w the
other down on the sofa beside him, "_You_ have your debt to acquit in
this matter as well as myself. I do not seek to know how or why or
upon whom. Your priestly craft need not be called into exercise. I
want nothing of your secrets; I only ask your counsel. That much in our
common cause you cannot refuse me. What shall I do in this affair? No
cant, no hypocritical affectation of Christian forgiveness, none of that
hackneyed advice that you dole out to your devotees; speak freely, and
like a man of the world. What is to be done here?"

"If the marriage admitted of dispute or denial, I should say disavow
it," said the priest "It is too late for this."

"Go on. What next?"

"Then comes the difficulty. To assert your own honor, you must begin by
a recognition of her as your wife. This looks rash, but I see no other
course. You cannot call Midchekoff to a reckoning on any other grounds.
Then comes the question, is such a woman worth fighting for? or must the
only consideration be the fact that she bears your name, and that she is
the Viscountess Norwood in every society she can enter? How is this to
be borne? The stricter code of England rejects such claimants altogether
from its circle; but on the Continent they are everywhere. Will it be
possible for you to live under this open shame?"

"Your advice is, then,----shoot him!" said Norwood; and he bent his eyes
fixedly on the priest as he spoke. "It is my own notion, also. If the
choice were open to me, D'Esmonde, I 'd rather have exacted the payment
of this debt from Onslow; I hated the fellow from my very heart. Not
that I owe this Russian any good will. We have more than once been on
the verge of a quarrel. It was not my fault if it went no further.
They say, too, that he has no taste for these things. If so, one must
stimulate his appetite, that's all!--eh, D'Esmonde? _Your_ countrymen
seldom need such provocations?"

"We have our faults, my Lord; but this is scarcely amongst their
number."

"You're right, D'Esmonde," said the other, pursuing his former line
of thought. "It's no petty penalty to exact from a fellow with fifty
thousand a year! I almost fancy I should have been a coward myself at
such a price!"

"You 'll have some difficulty in obtaining access to him, my Lord,"
remarked the Abbe. "He lives in strict privacy, and refuses admission to
every one."

"But a letter will reach him?"

"It may, or it may not; besides, it may come to hand, and yet