rove Lane, had
learnt something of the trouble that darkened her master's life. The
conversation led to a disclosure by Mary of all that had been confided
to her by Mr. Lord; the time had come for a fulfilment of her promise to
the dead man.

CHAPTER 6

Horace's letter Nancy sent by post to her husband, requesting him to let
her know his thoughts about it in writing before they again met. Of her
own feeling she gave no sign. 'I want you to speak of it just as if
it concerned a stranger, plainly and simply. All I need say is, that I
never even suspected the truth.'

Tarrant did not keep her long in suspense, and his answer complied in
reasonable measure with the desire she had expressed.

'The disclosure has, of course, pained you. Equally, of course, you wish
it were not necessary to let me know of it; you are in doubt as to
how it will affect me; you perhaps fear that I shall--never mind about
phrasing. First, then, a word on that point. Be assured once for all
that nothing external to yourself can ever touch the feeling which I now
have for you. "One word is too often profaned;" I will say simply that I
hold you in higher regard that any other human being.

'Try not to grieve, my dearest. It is an old story, in both senses.
You wish to know how I view the matter. Well, if a wife cannot love her
husband, it is better she should not pretend to do so; if she love
some one else, her marriage is at an end, and she must go. Simple
enough--provided there be no children. Whether it is ever permissible
for a mother to desert her children, I don't know. I will only say that,
in you yourself, I can find nothing more admirable than the perfect love
which you devote to your child. Forsake it, you could not.

'In short, act as feeling dictates. Your mother lives; that fact cannot
be ignored. In your attitude towards her, do not consult me at all;
whatever your heart approves, I shall find good and right. Only, don't
imagine that your feeling of to-day is final--I would say, make no
resolve; they are worth little, in any concern of life.

'Write to me again, and say when you wish to see me.

After reading this, Nancy moved about with the radiance of a great joy
on her countenance. She made no haste to reply; she let a day elapse;
then, in the silence of a late hour, took pen and paper.

'When do I wish to see you? Always; in every moment of my day. And yet I
have so far conquered "the unreasonable female"--do you r