ony?'

'Yes, it is his first name. I remember Arthur's laughing at him for
being ashamed of it, as he said.'

'That confirms it. I asked Edward if the Christian name was Percival,
and he said it was Antony, and some such name, but he could not be
sure.'

'Ah! there would be a confusion owing to his being always called Percy.'

'He said, too, that it was a good match for Miss Gardner, as he was heir
to an estate in Yorkshire.'

'Worthbourne! Then I am afraid it must be too true. The author, too!'

'So Edward was told.'

'I must write and ask John Martindale. He will be sure to know the whole
history.'

The rest of the visit and the homeward drive were like a dream. Violet
was lost in amazement, compassion, and disappointment, and in the debate
how Theodora should be informed. Should she wait till there were further
particulars to confirm it! But when she thought it over, there seemed no
more wanting. She knew that Percy had been thinking of visiting Italy a
year ago, and the name, the authorship, and connection with Worthbourne
swept away all doubt. As to making inquiries, she did not know Arthur's
present address; and even if she had had it, she would have shrunk from
saying anything that should lead to one additional conversation with
Mark Gardner; besides which, Arthur had a fashion of never answering any
question asked by letter.

Nor could Violet venture to delay. It was better that such tidings
should come from sympathizing lips than through the gossip of the
neighbourhood; and Theodora ought to be aware of them as soon as
possible, that she might no longer cherish the shade of her affection.
Alas! that he should have done this at the very moment when she had
truly become worthy of him, or, at least, of what he had once been!

At night, when Theodora came to linger over her fire, the intelligence
was reluctantly and hesitatingly spoken; Violet's eyes were bent down,
for she knew how little that spirit could brook that its suffering
should be marked.

Theodora stood up before her, at her full height, with flashing eye and
indignant voice: 'Do you think I believe it? No, indeed! I may have lost
him for ever, but he would never lose himself. I scorn this as I did
Jane Gardner's own story that you were going to marry him to your
sister. I knew you both too well.'

Violet put her arm round Theodora. 'Dearest, I am the more afraid that
we must believe this, because he was not always constant. He did think