old in Swithin's father, and in the naturally attractive features of the young man's career. A puff of wind from the open window, wafting the bishop's letter to the floor, aroused her from her reverie. With a sigh she stooped and picked it up, glanced at it again, then arose, and with the deliberateness of inevitable action, wrote her reply. WELLEN'S HOUSE, June 29, 18 Something My dear Bishop of Melchester, I confess to you that your letter, so gracious and flattering as it is, has taken your friend somewhat unawares. The least I can do in return for its contents is to reply as quickly as possible. There is no one in the world who has steamed your high qualities more than myself, or who has greater faith in your ability to adorn the episcopal seat that you have been called on to fill. But to your question I can give only one reply, and that is an unqualified negative. To state this unavoidable decision distresses me without affectation, and I trust you will believe that, though I decline the distinction of becoming your wife, I shall never cease to interest myself in all that pertains to you and your office, and shall feel the keenest regret if this refusal should operate to prevent a lifelong friendship between us. I am, my dear Bishop of Melchester, ever, sincerely yours, Viviet Constantine. A sudden revulsion from the subterfuge of writing as if she were still a widow, wrought in her mind a feeling of dissatisfaction with the whole scheme of concealment. And pushing aside the letter, she allowed it to remain unfolded and unaddressed. In a few minutes she heard Swithin approaching, when she put the letter out of the way, and turned to receive him. Swithin entered quietly, and looked round the room. Seeing with unexpected pleasure that she was there alone, he came over and kissed her. Her discomposure at some foregone event was soon obvious. "'Has my stayin' caused you any trouble?' he asked, in a whisper. "'Where is your brother this morning?' She smiled through her perplexity, as she took his hand. The oddest thing has happened to me, dear Swithin,' she said. Do you particularly wish to know what has happened now?' "'Yes, if you don't mind tellin' me.' "'I do mind tellin' you, but I must. Among other things, I am resolving to give way to your representations, in part at least. It will be best to tell the Bishop everything, and my brother, if not other people.' "'I am truly glad to hear it, Viviet,' he said cheerfully. I have felt for a long time that honesty is the best policy. I at any rate feel it now, but it is a policy that requires a great deal of courage.' "'It certainly requires some courage. I should not say a great deal, and indeed, as far as I am concerned, it demands less courage to speak out than to hold my tongue. But you silly boy, you don't know what has happened. The Bishop has made me an offer of marriage.' "'You're good gracious, what an impertinent old man. What have you done about it, dearest?' "'Well, I have hardly accepted him,' she replied, laughing. It is this event which has suggested to me that I should make my refusal a reason for confiding our situation to him.' "'What would you have done if you had not been already appropriated?' "'Oh, that's an inscrutable mystery. He is a worthy man, but he has very pronounced views about his own position, and some other undesirable qualities. Still, who knows? You must bless your stars that you have secured me.' "'Now let us consider how to draw up our confession to him. I wish I'd listened to you first, and allowed you to take him into our confidence before his declaration arrived. He may possibly resent the concealment now. However, this cannot be helped.' "'I'll tell you what, Viviette,' said Swithin, after a thoughtful pause. If the Bishop is such an earthly sort of man as this, a man who goes falling in love wanting to marry you, and so on, I'm not disposed to confess anything to him at all. I fancy them all together different from that.' "'But he's none the worse for it, dear. I think he is. Collect your me, and love you all in one breath. Still, that's only a passing phase, and you first proposed making a confidant of him.' "'I did. Very well. Then are we to tell nobody but the Bishop?' And my brother Louis, I must tell him, it is unavoidable. He suspects me in a way that I could never have credited him.' Swithin, as was before stated, had arranged to start for Greenwich that morning, permission having been accorded to him by the Astronomer Royal to view the observatory, and their final decision was that, as he could not afford time to sit down with her, and write to the Bishop in collaboration, each should during the day compose a well-considered letter, disclosing their position from his and her own point of view, Lady Constantine leading up to her confession by her refusal of the Bishop's hand. It was necessary that she should know what Swithin had contemplated saying, that her statements might precisely harmonize. He ultimately agreed to send her his letter by the next morning's post, when, having read it, she would in due course dispatch it with her own. As soon as she had breakfast at Swithin went his way, promising to return from Greenwich by the end of the week. Viviette passed the remainder of that long summer day, during which her young husband was receding towards the capital, in an almost motionous state. At some instant she felt exultant at the idea of