"I forgive!

Oh, you don't know; you would not say that, if you did. You do me good; you could make me good. I-I mean-I hardly know what I say, Mr Smith. No one ever talked to me like that before."

His hand was laid on hers for a moment.

66

It is you" But he got no further. The tables were turned upon her once more, and he had the best of it.

THERE is no need to make a mystery of Mr Smith's past life. He was neither a changeling, nor an impostor, nor one without right to his name and fortune.

He came honestly, of a comfortable, homely stock. He had been designed for a mercantile life, and people who knew nothing about him believed he had made his money in mercantile transactions. This, however, was not the case. It had been left him at so early an age that he had been able to reap the full benefit of it. He had been to Oxford, and travelled.

But, nevertheless, his life had a story.

When he spoke to Helen Tolleton about the Aytouns, he was anxious to discover whether it had ever reached her. He had got his present information about them from the newspapers. Under the heading "Fashionable Intelligence" this paragraph had arrested his attention: "Col. the Hon. Egerton Aytoun and Mrs Aytoun, from V the seat of the Duke of L- for Sauffrenden Castle, to be the guests of Lord and Lady Sauffrenden during Christmas."

He had not been able to read the announcement without emotion.

Emmeline Just, the gentle, beautiful girl, and Emmeline Aytoun, the sickly, dwining wife, meant the same person to him.

Twenty years ago he had been her suitor, and no unacceptable one. There was no grey in his temples then. He was black-haired, red and sunburnt, and though not tall, well formed and broad-shouldered. The singular sweetness of his voice, the charm of his manner, the nameless attraction which still, when he was stout, and grey, and fifty, drew people towards him, were in full play. He was in the meridian of life. A man with manhood's experience, manhood's maturity, manhood's deliberate self-knowledge; yet with the resolute, determined hope of youth.

He spoke, and was listened to.

Her parents approved the match, for he was rich and respectable, and they, the poor relations of a noble family. It would place Emmeline again in her proper sphere. It would help forward the boys. It would be a wonderful relief in every way.

They must not expect everything. He had brought money, and they must yield birth. Poor souls! They would gladly have sold their birthright for a mess of pottage.

Accordingly all went smoothly for a season. The wedding-day drew near. Presents, dresses, plate, furniture, all the pleasant bustle of the occasion pervaded the house.

Old Lady Just fell ill. She was to have been present. She had made a push to come, so delighted was she— were they all-with the match. A note came from her, so sorry, so vexed, to have to give it up, but the doctor had said she really must; and so, of course, there was no resisting that fiat. She should think of them all on the day, and hoped to be quite well, and down-stairs again by the time dear Emmeline and her dear new nephew came to the Towers. They would not, of course, think of putting it off. She wrote this two days before she died, and the wedding was put off for a month.

It was but a short delay, and the pleasant bustle continued to go on in undertones.

Then came Colonel Aytoun, with his high-sounding name, his sparkling uniform, his fair moustache; going to his review, listening to his band, hearing of his ball; and the old thing happened which happens over and over again.

Poor bride! How hard she strove to behave well, but

she had not the power. She had neither the force of character to conquer, nor the hypocrisy to pretend.

Her struggles, her dejection, her pining away, were too

evident.

What lover would not know what these things meant -his voice no longer the one to please, his smile a sting, his gifts coals of fire?

There was nothing to be done, no one to be angry with. All was quietly surrendered, the parents consoled,—it was he who had to console them--and thousands of miles put between himself and happiness.

Some years after, they met again. Four years, but how she was altered! The beauty was there, perhaps, but the life, the spirit of it was gone.

His brother officers said it was his doing. Every one knew what Eggy Aytoun was, the only wonder being that any parents would give their daughter to him. A regular riff. And yet he was as jealous of any one speaking to her as if he were a pattern husband. Nobody dared take notice of her. It was a pity she knocked under so much. A wife with a temper of her own might have tamed him, but she had no chance with such a fellow.

