s
house. And it amounted to this, that he intended to give her up to
another man,--he who had given such proof of his love,--he, of whom
she knew that this was a question of almost life and death,--because
in looking into his face she had met there the truth of his heart!
Since that first avowal, made before Gordon had come,--made at a
moment when some such avowal from her was necessary,--she had spoken
no word as to John Gordon. She had endeavoured to show no sign. She
had given herself up to her elder lover, and had endeavoured to
have it understood that she had not intended to transfer herself
because the other man had come across her path again like a flash of
lightning. She had dined in company with her younger lover without
exchanging a word with him. She had not allowed her eyes to fall upon
him more than she could help, lest some expression of tenderness
should be seen there. Not a word of hope had fallen from her lips
when they had first met, because she had given herself to another.
She was sure of herself in that. No doubt there had come moments in
which she had hoped--nay, almost expected--that the elder of the two
might give her up; and when she had felt sure that it was not to be
so, her very soul had rebelled against him. But as she had taken
time to think of it, she had absolved him, and had turned her anger
against herself. Whatever he wanted,--that she believed it would be
her duty to do for him, as far as its achievement might be in her
power.

She came round and put her arm upon him, and looked into his face.
"Don't go to London. I ask you not to go."

"Why should I not go?"

"To oblige me. You pretend to have a secret, and refuse to say why
you are going. Of course I know."

"I have written a letter to say that I am coming."

"It is still lying on the hall-table down-stairs. It will not go to
the post till you have decided."

"Who has dared to stop it?"

"I have. I have dared to stop it. I shall dare to put it in the fire
and burn it. Don't go! He is entitled to nothing. You are entitled
to have,--whatever it is that you may want, though it is but such a
trifle."

"A trifle, Mary!"

"Yes. A woman has a little gleam of prettiness about her,--though
here it is but of a common order."

"Anything so uncommon I never came near before."

"Let that pass; whether common or uncommon, it matters nothing. It is
something soft, which will soon pass away, and of itself can do no
good. It is cont