lf she might fail me, and, although in my power, I cannot count
upon her. Think, then, of my joy at finding you, one on whose fidelity I
may hazard life itself. You can be all to me, and a thousand times more
than ever she could."

"Your spy," said the girl, steadily, but without the slightest semblance
of anger.

"My friend, my counsellor, my correspondent, Lola."

"And the price?"

"You may name it. If your heart be set on mere worldly distinction, I
will prove your marriage, and although Norwood is not rich, his country
never neglects the class he belongs to. Would you break the tie, the
bond is in my keeping."

"I never loved him," cried she, passionately, "and you knew it. The
marriage was one of those snares on which your mind never ceases to
dwell--"

"If you loved another, Lola--?" said he, interrupting, and then waiting
for her to finish her speech.

"And if I had," burst she forth, "am I credulous enough to fancy that
your word can reconcile every difference of rank and fortune,--that you
can control destiny, and even coerce affection? No, no, Eustace; I have
outlived all that!"

"Then were you wiser when you believed it," said he, gravely. "Now for
his name."

There was a tone of almost commanding influence in which these last few
words were uttered, and his dark full eyes were steadily fixed on her as
he spoke them.

She hesitated to answer, and seemed to reflect.

"I ask no forced confession, Lola," said he, proudly, and rising at the
same time from his seat "In all the unreserve of our old affection, I
told you _my_ secret; _yours_ is with yourself."

"But can you--" She stopped.

"I can, and I will aid you," said he, finishing her sentence.

"There is the name, then!" cried she, as, with a passionate gesture, she
drew a sealed letter from her bosom, and showed him the superscription.

D'Esmonde almost started; but, recovering himself in an instant, he
said,----

"The address is not correct, Lola. It should be thus--" And taking a
pen, he drew it across the last line on the cover, and wrote, instead,
"Dewanpore Barracks, Calcutta." "We must talk together this evening,"
said he, restoring the letter, and, without more, withdrew.

CHAPTER X. D'ESMONDE'S LETTER

It will spare the reader a somewhat lengthy digression if we give him
a peep at an extract from a letter written at this period by the Abbe
D'Esmonde to a friend and fellow priest in Ireland. It was written on
the very e