re."

Not at all abashed by the rebuke, Ardworth said carelessly: "Well, I
shall talk to you again on that subject. Meanwhile, pray give my love to
her,--Helen, I mean."

Madame Dalibard half rose in her chair, then sank back again, motioning
with her hand to Ardworth to approach. Varney rose and walked to the
window, as if sensible that something was about to be said not meant for
his ear.

When Ardworth was close to her chair, Madame Dalibard grasped his
hand with a vigour that surprised him, and drawing him nearer still,
whispered as he bent down,--

"I will give Helen your love, if it is a cousin's, or, if you will, a
brother's love. Do you intend--do you feel--an other, a warmer love?
Speak, sir!" and drawing suddenly back, she gazed on his face with
a stern and menacing expression, her teeth set, and the lips firmly
pressed together.

Ardworth, though a little startled, and half angry, answered with the
low, ironical laugh not uncommon to him, "Pish! you ladies are apt to
think us men much greater fools than we are. A briefless lawyer is
not very inflammable tinder. Yes, a cousin's love,--quite enough.
Poor little Helen! time enough to put other notions into her head; and
then--she will have a sweetheart, gay and handsome like herself!"

"Ay," said Madame Dalibard, with a slight smile, "ay, I am satisfied.
Come soon."

Ardworth nodded, and hurried down the stairs. As he gained the door, he
caught sight of Helen at a distance, bending over a flower-bed in the
neglected garden. He paused, irresolute, a moment. "No," he muttered
to himself, "no; I am fit company only for myself! A long walk into the
fields, and then away with these mists round the Past and Future; the
Present at least is mine!"

CHAPTER V. THE WEAVERS AND THE WOOF.

"And what," said Varney,--"what, while we are pursuing a fancied clew,
and seeking to provide first a name, and then a fortune for this young
lawyer,--what steps have you really taken to meet the danger that
menaces me,--to secure, if our inquiries fail, an independence for
yourself? Months have elapsed, and you have still shrunk from advancing
the great scheme upon which we built, when the daughter of Susan
Mainwaring was admitted to your hearth."

"Why recall me, in these rare moments when I feel myself human
still,--why recall me back to the nethermost abyss of revenge and crime?
Oh, let me be sure that I have still a son! Even if John Ardworth, with
his gifts and e