AT a few minutes before six o'clock that evening, LordHolchester's carriage brought Geoffrey and Anne back to thecottage.

Geoffrey prevented the servant from ringing at the gate. He hadtaken the key with him, when he left home earlier in the day.Having admitted Anne, and having closed the gate again, he wenton before her to the kitchen window, and called to HesterDethridge.

"Take some cold water into the drawing-room and fill the vase onthe chimney-piece," he said. "The sooner you put those flowersinto water," he added, turning to his wife, "the longer they willlast."

He pointed, as he spoke, to a nosegay in Anne's hand, whichJulius had gathered for her from the conservatory at HolchesterHouse. Leaving her to arrange the flowers in the vase, he went upstairs. After waiting for a moment, he was joined by HesterDethridge.

"Done?" he asked, in a whisper.

Hester made the affirmative sign.Geoffrey took off his boots and led the way into the spare room.They noiselessly moved the bed back to its place against thepartition wall--and left the room again. When Anne entered it,some minutes afterward, not the slightest change of any kind wasvisible since she had last seen it in the middle of the day.

She removed her bonnet and mantle, and sat down to rest.

The whole course of events, since the previous night, had tendedone way, and had exerted the same delusive influence over hermind. It was impossible for her any longer to resist theconviction that she had distrusted appearances without theslightest reason, and that she had permitted purely visionarysuspicions to fill her with purely causeless alarm. In the firmbelief that she was in danger, she had watched through thenight--and nothing had happened. In the confident anticipationthat Geoffrey had promised what he was resolved not to perform,she had waited to see what excuse he would find for keeping herat the cottage. And, when the time came for the visit, she foundhim ready to fulfill the engagement which he had made. AtHolchester House, not the slightest interference had beenattempted with her perfect liberty of action and speech. Resolvedto inform Sir Patrick that she had changed her room, she haddescribed the alarm of fire and the events which had succeededit, in the fullest detail--and had not been once checked byGeoffrey from beginning to end. She had spoken in confidence toBlanche, and had never been interrupted. Walking round theconservatory, she had dropped behind the others with perfectimpunity, to say a grateful word to Sir Patrick, and to ask ifthe interpretation that he placed on Geoffrey's conduct wasreally the interpretation which had been hinted at by Blanche.They had talked together for ten minutes or more. Sir Patrick hadassured her that Blanche had correctly represented his opinion.He had declared his conviction that the rash way was, in hercase, the right way; and that she would do well (with hisassistance) to take the initiative, in the matter of theseparation, on herself. "As long as he can keep you under thesame roof with him"--Sir Patrick had said--"so long he willspeculate on our anxiety to release you from the oppression ofliving with him; and so long he will hold out with his brother(in the character of a penitent husband) for higher terms. Putthe signal in the window, and try the experiment to-night. Oncefind your way to the garden door, and I answer for keeping yousafely out of his reach until he has submitted to the separation,and has signed the deed." In those words he had urged Anne toprompt action. He had received, in return, her promise to beguided by his advice. She had gone back to the drawing-room; andGeoffrey had made no remark on her absence. She had returned toFulham, alone with him in his brother's carriage; and he hadasked no questions. What was it natural, with her means ofjudging, to infer from all this? Could she see into Sir Patrick'smind and detect that he was deliberately concealing his ownconviction, in the fear that he might paralyze her energies if heacknowledged the alarm for her that he really felt? No. She couldonly accept the false appearances that surrounded her in thedisguise of truth. She could only adopt, in good faith, SirPatrick's assumed point of view, and believe, on the evidence ofher own observation, that Sir Patrick was right.

Toward dusk, Anne began to feel the exhaustion which was thenecessary result of a night passed without sleep. She rang herbell, and asked for some tea.

Hester Dethridge answered the bell. Instead of making the usualsign, she stood considering--and then wrote on her slate. Thesewere the words: "I have all the work to do, now the girl hasgone. If you would have your tea in the drawing-room, you wouldsave me another journey up stairs."

Anne at once engaged to comply with the request.

"Are you ill?" she asked; noticing, faint as the light now was,something strangely altered in Hester's manner.

Without looking up, Hester shook her head.

"Has any thing happened to vex you?"

