zgerald of the forties,
who had been old Blackwater's <i>chere amie</i> before she married him, and,
as Lady Blackwater, had sacrificed her innocent and defenceless
step-daughter to one of her own lovers, in order to secure for him the
step-daughter's fortune--black and dastardly deed!

Was it all part of the general growth and concentration that any shrewd
observer might have read in William Ashe?--the pressure--enormous,
unseen--of the traditional English ideals, English standards, asserting
itself at last in a brilliant and paradoxical nature? It had been
so--conspicuously--in the case of one of his political predecessors.
Lord Melbourne had begun his career as a person of idle habits and
imprudent adventures, much given to coarse conversation, and unable to
say the simplest thing without an oath. He ended it as the man of
scrupulous dignity, tact, and delicacy, who moulded the innocent youth
of a girl-queen, to his own lasting honor and England's gratitude. In
ways less striking, the same influence of vast responsibilities was
perhaps acting upon William Ashe. It had already made him a sterner,
tougher, and--no doubt--a greater man.

The defection of William only left Kitty, it seemed, still more greedy
of things to see and do. Innumerable sacristans opened all possible
doors and unveiled all possible pictures. Bellini succeeded Tintoret,
and Carpaccio Bellini. The two sable gondoliers wore themselves out in
Kitty's service, and Margaret's kind, round face grew more and more
puzzled and distressed. And whence this strange impression that the
whole experience was a <i>flight</i> on Kitty's part?--or, rather, that
throughout it she was always eagerly expecting, or eagerly escaping from
some unknown, unseen pursuer? A glance behind her--a start--a sudden
shivering gesture in the shadows of dark churches--these things
suggested it, till Margaret herself was caught by the same suppressed
excitement that seemed to be alive in Kitty. Did it all point merely to
some mental state--to the nervous effects of her illness and her loss?

When they reached home about five o'clock, Kitty was naturally tired
out. Margaret put her on the sofa, gave her tea, and tended her, hoping
that she might drop asleep before dinner. But just as tea was over, and
Kitty was lying curled up, silent and white, with that brooding look
which kept Margaret's anxiety about her constantly alive, there was a
sudden sound of voices in the anteroom outsid