-those you left here when you went to England--you will
have the goodness to order Pierre to take away this afternoon. And now,
Sir Francis, I believe that is all: we will part."

"To remain mortal enemies from henceforth? Is that to be it?"

"To be strangers," she replied, correcting him. "I wish you a good day."

"So you will not even shake hands with me, Isabel?"

"I would prefer not."

And thus they parted. Sir Francis left the room, but not immediately
the house. He went into a distant apartment, and, calling the servants
before him--there were but two--gave them each a year's wages in
advance--"That they might not have to trouble miladi for money," he said
to them. Then he paid a visit to the landlord, and handed him, likewise
a year's rent in advance, making the same remark. After that, he ordered
dinner at a hotel, and the same night he and Pierre departed on their
journey home again, Sir Francis thanking his lucky star that he had so
easily got rid of a vexatious annoyance.

And Lady Isabel? She passed her evening alone, sitting in the same
place, close to the fire and the sparks. The attendant remonstrated that
miladi was remaining up too late for her strength, but miladi ordered
her and her remonstrances into an adjoining room.

When Lady Isabel lay down to rest, she sank into a somewhat calmer sleep
than she had known of late; also into a dream. She thought she was back
at East Lynne--not _back_, in one sense, but that she seemed never to
have gone away from it--walking in the flower garden with Mr. Carlyle,
while the three children played on the lawn. Her arm was within her
husband's, and he was relating something to her. What the news was, she
could not remember afterward, excepting that it was connected with the
office and old Mr. Dill, and that Mr. Carlyle laughed when he told it.
They appeared to be interrupted by the crying of Archibald; and, in
turning to the lawn to ask what was the matter, she awoke. Alas! It was
the actual crying of her own child which awoke her--this last child--the
ill-fated little being in the cradle beside her. But, for a single
instant, she forgot recent events and doings, she believed she was
indeed in her happy home at East Lynne, a proud woman, an honored wife.
As recollection flashed across her, with its piercing stings, she gave
vent to a sharp cry of agony, of unavailing despair.

CHAPTER XXVI.

ALONE FOR EVERMORE.

A surprise awaited Lady Isabel Vane. It