announcing her marriage and defying general opinion. At another her heart misgave her, and she was tormented by a fearless Swithin should someday accuse her of having hampered his deliberately shaped plan of life by her intrusive romanticism. That was often the trick of men who had sealed by marriage in their inexperienced youth, a love for those whom their mature judgment would have rejected as too obviously disproportionate in years. However, it was now too late for these lugubrious thoughts, and bracing herself she began to frame the new reply to Bishop Helmsdale, the plain, unvarnished tale that was to supplant the undivulging answer first written. She was engaged in this difficult problem till daylight faded in the west, and the broad-faced moon edged upwards like a plate of old gold over the elms towards the village. But at that time Swithin had reached Greenwich. Her brother had gone, she knew not whither, and she and loneliness dwelt solely as before, within the walls of Welland House. At this hour of sunset and moon-rise the new parlor maid entered to inform her that Mr. Cecil's head clerk from Warborne particularly wished to see her. Mr. Cecil was a solicitor, and she knew of nothing whatever that required his intervention just at present, but he would not have sent at this time of day without excellent reasons, and she directed that the young man might be shown in where she was. On his entry the first thing she noticed was that in his hand he carried a newspaper. In case you should have not seen this evening's paper, Lady Constantine, Mr. Cecil has directed me to bring it to you at once, on account of what appears there in relation to your ladyship. He has only just seen it himself. What is it? How does it concern me? I will point it out. Read it yourself to me, though I am afraid there is not enough light. I can see very well here, said the lawyer's clerk, stepping to the window, folding back the paper he read. Just from South Africa, Cape Town, May 17th via Plymouth, a correspondent of the Cape Chronicle states that he has interviewed an Englishman just arrived from the interior, and learned from him that a considerable misapprehension exists in England concerning the death of the traveller and hunter Sir Blount Constantine. Oh! he is living! My husband is alive! She cried, sinking down in nearly a fainting condition. No, my lady, Sir Blount is dead enough, I am sorry to say. Dead, did you say? Certainly, Lady Constantine, there is no doubt of it. She sat up, and her intense relief almost made itself perceptible, like a fresh atmosphere in the room. Yes. What did you come for? She asked, calmly. That Sir Blount has died is unquestionable, replied the lawyer's clerk gently, but there has been some mistake about the date of his death. He died of malaria's fever on the banks of the Zuga, October twenty-fourth, eighteenth something. No, he only lay ill there a long time it seems. It was a companion who died of that date, but I'll read the account to your ladyship with your permission. The decease of this somewhat eccentric wanderer did not occur at the time hitherto supposed, but only in last December. The following is the account of the Englishman alluded to, given as nearly as possible in his own words. During the illness of Sir Blount and his friend by the Zuga, three of the servants went away, taking with them a portion of his clothing and effects, and it must be they who spread the report of his death at this time. After his companion's death he mended, and when he was strong enough he and I travelled on to a healthier district. I urged him not to delay his return to England, but he was much against going back there again, and became so rough on his manner towards me that we parted company at the first opportunity I could find. I joined a party of white traders returning to the west coast. I stayed here among the Portuguese for many months. I then found that an English travelling party were going to explore a district adjoining that which I formally traversed with Sir Blount. They said they would be glad of my services, and I joined them. When we had crossed the territory to the south of Ulanda, and drew near to Marzambu, I heard tidings of a man living there whom I suspected to be Sir Blount, although he was not known by that name. Being so near I was induced to seek him out, and found that he was indeed the same. He had dropped his old name altogether, and had married a native princess. Married a native princess? said Lady Constantine. That's what it says, my lady. Married a native princess according to the rites of the tribe, and was living very happily with her. He told me he should never return to England again. He also told me that having seen this princess just after I had left him, he had been attracted by her, and had thereupon decided to reside with her in that country, as being a land which afforded him greater happiness than he could hope to attain elsewhere. He asked me to stay with him, instead of going on with the party, and not to reveal his real title to any of them. After some hesitation I did stay, and was not uncomfortable at first. But I soon found that Sir Blount drank much harder now than when I had known him, and that he was at times very greatly depressed in mind at his position. Some morning, in the middle of December last, I heard a shot from his dwelling. His wife first frantically passed me as I hastened