The negative sign was repeated.

"Have I offended you?"

She suddenly advanced a step, suddenly looked at Anne; checkedherself with a dull moan, like a moan of pain; and hurried out ofthe room.

Concluding that she had inadvertently said, or done, something tooffend Hester Dethridge, Anne determined to return to the subjectat the first favorable opportunity. In the mean time, shedescended to the ground-floor. The dining-room door, standingwide open, showed her Geoffrey sitting at the table, writing aletter--with the fatal brandy-bottle at his side.

After what Mr. Speedwell had told her, it was her duty tointerfere. She performed her duty, without an instant'shesitation.

"Pardon me for interrupting you," she said. "I think you haveforgotten what Mr. Speedwell told you about that."

She pointed to the bottle. Geoffrey looked at it; looked downagain at his letter; and impatiently shook his head. She made asecond attempt at remonstrance--again without effect. He onlysaid, "All right!" in lower tones than were customary with him,and continued his occupation. It was useless to court a thirdrepulse. Anne went into the drawing-room.

The letter on which he was engaged was an answer to Mrs. Glenarm,who had written to tell him that she was leaving town. He hadreached his two concluding sentences when Anne spoke to him. Theyran as follows: "I may have news to bring you, before long, whichyou don't look for. Stay where you are through to-morrow, andwait to hear from me."

After sealing the envelope, he emptied his glass of brandy andwater; and waited, looking through the open door. When HesterDethridge crossed the passage with the tea-tray, and entered thedrawing-room, he gave the sign which had been agreed on. He ranghis bell. Hester came out again, closing the drawing-room doorbehind her.

"Is she safe at her tea?" he asked, removing his heavy boots, andputting on the slippers which were placed ready for him.

Hester bowed her head.

He pointed up the stairs. "You go first," he whispered. "Nononsense! and no noise!"

She ascended the stairs. He followed slowly. Although he had onlydrunk one glass of brandy and water, his step was uncertainalready. With one hand on the wall, and one hand on the banister,he made his way to the top; stopped, and listened for a moment;then joined Hester in his own room, and softly locked the door.

"Well?" he said.

She was standing motionless in the middle of the room--not like aliving woman--like a machine waiting to be set in movement.Finding it useless to speak to her, he touched her (with astrange sensation of shrinking in him as he did it), and pointedto the partition wall.

The touch roused her. With slow step and vacant face--moving asif she was walking in her sleep--she led the way to the paperedwall; knelt down at the skirting-board; and, taking out two smallsharp nails, lifted up a long strip of the paper which had beendetached from the plaster beneath. Mounting on a chair, sheturned back the strip and pinned it up, out of the way, using thetwo nails, which she had kept ready in her hand.

By the last dim rays of twilight, Geoffrey looked at the wall.

A hollow space met his view. At a distance of some three feetfrom the floor, the laths had been sawn away, and the plaster hadbeen ripped out, piecemeal, so as to leave a cavity, sufficientin height and width to allow free power of working in anydirection, to a man's arms. The cavity completely pierced thesubstance of the wall. Nothing but the paper on the other sideprevented eye or hand from penetrating into the next room.

Hester Dethridge got down from the chair, and made signs for alight.

Geoffrey took a match from the box. The same strange uncertaintywhich had already possessed his feet, appeared now to possess hishands. He struck the match too heavily against the sandpaper, andbroke it. He tried another, and struck it too lightly to kindlethe flame. Hester took the box out of his hands. Having lit thecandle, she hel d it low, and pointed to the skirting-board.

Two little hooks were fixed into the floor, near the part of thewall from which the paper had been removed. Two lengths of fineand strong string were twisted once or twice round the hooks. Theloose ends of the string extending to some length beyond thetwisted parts, were neatly coiled away against theskirting-board. The other ends, drawn tight, disappeared in twosmall holes drilled through the wall, at a height of a foot fromthe floor.