And then they all agreed that she was a poor thing; and danced as often as they possibly could with her on every opportunity, finding a delightful stimulation in the scowling face behind; and thoughtlessly, not cruelly, drawing down those black looks and words, from which they should have shielded her.

Colonel Aytoun was one who cared for nothing unless it were new. While it was new, it was all in all. His betrothed had been lovely, perfect, for a few weeks; the wedding-ring was scarcely on her finger before he found her insipid.

To his vanquished rival he magnanimously affirmed he bore no malice.

He was invited to the Abbey. Emmeline was set to ask him, and for her sake he went. Why his presence was desired was soon clear. He was a sheep to be shorn of its fleece. He had been robbed already of his one ewe-lamb, and now more was required.

He thought it over, and allowed himself to be swindled. Colonel Aytoun was rampant. He was not rich, but

over and above the pleasure of having these reinforcements to a short purse, it was a most delightful occupation of his talents to take in the man to whom he bore no malice.

It was charming to be able to tell Emmeline of the last rise he had taken out of that simpleton-her lamented bridegroom; to wonder how she had really not been rather ashamed of selecting such an imbecile, harmless though he was; to suppose that it might have been a case of "birds of a feather;" and then to grin and jeer at her with his smiling red lips, and bid her go and seek the society of such a congenial spirit, for he was sick of keeping company with babies out of long clothes.

O Emmeline, Emmeline !

It was for this he did it. He, the unforgiven the forgiving; the injured-the benefactor; the forsaken—the one friend; he was all she had to look to.

Pure, true heart, he did it for this! Loving and honouring still, yet faithful in its guard as an angel's guard, the heart was loyal, and the conscience clear.

He would never desert her while it was within his power. Colonel Aytoun might have his wretched hundreds-they were the price he was ready to pay. But his coarse companionship, his patronage, his affected friendliness, were harder to be borne.

And Mr Smith was not a man who took things easily. He never made-believe to himself. His charity might cover the multitude of sins, but he was perfectly aware they were there.

Some, perhaps, would have said there were good points about Colonel Aytoun. He did not believe there was one. In his heart he considered him the wickedest, worst, most disagreeable man he had ever met in his life.

And yet he stayed at the Abbey.

When he was not there, Emmeline was often months alone. She was not allowed to visit, and few people cared to visit her. Bold, doubtful ladies came now and then, her husband's friends; very, very rarely, ladies who were neither. These never came twice. They were scared by the strange ways of the house, overwhelmed by the monopolising attentions of the host in the first instance, and thunderstruck at the neglect which was sure to follow. The spiritless, timid wife gave them a chill. They breathed

freely only when the iron gates had clanged behind them, and then they vowed never to come again.

As for men, they were not invited, with the exception of Mr Smith. Colonel Aytoun was not clever enough to draw money from any one who was not prepared to let it go. He could not win at cards or at billiards, and he found it unprofitable to try.

He did not want associates, and assuredly no one wanted to associate with him. He was universally unpopular. Men as repulsive called him repulsive; men as needy sneered at his neediness. He was bad, and he was poor.

He was disliked on both accounts.

It gave Mr Smith an uncomfortable feeling to hear Miss Tolleton say she had stayed at the Abbey. At first, for Emmeline's sake. He was jealous of any one spying out the secrets of that prison-house. Old as his love-tale was, its dear inhabitant was as dear to him as ever; and as anxiously as ever would he shield her if he could, from the cold pity which the world bestows on those who are no longer able to adorn it.

But second thoughts soon came in. Miss Tolleton had owned to no acquaintanceship with Mrs Aytoun. She kept her room, no doubt, when they were there. But still, a young girl, staying in the house, it might surely have been expected she would find her way there.

Colonel Aytoun had been at the bottom of it. He had kept them apart-kept this pleasure from his dreary wife. Probably he had tried to make friends with Helen himself. If so, he thought he could tell with what result. Her high spirit would ill stand his fawning adulation.

She had repulsed him with contempt. He had been disgusted and defeated. It was no wonder that she had repudiated the idea of anything beyond the very slightest acquaintanceship.