he had bestowed
upon her,--while she, the moment that his back was turned, was
corresponding with Sir Francis Geraldine! That thought he could not
stand. She, in truth, had been greatly in error in her first view of
the character of Sir Francis Geraldine; but it must be a question
whether he was not so also. The baronet was a poor creature, but not
probably so utterly vile as he thought him. As he turned it all over
in his mind, while wandering to and fro, he came to the conclusion
that Mr. Gray was wrong, and that it was impossible that she who had
been the sharer of the thoughts of Sir Francis Geraldine, should now
remain to share his.

CHAPTER XV.

ONCE MORE AT EXETER.

Three weeks had passed and much had been done for Mrs. Western to fix
her fate in life. It was now August, and she was already living at
Exeter as a wife separated from her husband. Of much she had had to
think and much to determine before she had found that haven of rest.
Twice during the time she had received letters from her husband,
but each letter had been short, and, though not absolutely without
affection in its language, each letter had been absolutely obdurate.
He had been made quite sure that it was not for the benefit of either
of them that they should attempt to live together. Having come to
that decision, which he represented as unchangeable, he was willing,
he said, to do anything which she might demand for her future
satisfaction and comfort. "There is nothing you can do," she had said
when she had written last, "as you have refused to do your duty."
This had made him again angry. "What right had she to talk to me of
my duty seeing that she has so grossly neglected her own?" he said to
himself. Then he had suddenly gone from England, leaving no address
even with his sister or with his lawyer. But during this time his
mind was not quiet for one instant. How could she have treated him
so, him, who had been so absolutely devoted to her, who had so
entirely given himself up to her happiness?

Lady Grant, when she had heard what was to be done, had hurried up to
London but had not found them. She had gone to Exeter and there she
had in vain endeavoured to comfort Cecilia. She had declared that her
brother would in time forgive. But Cecilia's whole nature had by this
time apparently been changed. "Forgive!" she had said. "What will
he forgive? There is nothing that he can forgive; nothing that can
be spoken of in the same breat