After first untwisting the strings from the hooks, Hester rose,and held the candle so as to light the cavity in the wall. Twomore pieces of the fine string were seen here, resting loose uponthe uneven surface which marked the lower boundary of thehollowed space. Lifting these higher strings, Hester lifted theloosened paper in the next room--the lower strings, which hadpreviously held the strip firm and flat against the sound portionof the wall, working in their holes, and allowing the paper tomove up freely. As it rose higher and higher, Geoffrey saw thinstrips of cotton wool lightly attached, at intervals, to the backof the paper, so as effectually to prevent it from making agrating sound against the wall. Up and up it came slowly, till itcould be pulled through the hollow space, and pinned up out ofthe way, as the strip previously lifted had been pinned beforeit. Hester drew back, and made way for Geoffrey to look through.There was Anne's room, visible through the wall! He softly partedthe light curtains that hang over the bed. There was the pillow,on which her head would rest at night, within reach of his hands!

The deadly dexterity of it struck him cold. His nerves gave way.He drew back with a start of guilty fear, and looked round theroom. A pocket flask of brandy lay on the table at his bedside.He snatched it up, and emptied it at a draught--and felt likehimself again.

He beckoned to Hester to approach him.

"Before we go any further," he said, "there's one thing I want toknow. How is it all to be put right again? Suppose this room isexamined? Those strings will show."

Hester opened a cupboard and produced a jar. She took out thecork. There was a mixture inside which looked like glue. Partlyby signs, and partly by help of the slate, she showed how themixture could be applied to the back of the loosened strip ofpaper in the next room--how the paper could be glued to the soundlower part of the wall by tightening the strings--how thestrings, having served that purpose, could be safely removed--howthe same process could be followed in Geoffrey's room, after thehollowed place had been filled up again with the materialswaiting in the scullery, or even without filling up the hollowedplace if the time failed for doing it. In either case, therefastened paper would hide every thing, and the wall would tellno tales.

Geoffrey was satisfied. He pointed next to the towels in hisroom.

"Take one of them," he said, "and show me how you did it, withyour own hands."

As he said the words, Anne's voice reached his ear from below,calling for "Mrs. Dethridge."

It was impossible to say what might happen next. In anotherminute, she might go up to her room, and discover every thing.Geoffrey pointed to the wall.

"Put it right again," he said. "Instantly!"

It was soon done. All that was necessary was to let the twostrips of paper drop back into their places--to fasten the stripto the wall in Anne's room, by tightening the two lowerstrings--and then to replace the nails which held the loose stripon Geoffrey's side. In a minute, the wall had reassumed itscustomary aspect.

They stole out, and looked over the stairs into the passagebelow. After calling uselessly for the second time, Anneappeared, crossed over to the kitchen; and, returning again withthe kettle in her hand, closed the drawing-room door.

Hester Dethridge waited impenetrably to receive her nextdirections. There were no further directions to give. The hideousdramatic representation of the woman's crime for which Geoffreyhad asked was in no respect necessary: the means were allprepared, and the manner of using them was self-evident. Nothingbut the opportunity, and the resolution to profit by it, werewanting to lead the way to the end. Geoffrey signed to Hester togo down stairs.

"Get back into the kitchen," he said, "before she comes outagain. I shall keep in the garden. When she goes up into her roomfor the night, show yourself at the back-door--and I shall know."

Hester set her foot on the first stair--stopped--turnedround--and looked slowly along the two walls of the passage, fromend to end--shuddered--shook her head--and went slowly on downthe stairs.

"What were you looking for?" he whispered after her.

She neither answered, nor looked back--she went her way into thekitchen.

He waited a minute, and then followed her.

On his way out to the garden, he went into the dining-room. Themoon had risen; and the window-shutters were not closed. It waseasy to find the brandy and the jug of water on the table. Hemixed the two, and emptied the tumbler at a draught. "My head'squeer," he whispered to himself. He passed his handkerchief overhis face. "How infernally hot it is to-night!" He made for thedoor. It was open, and plainly visible--and yet, he failed tofind his way to it. Twice, he found himself trying to walkthrough the wall, on either side. The third time, he got out, andreached the garden. A strange sensation possessed him, as hewalked round and round. He had not drunk enough, or nearlyenough, to intoxicate him. His mind, in a dull way, felt the sameas usual; but his body was like the body of a drunken man.

The night advanced; the clock of Putney Church struck ten.

Anne appeared again from the drawing room, with her bedroomcandle in her hand.

"Put out the lights," she said to Hester, at the kitchen door; "Iam going up stairs."

