oors of the different apartments, the social sound of
talk and laughter from the drawing-room. How could I bear my future
life! In this house, among those people--oh, how could I endure to live!
John just then entered the hall, and seeing me, told me he had been sent
in search of me, adding that he had taken in the tea, and master wished
to know if I were coming.

'Ask Mrs. Hattersley to be so kind as to make the tea, John,' said I.
'Say I am not well to-night, and wish to be excused.'

I retired into the large, empty dining-room, where all was silence and
darkness, but for the soft sighing of the wind without, and the faint
gleam of moonlight that pierced the blinds and curtains; and there I
walked rapidly up and down, thinking of my bitter thoughts alone. How
different was this from the evening of yesterday! That, it seems, was
the last expiring flash of my life's happiness. Poor, blinded fool that
I was to be so happy! I could now see the reason of Arthur's strange
reception of me in the shrubbery; the burst of kindness was for his
paramour, the start of horror for his wife. Now, too, I could better
understand the conversation between Hattersley and Grimsby; it was
doubtless of his love for her they spoke, not for me.

I heard the drawing-room door open: a light quick step came out of the
ante-room, crossed the hall, and ascended the stairs. It was Milicent,
poor Milicent, gone to see how I was--no one else cared for me; but she
still was kind. I shed no tears before, but now they came, fast and
free. Thus she did me good, without approaching me. Disappointed in her
search, I heard her come down, more slowly than she had ascended. Would
she come in there, and find me out? No, she turned in the opposite
direction and re-entered the drawing-room. I was glad, for I knew not
how to meet her, or what to say. I wanted no confidante in my distress.
I deserved none, and I wanted none. I had taken the burden upon myself;
let me bear it alone.

As the usual hour of retirement approached I dried my eyes, and tried to
clear my voice and calm my mind. I must see Arthur to-night, and speak
to him; but I would do it calmly: there should be no scene--nothing to
complain or to boast of to his companions--nothing to laugh at with his
lady-love. When the company were retiring to their chambers I gently
opened the door, and just as he passed, beckoned him in.

'What's to do with you, Helen?' said he. 'Why couldn't