et, and
she brought me a letter she found in one of the pockets. I saw by the
date that it was one of those two which you received on the morning
of your departure. It contained the information that the divorce was
pronounced."

She spoke so quietly, so apparently without feeling or passion, that
Sir Francis was agreeably astonished. He should have less trouble in
throwing off the mask. But he was an ill-tempered man; and to hear
that the letter had been found to have the falseness of his fine
protestations and promises laid bare, did not improve his temper now.
Lady Isabel continued,--

"It would have been better to have undeceived me then; to have told me
that the hopes I was cherishing for the sake of the unborn child were
worse than vain."

"I did not judge so," he replied. "The excited state you then appeared
to be in, would have precluded your listening to any sort of reason."

Her heart beat a little quicker; but she stilled it.

"You deem that it was not in reason that I should aspire to be the wife
of Sir Francis Levison?"

He rose and began kicking at the logs; with the heel of his boot this
time.

"Well, Isabel, you must be aware that it is an awful sacrifice for a man
in my position to marry a divorced woman."

The hectic flushed into her thin cheeks, but her voice sounded calm as
before.

"When I expected or wished, for the 'sacrifice,' it was not for my
own sake; I told you so then. But it was not made; and the child's
inheritance is that of sin and shame. There he lies."

Sir Francis half turned to where she pointed, and saw an infant's cradle
by the side of the bed. He did not take the trouble to look at it.

"I am the representative now of an ancient and respected baronetcy," he
resumed, in a tone as of apology for his previous heartless words, "and
to make you my wife would so offend all my family, that--"

"Stay," interrupted Lady Isabel, "you need not trouble yourself to find
needless excuses. Had you taken this journey for the purpose of making
me your wife, were you to propose to do so this day, and bring a
clergyman into the room to perform the ceremony, it would be futile.
The injury to the child can never be repaired; and, for myself, I cannot
imagine any fate in life worse than being compelled to pass it with
you."

"If you have taken this aversion to me, it cannot be helped," he coldly
said, inwardly congratulating himself, let us not doubt, at being spared
the work of troubl