you by your cousin. Fools!" he laughed—"poor fools! you have ill-managed your duplicity. I read you all—all—and so you will discover." So saying, he rushed from the room; and in a few minutes afterwards quitted the house. Poor Minnie could not stay him—she had fainted.

It would be difficult to say to what extremities he might not have proceeded, but a gentler thought came over the Parque who had raised this first sorrow. As Tremenhere strode onwards towards town, not looking to the right or left, but in deep thought, scarcely knowing whither to go, or what to do, a brougham passed rapidly—stopped—turned, and Lady Dora's voice said, "Mr. Tremenhere, may I speak one word to you?" Hers trembled—it ever did when addressing him: there was much warring in that girl's mind. She would have given worlds never to see his face again, as, by a concatenation of strange circumstances, she was forced to seek, or meet him. Her voice burst on his deep reverie, and startled him.

We have shewn that he had quitted home without any actual explanation from Minnie. As he bowed to Lady Dora, there was more than the ordinary constraint which marked his manner towards her on all occasions, she at once remarked it, and a gleam of truth passed through her mind. "May I speak to you?" she said, opening the door; for in these visits to Minnie, she only brought her groom with her, on whose discretion, as an old servant, she knew she could rely—not that she would condescend to ask silence of any one; but in this man she had confidence.

"If not of immediate moment, Lady Dora," he said bluntly, "I will beg to be excused the honour you propose to me, of a seat beside you. I have business of the utmost importance in town—meeting you on this road, I presume your drive will be extended to Chiswick; Mrs. Tremenhere is at home." He was moving away, having coldly raised his hat.

Lady Dora was sincerely pained at the trouble she read in those eyes, on that brow. "I must speak to you!" she cried hastily; "and, if you will not step in, permit me to accompany you in your walk a short distance—'tis of poor Minnie I would speak."

The "poor Minnie" touched a chord in his heart which was strung to harmony; it had been vibrating to the desire of his soul, to prove her innocent. He stopped:—

"I will not trouble your ladyship so much," he said, stepping in and closing the door. "Where shall I bid the man drive?" "Any where," she answered in some confusion, leaning back in the corner. "I will not detain you very long—let it be slowly towards town; you were going there."

But he did not continue that route above half a mile. Lady Dora had a good heart, she really loved Minnie, and once you could, by her better sentiments, penetrate through her pride, she was a kind, gentle girl. Unhesitatingly she told Miles how every thing had occurred, every word his little wife had uttered, her horror at deceiving him, even tacitly; and the fear explained, was so kindly a one, lest he should fly into trouble, that his heart expanded with joy, and, involuntarily seizing Lady Dora's hand, he pressed it to his lips. "You are a messenger of peace and joy," he cried, looking in her face, which was very pale. Something like a tear dimmed his eye as the thought of his poor little wife—it was half love, and half regret.

How very slowly the horse, even at a good long trot, seemed to go, as the brougham turned once more towards his home! Lady Dora told him, that having vainly expected Lord Randolph the previous evening, that morning she sent to his residence, and learned he had gone off to Uplands. What she had to tell him about Minnie, she could not write, and when Miles met her, she was coming down to see him, and consult on what had best be done. It was decided in their short drive, that he should accept Lord Randolph's invitation, and start for Uplands at once, and himself explain all. Lady Dora stopped the brougham before arriving at the villa; nothing could have induced her to be present at the meeting between the husband and wife: it was a scene she felt it would have pained her to witness, much as she desired their re-union. Miles did not urge it upon her, and as the carriage, with its pale occupant, turned away, he hastily entered his own home. Poor Minnie was lying on her couch, scarcely recovered from her swoon; when she heard his step, she started up in terror, and with eyes distended and trembling frame, awaited his coming.

The door opened, and, before she could articulate, his arms were about her, and we are not quite certain the tears which fell were all from her eyes, there is something so soothing, so heavenly in reconciliation—it is indeed the halcyon from above, descending with peaceful, unfluttering wings!

CHAPTER II.

As Minnie lay nestled to his heart, and once more, as of yore, smiling in his face, he told her of his intention of going to Uplands without delay, resolved upon confiding all to Lord Randolph, to prevent further mistakes. Minnie fully concurred in his opinion; and yet, she could not name this latter without a painful blush. It was the recollection of Miles's suspicion which called up this evidence against him.

"I will not have you even blush at his name," he whispered fondly; "though not in love, I shall be perhaps envious of the emotion which creates it. I am a jealous wretch, darling; I would have every flutter of your heart for myself alone." Much more he said in the sweet half-hour he gave to reconciliation, and sincere regret for his cruelty; and then, with a heart free from every cloud of doubt, he took an affectionate leave of her; twice, indeed, he returned, as though it were impossible to quit her, and at last, with a rude effort, tore himself away, determining to remain as short a time as possible. His carpet-bag was in a fly at the door—Minnie watching him step in from the window, when a gentleman's cab drew hastily up, and Mr. Vellumy's voice exclaimed "Hallo, Tremenhere!"

Miles was leaning forward, to kiss his hand once more to his wife. The appellation startled him not a little. He turned hastily round. A frown crossed over his brow.

"Gway told me last night," said the other, in reply to his cool "How d'ye do," "that you would be coming down to-day, and, as I am returning, I thought we might go down together. I see you have your carpet-bag, so of course you are off there—lucky I just caught you—here, step into my cab, and send away your fellow; I'll spin you to the railroad in no time."

All this looked fair and above board. It was not written on Vellumy's brow, that he had a correct list of all the trains in his pocket; he had been for half an hour watching on the road, expecting what had happened, namely—the departure from home of Tremenhere.

"You're very good," answered he, still distantly; "but it is scarcely worth while changing for so short a distance."

"Pawdon me," lisped Vellumy. "'Tis a long way; come, do be sociable, I hate twawelling alone."

"He's a good-natured fool," thought Miles; "why refuse? conciliation is my object, so here goes;" and, making some sort of apology for his abruptness at first, he stepped out of the fly into the cab, and casting a long look at the curtain, behind which he saw Minnie's face, they drove away, and arrived without accident at London bridge station—just caught the train—and started for Uplands. We should mention that Vellumy stopped for an instant at his club—threw the reins to Tremenhere—and in less than five minutes was again by his side.

Tremenhere was in unusually good spirits; he felt almost mirthful. He was going to place his beloved wife on a pedestal whence no slander could shake her; henceforth he was resolved openly to speak of her; he had learned the evil attending concealment. His heart was full of sweet thoughts of her; he determined, however, to speak first to Lord Randolph, and then let him present him, in his new character of Benedick, to his friends.

"Do