to the spot, and when I entered I found that he had put an end to himself, with his revolver. His princess was brokenhearted all that day. When we had buried him I discovered in his house a little box directed to his solicitors at Warborne in England, and a note for myself, saying that I had better get the first chance of returning that offered, and requesting me to take the box with me. It is supposed to contain papers and articles for friends in England who have deemed him dead for some time. The clerk stopped his reading, and there was silence. "'The middle of last December,' she said at length in a whisper. "'Has the box arrived yet?' "'Not yet, my lady. We have no further proof of anything. As soon as the package comes to hand, you shall know of it immediately.' Such was the clerk's mission, and leaving the paper with her, he withdrew. The intelligence amounted to thus much, that Sir Blount having been alive till at least six weeks after her marriage with Swithinsen Cleave, Swithinsen Cleave was not her husband in the eye of the law, that she would have to consider how our marriage with the latter might be instantly repeated to establish herself legally as that young man's wife. End of CHAPTER XXXII Next morning Viviette received a visit from Mr. Sessel himself. He informed her that the box spoken of by the servant had arrived quite unexpectedly just after the departure of his clerk on the previous evening. There had not been sufficient time for him to thoroughly examine it as yet, but he had seen enough to enable him to state that it contained letters, dated memoranda and Sir Blount's handwriting, notes referring to events which had happened later than his supposed death, and other irrefutable proofs that the account in the newspapers was correct as to the main fact, the comparatively recent date of Sir Blount's disease. She looked up and spoke with the irresponsible helplessness of a child. Upon reviewing the circumstances, I cannot think how I could have allowed myself to believe the first tidings, she said. Everybody else believed him, and why should you not have done so? said the lawyer. How can the will to be permitted to be proved as there could after all have been no complete evidence? she asked. If I had been the executrix, I would not have attempted it. As I was not, I know very little about how the business was pushed through in a very unseemly way, I think. Well, no, said Mr. Cecil, feeling himself morally called upon to defend legal procedure from such imputations. It was done in the usual way in all cases, where the proof of death is only presumptive. The evidence, such as it was, was laid before the court by the applicants, your husband's cousins, and the servants who had been with him, deposed to his death with a particularity that was deemed sufficient. Their error was not that somebody died, for somebody did die at the time affirmed, but that they mistook one person for another, the person who died being not Sir Blount Constantine. The court was of the opinion that the evidence led up to a reasonable inference that the deceased was actually Sir Blount, and probate was granted on the strength of it. As there was a doubt about the exact day of the month, the applicants were allowed to swear that he died on or after the date last given of his existence, which in spite of their error then, has really come true now, of course. They little think what they have done to me by being so ready to swear, she murmured. Mr. Cecil, supposing her to allude only to the pecuniary straits in which he had been prematurely placed by the will-taking effect a year before its due time, said, true, it has been to your ladyship's loss and to their gain, but they will make ample restitution, no doubt, and all will be round up satisfactorily. Lady Constantine was far from explaining that this was not her meaning, and after some further conversation of a purely technical nature, Mr. Cecil left her presence. When she was again unencumbered with the necessity of exhibiting a proper bearing, the sense that she had greatly suffered in pocket by the un-due haste of the executors weighed upon her mind with a pressure quite inappreciable, beside the greater gravity of her personal position. What was her position as legatee to her situation as a woman? Her face crimsoned with a flush, which she was almost ashamed to show to the daylight, as she hastily penned the following note to Swithon at Greenwich, certainly one of the most informal documents she had ever written. Welland. Thursday. Oh, Swithon, my dear Swithon, what I have to tell you is so sad and so humiliating that I can hardly write it, and yet I must. Though we are dearer to each other than all the world besides, and as firmly united as if we were one, I am not legally your wife. So Blount did not die till some time after we in England supposed. The service must be repeated instantly. I have not been able to sleep all night. I feel so frightened and ashamed that I can scarcely arrange my thoughts. The newspaper sent with this would explain. If you have not seen the particulars, do come to me as soon as you can, that we may consult on what to do. Burn this at once. You're viviette. When the note was dispatched, she remembered that there was another, hardly less important question to be answered, the proposal of the bishop for her hand. His communication had sunk into nothingness beside the