She entered her room. The insupportable sense of weariness, afterthe sleepless night that she had passed, weighed more heavily onher than ever. She locked her door, but forbore, on thisoccasion, to fasten the bolts. The dread of danger was no longerpresent to her mind; and there was this positive objection tolosing the bolts, that the unfastening of them would increase thedifficulty of leaving the room noiselessly later in the night.She loosened her dress, and lifted her hair from her temples--andpaced to and fro in the room wearily, thinking. Geoffrey's habitswere irregular; Hester seldom went to bed early.

Two hours at least--more probably three--must pass, before itwould be safe to communicate with Sir Patrick by means of thesignal in the window. Her strength was fast failing her. If shepersisted, for the next three hours, in denying herself therepose which she sorely needed, the chances were that her nervesmight fail her, through sheer exhaustion, when the time came forfacing the risk and making the effort to escape. Sleep wasfalling on her even now--and sleep she must have. She had no fearof failing to wake at the needful time. Falling asleep, with aspecial necessity for rising at a given hour present to her mind,Anne (like most other sensitively organized people) could trustherself to wake at that given hour, instinctively. She put herlighted candle in a safe position, and laid down on the bed. Inless than five minutes, she was in a deep sleep.

* * * * * *

The church clock struck the quarter to eleven. Hester Dethridgeshowed herself at the back garden door. Geoffrey crossed thelawn, and joined her. The light of the lamp in the passage fellon his face. She started back from the sight of it.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head; and pointed through the dining-room door tothe brandy-bottle on the table.

"I'm as sober as you are, you fool!" he said. "Whatever else itis, it's not that."

Hester looked at him again. He was right. However unsteady hisgait might be, his speech was not the speech, his eyes were notthe eyes, of a drunken man.

"Is she in her room for the night?"

Hester made the affirmative sign.

Geoffrey ascended the st airs, swaying from side to side. Hestopped at the top, and beckoned to Hester to join him. He wenton into his room; and, signing to her to follow him, closed thedoor.

He looked at the partition wall--without approaching it. Hesterwaited, behind him

"Is she asleep?" he asked.

Hester went to the wall; listened at it; and made the affirmativereply.

He sat down. "My head's queer," he said. "Give me a drink ofwater." He drank part of the water, and poured the rest over hishead. Hester turned toward the door to leave him. He instantlystopped her. "_I_ can't unwind the strings. _I_ can't lift up thepaper. Do it."

She sternly made the sign of refusal: she resolutely opened thedoor to leave him. "Do you want your Confession back?" he asked.She closed the door, stolidly submissive in an instant; andcrossed to the partition wall.

She lifted the loose strips of paper on either side of thewall--pointed through the hollowed place--and drew back again tothe other end of the room.

He rose and walked unsteadily from the chair to the foot of hisbed. Holding by the wood-work of the bed; he waited a little.While he waited, he became conscious of a change in the strangesensations that possessed him. A feeling as of a breath of coldair passed over the right side of his head. He became steadyagain: he could calculate his distances: he could put his handsthrough the hollowed place, and draw aside the light curtains,hanging from the hook in the ceiling over the head of her bed. Hecould look at his sleeping wife.

She was dimly visible, by the light of the candle placed at theother end of her room. The worn and weary look had disappearedfrom her face. All that had been purest and sweetest in it, inthe by-gone time, seemed to be renewed by the deep sleep thatheld her gently. She was young again in the dim light: she wasbeautiful in her calm repose. Her head lay back on the pillow.Her upturned face was in a position which placed her completelyat the mercy of the man under whose eyes she was sleeping--theman who was looking at her, with the merciless resolution in himto take her life.

After waiting a while, he drew back. "She's more like a childthan a woman to-night," he muttered to himself under his breath.He glanced across the room at Hester Dethridge. The lightedcandle which she had brought up stairs with her was burning nearthe place where she stood. "Blow it out," he whispered. She nevermoved. He repeated the direction. There she stood, deaf to him.

What was she doing? She was looking fixedly into one of thecorners of the room.

