flowers, white daisies and golden buttercups mixed with wild hyacinths and graceful blue-bells. We drove for some few minutes over this carpet, and then the old gray manor-house stood before us, the prettiest picture ever seen on a summer's day. The whole front of the house was covered with flowers, and the ivy grew green and thick; it climbed to the very top of the towers.

"Famous ivy," said Lance. "People come to Dutton to look at the ivy."

"I do not wonder at it," I said.

I was somewhat surprised at the style o the house. I had not expected anything so grand, so beautiful.

"We shall have time for a cigar and a stroll before dinner," said Lance, as he threw the reins to the groom; "but you must see Frances first, John—you must see her."

But one of the servants told us that Mrs. Fleming was in the drawing-room, engaged with Lady Ledbitter. Lance's face fell.

"You do not seem to care for Lady Ledbitter," I said to him.

"In truth I do not; she is a county magnate, and a local horror I call her. She leads all the ladies of the country; they are frightened to death of her; they frown when she frowns, smile when she smiles. I begged of Frances not to fall under her sway, but I have begged in vain, no doubt. If she has been there for half and hour Frances will have given in."

He turned on me suddenly, so suddenly, indeed, that he almost startled me.

"Do you know," he said, "those kind of women, fair and calm, whose thoughts seem to be always turned inward? My wife is one of those; when one talks to her she listens with her eyes down, and seems as though she had left another world of thought just for your sake. Her manner always piques one to go on talking for the sake of making her smile. I can just imagine how she looks now, while Lady Ledbitter talks to her. Well, come to your own room, John, and we will stroll round the grounds until her ladyship has retreated."

What a beautiful old house it was! One could tell so easily that a lady of taste and refinement presided over it. The fine old oak was not covered, but contrasting with it were thick, crimson rugs, hangings of crimson velvet, and it was relieved by any amount of flowers; beautiful pictures were hung with exquisite taste; white statues stood out in grand relief against the dark walls.

"Your wife is a woman of taste, that is quite evident, Lance," I said.

My own room—a spacious chamber called the Blue Chamber—a large, old-fashioned room with three windows, each window seat as large as a small room; the hangings were of blue and white; there were a few jardinieres with costly, odorous flowers; easy chairs, a comfortable couch. Little stands had been placed with easy chairs in the window seats; the room looked as though bluebells had been strewn with a liberal hand on white ground.

"How beautiful!" I cried; "I shall never want to leave this room again, Lance."

"I wish you would stay and never leave us; I am happy enough in having Frances; if I had you as well, my happiness would be complete. You have all you want, John; I will send your portmanteau."

When Lance had gone I looked round my room and fell in love with it. It had the charm of old fashion, of elegance, of space, of height, and from the windows there was a magnificent view of the park and the gardens.

"Lance must indeed be a happy man." I thought to myself.

He came to me when I was dressed and we went out for a stroll through the gardens.

"We shall hear the dinner-bell," said Lance. "We will not go too far."

We saw the stately equipage of Lady Ledbitter driven down the avenue.

"Thank Heaven!" said Lance. "Now Frances is free. She will have gone to her room. That good Lady Ledbitter has robbed us of a pleasant hour."

I was surprised and delighted at the magnificence of the grounds. I had never dreamed that Dutton manor-house was so extensive or so beautiful.

"The great artist, Lilias, is coming here next week," said Lance. "I want him to paint my wife's portrait. She will make a superb picture, and when completed, that picture shall have the place of honor here in the drawing-room. You will enjoy meeting him; he is a most intelligent, amiable man."

That good Lance; it seemed to me quite impossible that he could speak even these words without bringing in Frances; but how bright and happy he looked! I envied him.

"Do as I have done, John," he said "Marry. Believe me, no man knows what happiness means until he does marry."

"You must find me a wife just like your own," I said, and the words came back to me afterward with a fervent prayer of "Heaven forbid!—may Heaven forbid!"

"I shall never marry now, Lance," I said. "The only woman I could ever love is dead to me."

He looked at me very earnestly.

"I wish you would forget all about her, John. She was not worthy of you."

"Perhaps not," I replied; "but that does not interfere with the love."

"Why should you give all that loving heart of yours to one woman, John?" he said. "If one fails, try another."

"If your Frances died, should you love another woman?" I asked.

"That is quite another thing," he said, and I saw in his heart he resented the fact that I should place the woman who had been faithless to me on an equality with his wife. Poor Lance!

CHAPTER VI.

As we drew near the house on our return, the first dinner-bell was ringing.

"We have twenty minutes yet," said Lance; "you will just have time to say a few words to Frances; she is sure to be in the drawing-room."

We went there. When the door was opened I saw a magnificent room—long, lofty and bright, so cheerful and light—with such beautiful furniture, and such superb hangings of white and gold. I was struck as I had never been by any room before. The long French windows, opening like glass doors, looked over a superb flower-garden, where flowers of every hue were now in blossom.

The room was full of sunlight; it faced the west, and the sun was setting. For a few moments my eyes were dazzled; then as the golden haze cleared, I saw a tall figure at the other end of the room, a beautiful figure, dressed in a long robe of blue, with a crown of golden brown hair; when she turned suddenly to us, I saw that she carried some sprays of white hawthorn in her hand. At first my attention was concentrated on the golden hair, the blue dress, the white flowers; then slowly, as though following some irresistible magnetic attraction, my eyes were raised to her face, and remained fixed there. I have wondered a thousand times since how it was that no cry escaped my lips—how it was that none of the cold, sick horror that filled my whole heart and soul did not find vent in words. How was it? To this moment I cannot tell. Great Heaven! what did I see? In this beloved and worshiped wife—in this fair and queenly woman—in this tender and charitable lady, who was so good to the fallen and miserable—in this woman, idolized by the man I loved best upon earth, I saw the murderess—the woman who had dropped the little bundle over the railing into the sea.

It was she as surely as heaven shone above us. I recognized the beautiful face, the light golden hair, the tall, graceful figure. The face was not white, set desperate now, but bright, with a soft, sweet radiance I have seen on the face of no other woman living. For an instant my whole heart was paralyzed with horror. I felt my blood grow cold and gather round my heart, leaving my face and hands cold. She came forward to greet me with the same graceful, undulating grace which had struck me before. For a moment I was back on the Chain Pier, with the wild waste of waters around me, and the rapid rush of the waves in my ear. Then a beautiful face was smiling into mine—a white hand, on which rich jewels shone, was held out to me, a voice sweeter than any music I had ever heard, said:

"You are welcome to Dutton, Mr. Ford. My husband will be completely happy