momentous news that had so greatly distressed her. The two replies lay before her, the one she had first written, simply declining to become Dr. Hemsdale's wife, without giving reasons, the second which she had elaborated with so much care on the previous day relating in confidential detail the history of our love for Swithin, their secret marriage, and their hopes for the future, asking his advice on what their procedure should be to escape the strictures of a sensorious world. It was a letter she had barely finished writing when Mr. Cecil's clerk announced news tantamount to a declaration that she was no wife at all. This epistle she now destroyed, and with the lesser reluctance in knowing that Swithin had been somewhat averse to the confession as soon as he found that Bishop Hemsdale was also a victim to tender sentiment concerning her. The first in which, at the time of writing, to suppress the ovary was too strong for her conscience, had now become an honest letter, and sadly folding it, she sent the missive on its way. The sense of her undefinable position kept her from much repose on the second night also, but the following morning brought an unexpected letter from Swithin, written about the same hour as hers to him, and had comforted her much. He had seen the account of the newspapers almost as soon as it had come to her knowledge, and sent this line to reassure her in the perturbation she must naturally feel. She was not to be alarmed at all. They too were husband and wife in moral intent and antecedent belief, and the legal flaw which accident had so curiously uncovered could be mended in half an hour. He would return on Saturday night at latest, but as the hour would probably be far advanced he would ask her to meet him by slipping out of the house to the tower any time during service on Sunday morning, when there would be few persons about likely to observe them. Meanwhile he might provisionally state that their best course in the emergency would be, instead of confessing to anybody that there had already been a solemnization of marriage between them, to arrange their remarriage in as open a manner as possible, as if it were the just-reached climax of a sudden affection, instead of harking back to an old departure, prefacing it by a public announcement in the usual way. This plan of approaching their second union, with all the show and circumstance of a new thing, recommended itself to her strongly, but for one objection, that by such a course the wedding could not, without appearing like an active, unseemly haste, take place so quickly as she desired for her own moral satisfaction. It might take place somewhat early, say in the course of a month or two, without bringing down upon her the charge of levity, for sublant and notoriously unkind husband, had been out of her sight four years, and in his grave nearly one. But what she naturally desired was that there should be no more delay than was positively necessary for obtaining a new license, two or three days at longest, and in view of this celerity, it was next to impossible to make due preparation for a wedding of ordinary publicity, performed in her own church from her own house, with a feast and amusements for the villagers, a tea for the school-children, a bonfire, and other of those proclamatory accessories, which, by meeting wonder half-way, deprive it of much of its intensity. It must be admitted, too, that she even now shrank from the shock of surprise that would inevitably be caused by her openly taking for husband such a mere youth of no position as Swithin still appeared, notwithstanding that in years he was by this time within a trifle of one and twenty. The straightforward course had nevertheless so much to recommend it, so well avoided the disadvantage of future revelation which a private repetition of the ceremony would entail, that assuming she could depend upon Swithin, as she knew she could do, good sense counseled its serious consideration. She became more composed at her queer situation, hour after hour past, and the first spasmodic impulse of womanly decorum, not to let the sun go down upon her present improper state, was quite controllable. She could regard the strange contingency that had arisen with something like philosophy. The day slipped by, she thought of the awkwardness of the accident rather than of its humiliation, and loving Swithin now in a far calmer spirit than at that past date when they had rushed into each other's arms and vowed to be one for the first time, she ever and anon caught herself reflecting, were it not that for my honour's sake I must remarry him, I should perhaps be a nobler woman in not allowing him to encumber his bright future by a union with me at all. This thought, at first artificially raised, as little more than a mental exercise, became by state as a genuine conviction, and while her heart enforced, her reason regretted the necessity of abstaining from self-sacrifice, the being obliged, despite his curious escape from the first attempt, to lime Swithin's young wings again solely for her credit's sake. However the deed had to be done. Swithin was to be made legally hers. Selfishness in the conjecture of this sort was excusable, and even obligatory. Taking brighter views she hoped that upon the whole this yoking of the young fellow with her, a portionless woman and his senior, would not greatly endanger his career. In such a