He turned his head again toward the hollowed place in the wall.He looked at the peaceful face on the pillow once more. Hedeliberately revived his own vindictive sense of the debt that heowed her. "But for you," he whispered to himself, "I should havewon the race: but for you, I should have been friends with myfather: but for you, I might marry Mrs. Glenarm." He turned backagain into the room while the sense of it was at its fiercest inhim. He looked round and round him. He took up a towel;considered for a moment; and threw it down again.

A new idea struck him. In two steps he was at the side of hisbed. He seized on one of the pillows, and looked suddenly atHester. "It's not a drunken brute, this time," he said to her."It's a woman who will fight for her life. The pillow's thesafest of the two." She never answered him, and never lookedtoward him. He made once more for the place in the wall; andstopped midway between it and his bed--stopped, and cast abackward glance over his shoulder.

Hester Dethridge was stirring at last.

With no third person in the room, she was looking, and moving,nevertheless, as if she was following a third person along thewall, from the corner. Her lips were parted in horror; her eyes,opening wider and wider, stared rigid and glittering at the emptywall. Step by step she stole nearer and nearer to Geoffrey, stillfollowing some visionary Thing, which was stealing nearer andnearer, too. He asked himself what it meant. Was the terror ofthe deed that he was about to do more than the woman's braincould bear? Would she burst out screaming, and wake his wife?

He hurried to the place in the wall--to seize the chance, whilethe chance was his.

He steadied his strong hold on the pillow.

He stooped to pass it through the opening.

He poised it over Anne's sleeping face.

At the same moment he felt Hester Dethridge's hand laid on himfrom behind. The touch ran through him, from head to foot, like atouch of ice. He drew back with a start, and faced her. Her eyeswere staring straight over his shoulder at something behindhim--looking as they had looked in the garden at Windygates.

Before he could speak he felt the flash of her eyes in _his_eyes. For the third time, she had seen the Apparition behind him.The homicidal frenzy possessed her. She flew at his throat like awild beast. The feeble old woman attacked the athlete!

He dropped the pillow, and lifted his terrible right arm to brushher from him, as he might have brushed an insect from him.

Even as he raised the arm a frightful distortion seized on hisface. As if with an invisible hand, it dragged down the brow andthe eyelid on the right; it dragged down the mouth on the sameside. His arm fell helpless; his whole body, on the side underthe arm, gave way. He dropped on the floor, like a man shot dead.

Hester Dethridge pounced on his prostrate body--knelt on hisbroad breast--and fastened her ten fingers on his throat.

* * * * * *

The shock of the fall woke Anne on the instant. She startedup--looked round--and saw a gap in the wall at the head of herbed, and the candle-light glimmering in the next room.Panic-stricken; doubting, for the moment, if she were in herright mind, she drew back, waiting--listening--looking. She sawnothing but the glimmering light in the room; she heard nothingbut a hoarse gasping, as of some person laboring for breath. Thesound ceased. There was an interval of silence. Then the head ofHester Dethridge rose slowly into sight through the gap in thewall--rose with the glittering light of madness in the eyes, andlooked at her.

She flew to the open window, and screamed for help.

Sir Patrick's voice answered her, from the road in front of thecottage.

"Wait for me, for God's sake!" she cried.

She fled from the room, and rushed down the stairs. In anothermoment, she had opened the door, and was out in the front garden.

As she ran to the gate, she heard the voice of a strange man onthe other side of it. Sir Patrick called to her encouragingly."The police man is with us," he said. "He patrols the garden atnight--he has a key." As he spoke the gate was opened from theoutside. She saw Sir Patrick, Arnold, and the policeman. Shestaggered toward them as they came in--she was just able to say,"Up stairs!" before her senses failed her. Sir Patrick saved herfrom falling. He placed her on the bench in the garden, andwaited by her, while Arnold and the policeman hurried into thecottage.

"Where first?" asked Arnold.

"The room the lady called from," said the policeman

They mounted the stairs, and entered Anne's room. The gap in thewall was instantly observed by both of them. They looked throughit.

Geoffrey Delamayn's dead body lay on the floor. Hester Dethridgewas kneeling at his head, praying.

EPILOGUE.

A MORNING CALL.

I.

THE newspapers have announced the return of Lord and LadyHolchester to their residence in London, after an absence on thecontinent of more than six months.

