_my_ triumph; for I told
her, and to her face, that once more we were equals. It was then, stung
by this taunt, that she refused to travel with me, refused to accept the
splendid dowry to which her betrothal entitled her, and demanded to be
restored to her family and friends, poor as she had left them. It was
then that I resolved on this bold step. I had long been learning the
falsehood of what are called friends, and how he who would achieve
fortune must trust to himself alone. Midchekoff might not love me, but
there was much in my power to secure his esteem. My head could be as
fertile in schemes as his own. I had seen much and heard more. The
petty plottings of the Heidendorf and the darker counsels of the Abbe
D'Esmonde were all known to me--"

"You did not dare to write my name?" asked the priest, in a slow,
deliberate voice.

"And why should I not?" cried she, haughtily. "Is it fear, or is it
gratitude should hold my hand?"

"You forget the past, Lola, or you had never said these words."

"I remember it but as a troubled dream, which I will not suffer to
darken my waking hours. At last I begin to live, and never till now have
I known the sensation of being above fear."

"You told the Prince, then, of our relations together? You showed him my
letters and your own replies?" said D'Esmonde, as he fixed his dark eyes
upon her.

"All,--all!" said she, with a haughty smile.

"You, perhaps, told him that I had engaged you to write to me of all you
heard or saw at St Petersburg?"

"I said so, in a most unpolished phrase: I called myself a spy."

"You were probably not less candid when designating your friends, Lola,"
said D'Esmonde, with a faint smile. "How, pray, did you name _me_?"

"It was a better word,----one of cutting reproach, believe me," said
she. "I called you a 'priest,' sir; do you think there is another
epithet that can contain as much?"

"In the overflowing of those frank impulses, Lola, of course you spoke
of Norwood,--of Gerald Acton, I mean, as you may remember him better by
that name. You told the Prince of your marriage to this Englishman,--a
marriage solemnized by myself, and of which I retain the written
evidence."

"With the falsehood that for a brief moment imposed upon myself, I would
not stoop to cheat another! No, Eustace, this may be priestcraft. To
outlive a deception, and then employ it; to tremble at a fallacy first,
and to terrorize by means of it after, is excellent Popery,