mood night overtuck her, and she went to bed conjecturing that Swithin had by this time arrived in the parish, was perhaps even at that moment passing homeward beneath her walls, that in less than twelve hours she would have met him, have ventilated the secret which oppressed her, and have satisfactorily arranged with him the details of their reunion. Sunday morning came and complicated her previous emotions by bringing in new and unexpected shock to mingle with them. The postman had delivered, among other things, an illustrated paper, sent by a hand she did not recognize, and on opening the cover the sheet that met her eyes filled her with a horror which she could not express. The print was one which drew largely on its imagination for its engravings, and it already contained an illustration of the death of Sir Blount Constantine. In this work of art he was represented as standing with his pistol to his mouth, his brains being in process of flying up to the roof of his chamber, and his native princess rushing terror stricken away to a remote position in the ticket of palms which neighbour the dwelling. The crude realism of the picture, possibly harmless enough in its effect upon others, overpowered and sickened her. By a curious fascination she would look at it again and again, till every line of the engraver's performance seemed really a transcript from what had happened before his eyes. With such details freshen her thoughts she was going out of the door to make arrangements for confirming by repetition her marriage with another. No interval was available for serious reflection on the tragedy, or for allowing the softening effects of time to operate in her mind. It was as though her first husband had died at that moment, and she was keeping an appointment with another in the presence of his corpse. So revived was the actuality of Sir Blount's recent life and death by this incident, that the distress of her personal relations with Swithin was the single force in the world which could have coerced her into abandoning to him the intervals she would feign have set apart for getting over these new and painful impressions. Self-pity for ill usage afforded her good reasons for ceasing to love Sir Blount. But he was yet too closely intertwined with her past life to be destructible on the instant as a memory. But there was no choice of occasions for her now, and she steadily waited for the church bells to cease chiming. At last all was silent. The surrounding cottagers had gathered themselves within the walls of the adjacent building. Tabitha Lark's first voluntary then droned from the tower window, and Lady Constantine left the garden in which she had been loitering and went towards Ring's Hillspear. The sense of her situation obscured the morning prospect. The country was unusually silent under the intensifying sun, the songless season of birds having just set in. Choosing her path amid the efts that were basking upon the outer slopes of the plantation, she wound her way up the tree-shrouded camp to the wooden cabin in the centre. The door was ajar, but on entering she found a place empty. The tower door was also partly open, and listening at the foot of the stairs she heard swithin' above, shifting the telescope and wheeling round the rumbling dome, apparently in preparation for the next nocturnal reconnoiter. There was no doubt that he would descend in a minute or two to look for her, and not wishing to interrupt him till he was ready, she re-entered the cabin, where she patiently seated herself among the books and papers that Lace scattered about. She did as she had often done before when waiting there for him, that is, she occupied her moments in turning over the papers and examining the progress of his labours. The notes were mostly astronomical, of course, and she managed to keep sufficiently abrasive them to catch the meaning of a good many of these. The litter on the table, however, was somewhat more marked than usual that morning, as if it had been hurriedly overhauled. Among the rest of the sheets lay an open note, and in the entire confidence that existed between them she glanced over it, and read it as a matter of course. It was the most businesslike communication, and beyond the address and date contained only the following words. Dear sir, we beg leave to draw attention to a letter we addressed to you on the twenty-sixth, to which we have not yet been favoured with a reply. As the time for payment of the first moiety of the six hundred pounds per annum settled upon you by your late uncle is now at hand, we should be obliged by your giving directions as to where and in what manner the money is to be handed over to you, and shall also be glad to receive any other definite instructions from you with regard to the future. We are, dear sir, yours faithfully, Hanner and Rawls. Swithin's Enclave, Esquire. An income of six hundred a year for Swithin, whom she had hitherto understood to be possessed of an annuity of eighty pounds at the outside, with no prospect of increasing the sum but by hard work. What could this communication mean? He whose custom and delighted was to tell her all his heart had breathed not a syllable of this matter to her, though it met the very difficulty towards which their discussions invariably tended, how to secure for him a competency that should enable him to establish his pursuits on a wider basis, and throw