It is the height of the season. All day long, within thecanonical hours, the door of Holchester House is perpetuallyopening to receive visitors. The vast majority leave their cards,and go away again. Certain privileged individuals only, get outof their carriages, and enter the house.

Among these last, arriving at an earlier hour than is customary,is a person of distinction who is positively bent on seeingeither the master or the mistress of the house, and who will takeno denial. While this person is parleying with the chief of theservants , Lord Holchester, passing from one room to another,happens to cross the inner end of the hall. The person instantlydarts at him with a cry of "Dear Lord Holchester!" Julius turns,and sees--Lady Lundie!

He is fairly caught, and he gives way with his best grace. As heopens the door of the nearest room for her ladyship, he furtivelyconsults his watch, and says in his inmost soul, "How am I to getrid of her before the others come?"

Lady Lundie settles down on a sofa in a whirlwind of silk andlace, and becomes, in her own majestic way, "perfectly charming."She makes the most affectionate inquiries about Lady Holchester,about the Dowager Lady Holchester, about Julius himself. Wherehave they been? what have they seen? have time and change helpedthem to recover the shock of that dreadful event, to which LadyLundie dare not more particularly allude? Julius answersresignedly, and a little absently. He makes polite inquiries, onhis side, as to her ladyship's plans and proceedings--with a minduneasily conscious of the inexorable lapse of time, and ofcertain probabilities which that lapse may bring with it. LadyLundie has very little to say about herself. She is only in townfor a few weeks. Her life is a life of retirement. "My modestround of duties at Windygates, Lord Holchester; occasionallyrelieved, when my mind is overworked, by the society of a fewearnest friends whose views harmonize with my own--my existencepasses (not quite uselessly, I hope) in that way. I have no news;I see nothing--except, indeed, yesterday, a sight of the saddestkind." She pauses there. Julius observes that he is expected tomake inquiries, and makes them accordingly.

Lady Lundie hesitates; announces that her news refers to thatpainful past event which she has already touched on; acknowledgesthat she could not find herself in London without feeling an actof duty involved in making inquiries at the asylum in whichHester Dethridge is confined for life; announces that she has notonly made the inquiries, but has seen the unhappy woman herself;has spoken to her, has found her unconscious of her dreadfulposition, incapable of the smallest exertion of memory, resignedto the existence that she leads, and likely (in the opinion ofthe medical superintendent) to live for some years to come.Having stated these facts, her ladyship is about to make a few ofthose "remarks appropriate to the occasion," in which she excels,when the door opens; and Lady Holchester, in search of hermissing husband, enters the room.

II.

There is a new outburst of affectionate interest on Lady Lundie'spart--met civilly, but not cordially, by Lady Holchester.Julius's wife seems, like Julius, to be uneasily conscious of thelapse of time. Like Julius again, she privately wonders how longLady Lundie is going to stay.

Lady Lundie shows no signs of leaving the sofa. She has evidentlycome to Holchester House to say something--and she has not saidit yet. Is she going to say it? Yes. She is going to get, by aroundabout way, to the object in view. She has another inquiry ofthe affectionate sort to make. May she be permitted to resume thesubject of Lord and Lady Holchester's travels? They have been atRome. Can they confirm the shocking intelligence which hasreached her of the "apostasy" of Mrs. Glenarm?

Lady Holchester can confirm it, by personal xexperience. Mrs.Glenarm has renounced the world, and has taken refuge in thebosom of the Holy Catholic Church. Lady Holchester has seen herin a convent at Rome. She is passing through the period of herprobation; and she is resolved to take the veil. Lady Lundie, asa good Protestant, lifts her hands in horror--declares the topicto be too painful to dwell on--and, by way of varying it, goesstraight to the point at last. Has Lady I Holchester, in thecourse of her continental experience, happened to meet with, orto hear of--Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth?

"I have ceased, as you know, to hold any communication with myrelatives," Lady Lundie explains. "The course they took at thetime of our family trial--the sympathy they felt with a Personwhom I can not even now trust myself to name moreparticularly--alienated us from each other. I may be grieved,dear Lady Holchester; but I bear no malice. And I shall alwaysfeel a motherly interest in hearing of Blanche's welfare. I havebeen told that she and her husband were traveling, at the timewhen you and Lord Holchester were traveling. Did you meet withthem?"

