"I trust him," said Lucy, scornfully, " and
would trust his word. Have you any slur to
throw on that?'

Every word of hers was a fresh stab. But
he could be calm.

"You should be sure, quite sure; are you
going to marry him?"

"Yes," said she, firmly.

"Years hence, I suppose? That is a long
time to wait."

"Years! In a few weeks—a few days,
perhaps, since you inquire."

"In a few days?" he repeated, wildly. " Take
care, take care, I conjure you. You do not
know what you are doing."

"I am growing tired of this," said Lucy; " I
am indeed. Leave me and my friends in peace.
This marked interest in me seems next to
hatred, and I don't want it. Nothing, nothing
you can do, will change me to Vivian. I tell
you now, my lot is cast with him for ever. He
has my whole heart; and no stories or detective
arts will change me."

He stood looking at her with a dull stare,
quite overwhelmed; and yet these were not the
real sentiments of this young girl. She spoke
in a sort of impulse; her words, and the
dramatic tone of the moment, carried her away.
She had only wished to make a warm protest.

"Then stay with him," he said, in a sort of
fury, " and keep; and never will I interfere,
whatever happens. On your own head be it.
Cast your lot with him; love him, then. I
have done with it. I have done with you.
Leave me now; leave me at once. Go away
from me! I do not wish to see you again!
Go!"

She was shocked at the change that had come
over him, and, for the first time, it seemed to
her that he was ill. Again she was the old
Lucy, and compassionate grief for his piteous
state overwhelmed her, and she went over to
him.

"I don't know how to express what I mean.
I did not mean to wound; but if I could only
explain! What have I done? You know
yourself—you must recollect what you agreed on—
that if I did not find in time that I could love
you. You remember that; and I cannot help
loving him."

"Go away—go away!" he said, starting up
fiercely. " Are you doing this on purpose?
Do you want to make me mad? Go away, I
conjure you."

She went sorrowfully, terror-stricken. As
she came out, she was confronted on the landing
by a tall prominent figure, who lifted her
arms, and said, in a half-whisper, as she passed
her by:

"God, in his almighty vengeance, punish
you for this; and He will!"

CHAPTER XXIII. THE BEAUFORTS.

Fitful, fevered, troubled days those were
for the actors in this crisis. The hours seeming
to fly by for Lucy, so much had she on
her little mind. The colony was vastly
entertained—full of expectancy as to how things
would really turn out. There was so much to
turn out; and everything, be it remembered,
must be determined within a week or so. Clouds,
indeed, were gathering; the air was heavy;
and in the mean time preparations for Mr.
Guernsey Beaufort's grand entertainment, to
which the mayor and prefect even was coming,
went on. The host was pronounced " a delightful,
agreeable fellow," who, with no airs, was up
there superintending decorations, which the
confiding upholsterer was putting up. That
poor craftsman had sent away orders, and was
getting all sorts of things down from Paris.
Twenty years later we should have heard him
warning his children against the English—
warning them, too, in a miserable little shop, in
a smaller town than Dieppe. Thoughtful people
would have remarked the curious change which
a few weeks' "training," as Captain Filby called
it, had wrought in the young Mrs. Wilkinson,
the pretty rustic. " She's in good hands, my
boy," the same judge of men and manners
remarked. And yet Mr. Ernest Beaufort, to
eyes of more skill and experience, would have
seemed " a bad style of man," with rather inferior
manners, and no air of refinement or breeding
about him. But to the foolish " young thing"
from a country parish he seemed the pink of
gentility, and perfection itself.

A change, too, had come over Mr. Wilkinson,
her husband. From being a " soft," good-
natured "slob" of a man, a "thorough ass," as
Mr. Blacker and some of his young men called
him—a " niais," as he seemed to the Frenchmen
—he had come to take airs. He went about
with importance, and was admitted into the
sort of council of the place, composed of Mr.
Blacker, Mr. Beaufort, and some more. They
consulted him a good deal, as representing the
money interest. But the worst change of all
was the change of relationship between the
husband and wife, which now began to be
noticed by not a few. To Captain Filby it was
a special source of enjoyment.

"I was just behind them," he said, " and
they didn't see me; and they were at it ding
dong. She gave it to him up and down, sir.
' Don't interfere with me; you nave no right to
do it, and I won't put up with it. Every one is
laughing at you, if you only could see it.'
Then, sir, he blew up. ' You shouldn't speak
to me in that way; it's very improper, and I
won't have it.' ' You won't have it!' says she,
with the most spiteful little laugh you ever
heard in the whole course of your life, sir. Oh,
it will come to something presently, mark my
words; it's as good as a stall at Drury Lane,
sir."

These " tiffs " had nothing to do with. Mr.
Ernest Beaufort's attentions. Things would
have been in a healthier state had such been
the case. But the dull man, in his own
conceit, thought she was the attraction of the
party, and considered, by a curious infatuation,
that Mr. Beaufort's homage was indirectly
addressed to him—to his worth, standing, &c.