r baby's death was the consequence, kept up
by the continued reports of his danger. Till that time she had prayed.
Then a sense that Heaven was unjust to her and her boy filled her with
grim rebellion, and she prayed no more; and Perrault, by his constant
return to the subject and speculations on it, kept her mind on it far
more.

But Alured lived, and every time she saw him she half hated him, half
loved him; hated him as standing in her son's light, loved him because
she could not help loving Trevor's shadow.

That day, when Emily met them--it had been a sudden impulse--Alured had
been talking to her about his plans for Trevor's birthday; and, as he
spoke of that street, the wild thought came over her how easily a fever
might yet sweep him away. And yet she says, all down the street, she
was trying to persuade herself to forget Emily's warning, and to
disbelieve in the infection. After all, she thought, even if she had
not met Emily, she should have made some excuse for turning back, such
a pitiful thought came of the fair, fresh face flushing and dying.

But it was prevented, only it left fruits; for Perrault had heard what
passed between her and Trevorsham. "Did you take him to the shop?" he
asked. And when she mentioned Miss Deerhurst's reminder, he said, "Ah!
that game wants skill and coolness to carry it out."

She says that was almost all that passed in so many words; but from
that time she never doubted that Perrault would take any opportunity of
occasioning danger to Trevorsham; and, strange to say, she lived in a
continued agony, half of hope, half of terror and grief and pity, her
longing for Trevor's promotion, balanced by the thought of the grief he
would suffer for his friend. Any time those five years she told me she
thought that had she seen Perrault hurting him, she should have rushed
between to save him; and yet in other moods, when she planned for her
son, she would herself have done anything to sweep Alured from his path.

And the frequent discussion with Perrault of plans depending on the
possession of the Trevorsham property, kept the consciousness of his
purpose before her, and as debt and desperation grew, she was more and
more sure of it.

That last day, when Trevor had been driven away, lamenting his
inability to go out duck shooting, Perrault had quietly said in the
late evening, "I shall take a turn in the salt marshes
to-night--opportunities may offer."

The wretch! Fulk thin