Julius and his wife looked at each other. Lord Holchester isdumb. Lady Holchester replies:

"We saw Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth at Florence, and afterwardat Naples, Lady Lundie. They returned to England a week since, inanticipation of a certain happy event, which will possiblyincrease the members of your family circle. They are now inLondon. Indeed, I may tell you that we expect them here to lunchto-day."

Having made this plain statement, Lady Holchester looks at LadyLundie. (If _that_ doesn't hasten her departure, nothing will!)

Quite useless! Lady Lundie holds her ground. Having heardabsolutely nothing of her relatives for the last six months, sheis burning with curiosity to hear more. There is a name she hasnot mentioned yet. She places a certain constraint upon herself,and mentions it now.

"And Sir Patrick?" says her ladyship, subsiding into a gentlemelancholy, suggestive of past injuries condoned by Christianforgiveness. "I only know what report tells me. Did you meet withSir Patrick at Florence and Naples, also?"

Julius and his wife look at each other again. The clock in thehall strikes. Julius shudders. Lady Holchester's patience beginsto give way. There is an awkward pause. Somebody must saysomething. As before, Lady Holchester replies "Sir Patrick wentabroad, Lady Lundie, with his niece and her husband; and SirPatrick has come back with them."

"In good health?" her ladyship inquires.

"Younger than ever," Lady Holchester rejoins.

Lady Lundie smiles satirically. Lady Holchester notices thesmile; decides that mercy shown to _this_ woman is mercymisplaced; and announces (to her husband's horror) that she hasnews to tell of Sir Patrick, which will probably take hissister-in-law by surprise.

Lady Lundie waits eagerly to hear what the news is.

"It is no secret," Lady Holchester proceeds--"though it is onlyknown, as yet to a few intimate friends. Sir Patrick has made animportant change in his life."

Lady Lundie's charming smile suddenly dies out.

"Sir Patrick is not only a very clever and a very agreeable man,"Lady Holchester resumes a little maliciously; "he is also, in allhis habits and ways (as you well know), a man younger than hisyears--who still possesses many of the qualities which seldomfail to attract women."

Lady Lundie starts to her feet.

"You don't mean to tell me, Lady Holchester, that Sir Patrick ismarried?"

"I do."

Her ladyship drops back on the sofa; helpless really and trulyhelpless, under the double blow that has fallen on her. She isnot only struck out of her place as the chief woman of thefamily, but (still on the right side of forty) she is sociallysuperannuated, as The Dowager Lady Lundie, for the rest of herlife!

"At his age!" she exclaims, as soon as she can speak.

"Pardon me for reminding you," Lady Holchester answers, "thatplenty of men marry at Sir Patrick's age. In his case, it is onlydue to him to say that his motive raises him beyond the reach ofridicule or reproach. His marriage is a good action, in thehighest sense of the word. It does honor to _him,_ as well as tothe lady who shares his position and his name."

"A young girl, of course!" is Lady Lundie's next remark.

"No. A woman who has been tried by no common suffering, and whohas borne her hard lot nobly. A woman who deserves the calmer andthe happier life on which she is entering now."

"May I ask who she is?"

Before the question can be answered, a knock at the house doorannounces the arrival of visitors. For the third time, Julius andhis wife look at each other. On this occasion, Julius interferes.

"My wife has already told you, Lady Lundie, that we expect Mr.and Mrs. Brinkworth to lunch. Sir Patrick, and the new LadyLundie, accompany them. If I am mistaken in supposing that itmight not be quite agreeable to you to meet them, I can only askyour pardon. If I am right, I will leave Lady Holchester toreceive our friends, and will do myself the honor of taking youinto another room."

He advances to the door of an inner room. He offers his arm toLady Lundie. Her ladyship stands immovable; determined to see thewoman who has supplanted her. In a moment more, the door ofentrance from the hall is thrown open; and the servant announces,"Sir Patrick and Lady Lundie. Mr. and Mrs. Arnold Brinkworth."

Lady Lundie looks at the woman who has taken her place at thehead of the family; and sees--ANNE SILVESTER!

End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Man and Wife, by Wilkie Collins