unworthy of the respect and love of an upright heart."

Geraldine threw up her hands with a low, involuntary cry, and staggered back a pace. The Archdeacon put out his arm to support her, but she instantly recovered herself, and stood like a statue, erect and cold.

"It seems very terrible at first," said her father, "but day by day the pain will grow less, and in a little while you will come to thank God that this discovery was made in time to save you from being the wife of a swindler."

The word shook her from her apathy. She shivered and clasped her hands.

"You will come home with us to the many who love and care for you," he continued, "and by degrees will learn to be happy, as in the old days before this man disturbed your peace. I know you are a good, brave girl, and that you will try to be patient and cheerful for all our sakes."

"I will try," she answered mechanically.

"That is my own dear child," he said, kissing her cold forehead. "I will send a telegram to Gertrude to expect us; you will like to be with her again, wont you?

She returned his kiss.

"I am rather tired; I think I should like to be alone a little," she answered, with a kind of moan.

Her father looked at her; she seemed whitened all over, like a person who has been

out in a snow-storm; and there was something in her face which warned him he had better leave her. He kissed her once more, whispered, "God help you, darling!" and, putting the fatal letter into her extended hand, quitted the room, half scared at the quietness with which she had taken her blow.

"She bears it so beautifully," said Miss Nutting to Dawson, as, an hour later, she stole into the dressing-room, and found the maid busy packing up her young lady's boxes. Nothing had been confided to her, but that circumstances had come to light which rendered it desirable that Geraldine's engagement should at once be broken off, and even this was carefully to be kept at present from the knowledge of the household. "I crept in on tip-toe a minute ago, and put my arms round her, and gave her a good hug, and she seemed quite calm, and asked me at what hour we were going."

Dawson shook her head.

"I had rather she should have a good cry, Miss; it would seem more natural," she replied. "I am afraid she takes it very hard, poor darling! Whatever can that there Lord Rotherhame be made of to have behaved so?" went on Dawson, with kindling eyes.. "I am sure I always thought him as nice a gentleman as Miss Egerton could have, and one to make any young lady happy."

"I never quite took to him myself," said

Nina, sighing, "from the first day when I saw him at Dr. Bogle's. But dear Mrs. Egerton thought differently, and it is terrible to see how shocked and disappointed she is now. How thankful I ought to feel that Mr. Meules is so different!"

"Have you wished Mr. Meules good-bye, Miss ?" asked Dawson.

"No, indeed," said Nina, mournfully. They will be at matins now, but I think of running over to the village presently just to explain our sudden departure. It will be a shock to him, but you know," concluded Miss Nutting, shaking her head archly, "it wont be very long now, so we must not complain if we are sometimes disappointed of being together."

"Don't mention him to Miss Egerton, whatever you do," said Dawson, aggravated that at such a time as this Miss Nutting should bestow one thought upon herself. "It will set her thinking on his Lordship directly."

"Oh, no, of course," said Nina, fervently. "What a pity to think of all these nice new things wasted, as one might say, for to have such a variety would be useless to her now,' and she glanced ruefully at the various pretty dresses and ribbons to which Mrs. Egerton had treated her daughter in honour of her first visit to her future home. There was a strange pathos in the look of these bits of girlish finery, emblems of a joy that had taken flight for ever.

A tap at the door interrupted the conversation, and a footman announced that the Archdeacon and Mrs. Egerton were taking breakfast in their private sitting-room, and hoped that Miss Egerton and Miss Nutting would join them there immediately.

"Miss Egerton is not here," said Dawson, peeping through a chink of the door into the empty bedroom. "Her hat is gone too," she added, venturing in, and glancing at the cupboard. "I hope she has not run out in all this rain!"

CHAPTER XIV.

Nessun maggior dolente

Che ricordarsi del tempo felice

Nella miseria.

DANTE.

Ir it be sad to view by morning light the scene of a midnight revel, and find its garlands withered, its lights burnt low, its gay guests gone; if it be sadder yet to stand beside a familiar form whence the animating soul is fled; then is it of all most sad, most strange, to gaze for the first time with blank amazement on a world swept bare of joy; a world whose splendour has faded into the deathly grey of a dull despair.

Alone, among the wet fir-trees, Geraldine was spending one brief hour face to face with her misery. One little hour of pause between the two great divisions of her life, ere she was borne away from the house that should have been her home, driven out like Eve from Eden, to wander through the world, shivering and forsaken. As a traveller who, attaining a mountain summit, lingers to look back on the heights he has scaled, and downward to the depths to which he must descend, she reviewed her past, and shrinkingly contemplated the future which stretched before her. Could she bear it-never to hear his voice again, or see his eyes, or feel his kiss?