I FIND it impossible to describe my sensations while thecarriage was taking me to Major Fitz-David's house. I doubt,indeed, if I really felt or thought at all, in the true sense ofthose words.

From the moment when I had resigned myself into the hands of thechambermaid I seemed in some strange way to have lost my ordinaryidentity--to have stepped out of my own character. At other timesmy temperament was of the nervous and anxious sort, and mytendency was to exaggerate any difficulties that might placethemselves in my way. At other times, having before me theprospect of a critical interview with a stranger, I should haveconsidered with myself what it might be wise to pass over, andwhat it might be wise to say. Now I never gave my cominginterview with the Major a thought; I felt an unreasoningconfidence in myself, and a blind faith in _him_. Now neither thepast nor the future troubled me; I lived unreflectingly in thepresent. I looked at the shops as we drove by them, and at theother carriages as they passed mine. I noticed--yes, andenjoyed--the glances of admiration which chance foot-passengerson the pavement cast on me. I said to myself, "This looks wellfor my prospect of making a friend of the Major!" When we drew upat the door in Vivian Place, it is no exaggeration to say that Ihad but one anxiety--anxiety to find the Major at home.

The door was opened by a servant out of livery, an old man wholooked as if he might have been a soldier in his earlier days. Heeyed me with a grave attention, which relaxed little by littleinto sly approval. I asked for Major Fitz-David. The answer wasnot altogether encouraging: the man was not sure whether hismaster were at home or not.

I gave him my card. My cards, being part of my wedding outfit,necessarily had the false name printed on them--_Mrs. EustaceWoodville_. The servant showed me into a front room on theground-floor, and disappeared with my card in his hand.

Looking about me, I noticed a door in the wall opposite thewindow, communicating with some inner room. The door was not ofthe ordinary kind. It fitted into the thickness of the partitionwall, and worked in grooves. Looking a little nearer, I saw thatit had not been pulled out so as completely to close the doorway.Only the merest chink was left; but it was enough to convey to myears all that passed in the next room.

"What did you say, Oliver, when she asked for me?" inquired aman's voice, pitched cautiously in a low key.

"I said I was not sure you were at home, sir," answered the voiceof the servant who had let me in.

There was a pause. The first speaker was evidently MajorFitz-David himself. I waited to hear more.

"I think I had better not see her, Oliver," the Major's voiceresumed.

"Very good, sir."

"Say I have gone out, and you don't know when I shall be backagain. Beg the lady to write, if she has any business with me."

"Yes, sir."

"Stop, Oliver!"

Oliver stopped. There was another and longer pause. Then themaster resumed the examination of the man.

"Is she young, Oliver?"

"Yes, sir."

"And--pretty?"

"Better than pretty, sir, to my thinking."

"Aye? aye? What you call a fine woman--eh, Oliver?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Tall?"

"Nearly as tall as I am, Major."

"Aye? aye? aye? A good figure?"

"As slim as a sapling, sir, and as upright as a dart."

"On second thoughts, I am at home, Oliver. Show her in! show herin!"

So far, one thing at least seemed to be clear. I had done well insending for the chambermaid. What would Oliver's report of mehave been if I had presented myself to him with my colorlesscheeks and my ill-dressed hair?

The servant reappeared, and conducted me to the inner room. MajorFitz-David advanced to welcome me. What was the Major like?

Well, he was like a well-preserved old gentleman of, say, sixtyyears old, little and lean, and chiefly remarkable by theextraordinary length of his nose. After this feature, I noticednext his beautiful brown wig; his sparkling little gray eyes; hisrosy complexion; his short military whisker, dyed to match hiswig; his white teeth and his winning smile; his smart bluefrock-coat, with a camellia in the button-hole; and his splendidring, a ruby, flashing on his little finger as he courteouslysigned to me to take a chair.

"Dear Mrs. Woodville, how very kind of you this is! I have beenlonging to have the happiness of knowing you. Eustace is an oldfriend of mine. I congratulated him when I heard of his marriage.May I make a confession?--I envy him now I have seen his wife."

The future of my life was perhaps in this man's hands. I studiedhim attentively: I tried to read his character in his face.

The Major's sparkling little gray eyes softened as they looked atme; the Major's strong and sturdy voice dropped to its lowest andtenderest tones when he spoke to me; the Major's mannerexpressed, from the moment when I entered the room, a happymixture of admiration and respect. He drew his chair close tomine, as if it were a privilege to be near me. He took my handand lifted my glove to his lips, as if that glove were the mostdelicious luxury the world could produce. "Dear Mrs. Woodville,"he said, as he softly laid my hand back on my lap, "bear with anold fellow who worships your enchanting sex. You really brightenthis dull house. It is _such_ a pleasure to see you!"

There was no need for the old gentleman to make his littleconfession. Women, children, and dogs proverbially know byinstinct who the people are who really like them. The women had awarm friend--perhaps at one time a dangerously warm friend--inMajor Fitz-David. I knew as much of him as that before I hadsettled myself in my chair and opened my lips to answer him.

"Thank you, Major, for your kind reception and your prettycompliment," I said, matching my host's easy tone as closely asthe necessary restraints on my side would permit. "You have madeyour confession. May I make mine?"