himself into more direct communication with the scientific world. Quite bewildered by the lack of any explanation, she arose from her seat, and with a note in her hand ascended the winding tower steps. Reaching the upper aperture, she perceived him under the dome, moving musingly about, as if he had never been absent an hour, his light hair frilling out from under the edge of his velvet skull-cap, as it was always wont to do. No question of marriage seemed to be disturbing the mind of this juvenile husband of hers. The premium mobilee of his gravitation was apparently the equatorial telescope which she had given him, and which he was carefully adjusting by means of screws and clamps. Hearing her movements, he turned his head. No, here you are, my dear Viviette. I was just beginning to expect you. He exclaimed, coming forward. I ought to have been looking out for you, but I have found a little defect here in the instrument, and I wanted to set it right before evening comes. As a rule it is not a good thing to tinker with your glasses, but I have found that the refraction rings are not perfect circles. I learned at Greenwich how to correct them, so kindly have been to me there, and so I have been loosening the screws and gently shifting the glass, till I think that I have at last made the illumination equal all round. I have so much to tell you about my visit. One thing is that the astronomical world is getting quite excited about the coming transit of Venus. There is to be a regular expedition fitted out, how I should like to join it. He spoke enthusiastically and with eyes sparkling at the mental image of the said expedition, and as it was rather gloomy in the dome, he rolled it round on its axis till the shuttered slit for the telescope directly faced the morning sun, which thereupon flooded the concave interior, touching the bright metalwork of the equatorial and lighting up her pale troubled face. But Swithin, she faltered, my letter to you, our marriage. Oh yes, this marriage question, he added, I have not forgotten it, dear Viviet, or at least only for a few minutes. Can you forget it, Swithin, for a moment? Oh, how can you? She said reproachily. It is such a distressing thing. It drives away all my rest. Oh, forgotten is not the word I should have used, he apologised. You're temporarily dismissed it, for my mind is all I meant. The simple fact is that the vastness of the field of astronomy reduces every terrestrial thing to atomic dimensions. Do not trouble, dearest. The remedy is quite easy, as I stated in my letter. We can now be married in a prosy public way. Yes, early or late. Next week, next month, six months hence, just as you choose. Say the word when, and I will obey. The absence of all anxiety or consideration from his face contrasted strangely with hers, which at last he saw, and looking at the writing she held, inquired. But what paper have you in your hand? A letter which to me is actually inexplicable, she said, her curiosity returning to the letter, and overriding for the instant her immediate concerns. What does this income of six hundred a year mean? Why have you never told me about it, dear Swithin? Or does it not refer to you? She looked at the note, flushed slightly, and was absolutely unable to begin his reply at once. I didn't mean you to see that, Viviette. He murmured. Why not? I thought you would better not, as it does not concern me further now. The solicitors are laboring under a mistake, and supposing that it does, or you have to write at once to inform them that the annuity is not mine to receive. What a strange mystery in your life! She said, forcing a perplexed smile, something to balance the tragedy in mine. I am absolutely in the darkest year past history, it seems, and yet I had thought you told me everything. And I could not tell you that, Viviette, because it would have endangered our relations, though not in the way you may suppose. You would have approved me. You, who are so generous and noble, would have forbidden me to do what I did, and I was determined not to be forbidden. To do what? To marry you. Why should I have forbidden? Must I tell what I should not? He said, placing his hands upon her arms, and looking so much sadly at her. Well, perhaps as it has come to this, you ought to know all, since it could make no possible difference to my intentions now. We are one for ever, legal blunders notwithstanding, for happily they are quickly repairable, and this question of a device for my uncle Jocelyn only concerned me when I was a single man. Thereupon with obviously no consideration of the possibilities that were reopened of the nullity of their marriage-contract, he related in detail, and not without misgiving for having concealed them so long, the events that had occurred on the morning of their wedding-day, how he had met the postman on his way to Warborne after dressing in the cabin, how he had received from him the letter his dead uncle had confided to his family lawyers, informing him of the annuity and of the important requests attached, that he should remain unmarried till his five-and-twentieth year, how, in comparison with the possession of her dear self, he had reckoned the income as not. Abandoned all idea of it there and then, and had come on to the wedding as if nothing had happened to interrupt for a moment the working-out of their plan, how he had scarcely thought with any closeness