carriage, took my place by her side, and we proceeded rapidly down the avenue. When we had passed through the lodge-gates, she gave a long spent breath, and said, with an evident effort,

"Who is that person, doctor?"

"That person, madam, is Mrs. Tremlett, the mother of the young man whom you desire, so earnestly, to become your son-in-law."

She made no reply, and leaned back; but as we entered the city, the glare of the gaslight fell on her, and I saw that the under lip was bitten until the blood nearly started, and her face was of a ghastly whiteness. But she alighted at her own house with perfect calmness; wished me good-night, politely apologizing for not asking me to descend, owing to the lateness of the hour -and all in her natural tone of voice. Wonderful woman! was my reflection: how is it possible that she should be mother to such a daughter?

CHAPTER V.

A COSTLY TRIUMPH.

Two or three days after this episode, a shrewd tradesman in that neighbourhood observed to me, "That is going to be a fine wedding in Square, of young Mr. Tremlett's: none of your cheap sixpenny doings."

"Are you sure it is to be?" I asked.

"Pretty certain; at least, as certain as we can be of anything. All I know is, sir, that if it does not come off, my men will be in possession the day after."

"The bailiffs, I suppose, you mean ?

"Yes, sir; and some others hereabouts are on the look-out. They don't mind a long score when they are sure of their money; but there will be very little cash there, and I've let the old lady

know that much, wishing to act fair and honour

able, and not spoil sport."

"And you expect Mr. Tremlett will be good

for it all, do Mr.

66

you,

?"

Why, sir, he wouldn't like his wife's mother to go to gaol, I take it.”

I walked back a good deal disheartened. So my little effort, from which I had expected such great things, had failed. Not, perhaps, that I had had much reason to look for success. One never likes to miss one's aim; but to fail when you interfere in other people's concerns, is particularly mortifying to corrupt nature. I could not forget the affair; and the more I thought of it, the more I felt concern.

I saw how futile any further attempts would be. I understood how irresistible, steady, and complete had been the pressure exercised; how thoroughly individual freedom had been extinguished; how artfully every consideration, natural and conventional, had been brought to bear in this unhappy business; the fear of that ruin to which reckless extravagance always

conducts; the stigma of that poverty which is of questionable origin; the difficult and isolated position of gentlewomen who are but slenderly provided for; the knowledge that the death of one cuts off even that moderate income; the dread of appearing to behave ill, or of being behaved ill to, the dread of all those who judge hastily, harshly, or narrowly; and, more perhaps than all, the sentiment of filial duty which not even an unprecedented unscrupulousness on the part of the mother had been able to annihilate; -surely these were motives strong enough to account for Marion's submission. It may be also there was in it a development of that spirit of martyrdom which, in the nature of some women, is urgent to make a sacrifice, even if it be on the altar of an unknown god. I protest that even now I am unable to decide whether Miss St. Maur acted rightly or wrongly. Who am I that I should judge another?

I was present at the ceremony-an unbidden guest. Mrs. Lackingham's face was of a composed and smiling iciness; the bridegroom

wore a demeanour which alternated between dread and triumph-the inward suspicion that all was not right-the outward victory, which seemed to proclaim that all was well. Old Mr. Tremlett was there, looking more aged, more hollow, and as pompous as ever. His eye seemed to have a vacant expression, and I thought from several trifles that his memory was failing him a little. Miss Carnegie was also by Marion; and in spite of all her efforts, her honest, kindly blue eyes filled too often and too visibly to be unnoticed.

Miss St. Maur was at first very pale; even her lips were whitened: but she caught my eye, and gave a sweet, yet pallid smile, which, if I read it aright, was an expression of gratitude and thanks that she was spared the presence of one white and wretched face to haunt her through the life which lay before her, and that to my entreaties she owed his absence.

As I have said, she was very pale; but after that recognition, a faint but fixed colour settled on her cheek. As the ceremony proceeded, I