Major Fitz-David lifted my hand again from my lap and drew hischair as close as possible to mine. I looked at him gravely andtried to release my hand. Major Fitz-David declined to let go ofit, and proceeded to tell me why.

"I have just heard you speak for the first time," he said. "I amunder the charm of your voice. Dear Mrs. Woodville, bear with anold fellow who is under the charm! Don't grudge me my innocentlittle pleasures. Lend me--I wish I could say _give_ me--thispretty hand. I am such an admirer of pretty hands! I can listenso much better with a pretty hand in mine. The ladies indulge myweakness. Please indulge me too. Yes? And what were you going tosay?"

"I was going to say, Major, that I felt particularly sensible ofyour kind welcome because, as it happens, I have a favor to askof you."

I was conscious, while I spoke, that I was approaching the objectof my visit a little too abruptly. But Major Fitz-David'sadmiration rose from one climax to another with such alarmingrapidity that I felt the importance of administering a practicalcheck to it. I trusted to those ominous words, "a favor to ask ofyou," to administer the check, and I did not trust in vain. Myaged admirer gently dropped my hand, and, with all possiblepoliteness, changed the subject.

"The favor is granted, of course!" he said. "And now, tell me,how is our dear Eustace?"

"Anxious and out of spirits." I answered.

"Anxious and out of spirits!" repeated the Major. "The enviableman who is married to You anxious and out of spirits? Monstrous!Eustace fairly disgusts me. I shall take him off the list of myfriends."

"In that case, take me off the list with him, Major. I am inwretched spirits too. You are my husband's old friend. I mayacknowledge to _you_ that our married life is just now not quitea happy one."

Major Fitz-David lifted his eyebrows (dyed to match his whiskers)in polite surprise.

"Already!" he exclaimed. "What can Eustace be made of? Has he noappreciation of beauty and grace? Is he the most insensible ofliving beings?"

"He is the best and dearest of men," I answered. "But there issome dreadful mystery in his past life--"

I could get no further; Major Fitz-David deliberately stopped me.He did it with the smoothest politeness, on the surface. But Isaw a look in his bright little eyes which said, plainly, "If you_will_ venture on delicate ground, madam, don't ask me toaccompany you."

"My charming friend!" he exclaimed. "May I call you my charmingfriend? You have--among a thousand other delightful qualitieswhich I can see already--a vivid imagination. Don't let it getthe upper hand. Take an old fellow's advice; don't let it get theupper hand! What can I offer you, dear Mrs. Woodville? A cup oftea?"

"Call me by my right name, sir," I answered, boldly. "I have madea discovery. I know as well as you do that my name is Macallan."

The Major started, and looked at me very attentively. His mannerbecame grave, his tone changed completely, when he spoke next.

"May I ask," he said, "if you have communicated to your husbandthe discovery which you have just mentioned to me?"

"Certainly!" I answered. "I consider that my husband owes me anexplanation. I have asked him to tell me what his extraordinaryconduct means--and he has refused, in language that frightens me.I have appealed to his mother--and _she_ has refused to explain,in language that humiliates me. Dear Major Fitz-David, I have nofriends to take my part: I have nobody to come to but you! Do methe greatest of all favors--tell me why your friend Eustace hasmarried me under a false name!"

"Do _me_ the greatest of all favors;" answered the Major. "Don'task me to say a word about it."

He looked, in spite of his unsatisfactory reply, as if he reallyfelt for me. I determined to try my utmost powers of persuasion;I resolved not to be beaten at the first repulse.

"I _must_ ask you," I said. "Think of my position. How can Ilive, knowing what I know--and knowing no more? I would ratherhear the most horrible thing you can tell me than be condemned(as I am now) to perpetual misgiving and perpetual suspense. Ilove my husband with all my heart; but I cannot live with him onthese terms: the misery of it would drive me mad. I am only awoman, Major. I can only throw myself on your kindness.Don't--pray, pray don't keep me in the dark!"

I could say no more. In the reckless impulse of the moment Isnatched up his hand and raised it to my lips. The gallant oldgentleman started as if I had given him an electric shock.

"My dear, dear lady!" he exclaimed, "I can't tell you how I feelfor you! You charm me, you overwhelm me, you touch me to theheart. What can I say? What can I do? I can only imitate youradmirable frankness, your fearless candor. You have told me whatyour position is. Let me tell you, in my turn, how I am placed.Compose yourself--pray compose yourself! I have a smelling-bottlehere at the service of the ladies. Permit me to offer it."

He brought me the smelling-bottle; he put a little stool under myfeet; he entreated me to take time enough to compose myself."Infernal fool!" I heard him say to himself, as he consideratelyturned away from me for a few moments. "If _I_ had been herhusband, come what might of it, I would have told her the truth!"

Was he referring to Eustace? And was he going to do what he wouldhave done in my husband's place?--was he really going to tell methe truth?

The idea had barely crossed my mind when I was startled by a loudand peremptory knocking at the street door. The Major stopped andlistened attentively. In a few moments the door was opened, andthe rustling of a woman's dress was plainly audible in the hall.The Major hurried to the door of the room with the activity of ayoung man. He was too late. The door was violently opened fromthe outer side, just as he got to it. The lady of the rustlingdress burst into the room.