sound of
wheels sent her to the window to see that a conveyance at least fairly
comfortable had been found for them. Her bonnet and wraps were already
on.

"Are you coming?" she said to the other abruptly. "I shall start in five
minutes."

"For Heaven's sake, more time, my dear. I have not changed my dress yet.
I suppose I cannot let you go alone, I should not feel happy about it,
and your father would never forgive me in the world."

A half smile of contempt touched the girl's lips. Mrs. Eveleigh knew
what was for her own comfort too well to get herself out of Mr. Royal's
good graces, and not to be devoted to his daughter would have been to
him the unpardonable sin. But nobody would have been more astonished
than this same lady to be told that she had not a thoroughly
conscientious care of Elizabeth. She combined duty and interest as
skilfully as the most Cromwellian old Presbyter among her ancestors.

In the hall Elizabeth met her hostess.

"May I speak to Katie?" she asked timidly.

Mrs. Archdale hesitated a moment, nodded in silence and went on to the
library, the girl following. Mr. Archdale was there, and the Colonel and
his wife. Stephen sat by the great chair in which Katie was propped,
holding her hand and sometimes speaking softly to her, or looking into
her face with eyes that gave no comfort. Elizabeth seemed to see no one
but her friend, she went up to the chair, and said to her softly,
pleadingly,

"Good by, Katie."

But Katie turned away her head.

The door closed, Elizabeth had gone.

CHAPTER IX.

FORECASTINGS.

Gerald Edmonson, Esquire, and Lord Bulchester drove leisurely through
the streets of the London of 1743. They found in it that same element
that makes the fascination of the London of to-day; for the streets,
dim, narrower, and less splendid than now, were full of this same charm
of human life, and yet, human isolation. Then, as now, might a man
wander homeless and lost, or these grim houses might open their doors to
him and reveal the splendors beyond them; and whether he were desolate,
or shone brilliant as a star depended upon so many chances and changes
that this Fortune's-Wheel drew him toward itself like a magnet.

"I tell you," said Edmonson to his companion as they went along, "there
is not a shadow of a chance for me. When a woman says, 'no,' you can
tell by her eyes if she means it, and if there had been the least sign
of relenting or a possibility of it in La