least so, because I can now soon redeem a
promise I made you. Not a word; that
must be. The tablet.—Has it yet been placed
in the church?"

"It has not."

He looked displeased—the first time he
had ever so looked to me.

"May I ask the reason?"

"The reason I could offer would not satisfy
you."

"Of course, a boyish one. We will talk
definitely about it when I see you in
Devonshire."

"You are going there, then?"

"And uninvited by you? Yes, in the
autumn. You have not yet seen Mrs. Heseldine,
and her niece, Miss Mansell?"

"I have not."

"True. Mrs. Heseldine has bought the
hall in the vale. You will be near neighbours.
She may amuse you. She has picked
up a great deal in the world; and, prizing it,
always carries it about with her. Some may
doubt whether it is worth the carriage."

"And her niece?" I asked, my curiosity a
little excited.

"Is one to increase that doubt. When
you get back to Westwood House, look at the
portrait of your mother—the early one, by
Jackson. Alice Mansell's likeness to it is,
believe me, remarkable."

After some further talk, he left me.

There was something in Garston's general
bearing, and in the tone of his voice, that
grated upon me. He was not happy; but
he did not despair of happiness. On the
contrary, he was devising means to attain it.
Time had wrought in him a conviction that
his sin would never stand revealed to the eyes
of men. He knew not that there was already
one who, at a word, could give him up to
infamy and death. I never before was so
appalled at contemplating the power that had
been placed in my hands. To make use of
it while my mother lived was out of the
question. Since her death, it would have
appeared vindictive. It would have displayed
an ostentation of a love of abstract justice
that would have brought the contempt, even
of good men, upon me. But now? Here was
an amiable and gentle girl—a counterpart
of my mother in her youth; who by that
resemblance of person and, it might be, of
mind and manner, had engaged Garston's
sympathies, and perhaps inspired his love? I
almost wonder that this circumstance had
not softened my heart towards him; but he
had sharpened recollections that often visited
me in sleep, and sometimes haunted me by
day. I became greatly interested about Miss
Mansell. He must not marry her.

In due time my wife and I were settled at
Westwood House. Mrs. Heseldine had
entered upon possession of the Hall, and was
resolved to celebrate that event by gaieties
to which all the neighbouring gentry were
invited. I found that Lord Walford's
compendious description of her was accurate.
She was a slave to the usages of what her
class call "the world," and a servile retailer of
the opinions and sentiments by which those
usages are maintained.

Mrs. Heseldine took a liking to my wife
and me. We were young, recently married;
and with ductile minds, as she believed, that
might easily be made to receive impressions
which would fit us for "society." I
encouraged this friendly feeling to the extent
of assuring her that her labour of love was
not likely to be thrown away. I was the
more readily induced to this, from perceiving
that my wife and Miss Mansell had become
greatly attached to each other. Nor was
it long before I put in my claim to a share
of the girl's good opinion. Her likeness to
my mother was remarkable; but the softness
of her manners; her gentleness and pensiveness,
touched my feelings, and made me the
more strongly opposed to the contemplated
marriage.

This event was soon to take place. Miss
Mansell had imparted the expectation to my
wife.

"That my niece has been thought worthy
to replace your estimable mother," said Mrs.
Heseldine to me, "is an honour she may well
be proud of; although, perhaps, she
deserves it."

I forbore offering such felicitations as I
could perceive Mrs. Heseldine expected. I
ought to have known that any attempt
to break off the match by hints and innuendoes
would be a ridiculous waste of time; yet I
persisted in them. They came with a bad
grace from me, because of my former
connection with the subject of them. Mrs.
Heseldine listened to me with impatience,
perhaps with contempt.

"Has Lord Walford ever injured you?"
she asked, the last time we ever spoke of him.

I was silent.

"Your looks say that he has. If so, he
has injured himself more than you; for I
am sure he would not willingly injure
anybody. You are seeking to injure him, but
you harm yourself the most. I really have
no patience with you."

I was about to say something. She
interrupted me.

"For shame!" she resumed. "Lord Walford
has always spoken of you with the
utmost respect and affection. I can only
wonder at it."

When we have done for the best, and in
vain, we may sometimes feel ashamed of our
interference for a good end. I felt so in this
instance, but feigned to be deeply offended
with Mrs. Heseldine; and, much to my wife's
concern, forbade further visits to the Hall.
The marriage must take its course. I had
only to pray that it might be well with the
poor girl. My wife began to fear that there
was something between Lord Walford and
me that I durst not divulge. Meanwhile, the