of the circumstances of the case since, to remind it of them by this note she had seen, and the previous one of a like-sort received from the same solicitors. Oh, swithin', swithin',' she cried, bursting into tears as she realized it all, and sinking on the observing chair. I have ruined you, yes, I have ruined you. The young man was dismayed by her unexpected grief, and endeavoured to soothe her, but she seemed touched by a poignant remorse which could not be comforted. And now, she continued as soon as she could speak, when you are once more free, and in a position, actually in a position to claim the annuity that would be the making of you, I am compelled to come to you and beseech you to undo yourself again, merely to save me. Not to save you, Viviet, but to bless me. You did not ask me to remarry. It is not a question of alternatives at all. It is my straight course. I do not dream of doing otherwise. I should be wretched if you thought for one moment I could entertain the idea of doing otherwise. But the more he said, the worse he made the matter. It was a state of affairs that would not bear discussion at all, and the unsophisticated view he took of his course seemed to increase her responsibility. Why did your uncle attach such a cruel condition to his bounty? She cried bitterly. Oh, he thinks little how hard he has hit me from the grave. Me, who have never done him wrong, and you too. Swithan, are you sure he makes that condition indispensable? Perhaps he meant that you should not marry beneath you. Perhaps he did not mean to object at such a case that you are marrying. Forgive me for saying it. A little above you. There's no doubt that he did not contemplate a case which has led to such happiness as this has done. The youth murmured with hesitation, for though he scarcely remembered a word of his uncle's letter of advice, he had at him apprehension that it was couched in terms alluding specifically to Lady Constantine. Are you sure you cannot retain the money? I'd be my lawful husband, too. She asked piteously. Oh, what a wrong I am doing you. I did not dream that it could be as bad as this. I knew I was wasting your time by letting you love me, by hampering your projects. But I thought there were compensating advantages. This wrecking of your future at my hands I did not contemplate. You are sure there is no escape? Have you his letter with the conditions, or the will? Let me see the letter in which he expresses his wishes. I assure you it is all as I say. He pensively returned. Even if I were not legally bound by the conditions I should be morally. But how does he put it? How does he justify himself in making such a harsh restriction? Do let me see the letters with him. I shall think it a want of confidence if you do not. I may discover some way out of the difficulty if you let me look at the papers. Eccentric wills can be evaded in all sorts of ways. He still hesitated. Though I would rather you did not see the papers, he said. But she persisted as only a fond woman can. Her conviction was that she, who as a woman many years his senior, should have shown her love for him by guiding him straight into the paths he aimed at, had blocked his attempted career for her own happiness. This made her more intent than ever to find out a device by which, while she still retained him, he might also retain the life interest under his uncle's will. Her entreaties were at length too potent for his resistance. Accompanying her downstairs to the cabin he opened the desk from which the other papers had been taken, and against his better judgment handed her the ominous communication of Jocelyn Sinclave, which lay in the envelope just as that had been received three-quarters of a year earlier. Don't read it now, he said. Don't spoil our meeting by entering into a subject which is virtually past and done with. Take it with you, and look over it at your leisure. Merely as an old curiosity, remember, and not as a still operative document. I have almost forgotten what the contents are, beyond the general advice and stipulation that I was to remain a bachelor. At any rate, she rejoined, do not reply to the note I have seen from the solicitors till I have read this also. He promised. But now, about our public wedding, he said, like certain royal personages, we shall have had the religious right and the civil contract performed on independent occasions. Will you fix the day? When is it to be? And shall it take place at a register's office, since there is no necessity for having the sacred part, over again? I'll think," she replied, I'll think it over, and let me know as soon as you can how to decide to proceed. I'll write to-morrow, or come. I don't know what to say now. I cannot forget how I am wronging you. It is almost more than I can bear. To divert her mind he began talking about Greenwich Observatory, and the great instruments therein, and how he had been received by the astronomers and the details of the expedition to observe the transit of Venus, together with many other subjects of the sort to which she had no power to lend her attention. I must reach home before the people are out of church," she at length said, wearily. I wish nobody to know I have been out this morning, and forbidding Swidden to cross into the open in her company, she left him on the edge of the isolated plantation, which had laterally known her tread so well. End of Chapter 34