ugham with Miss De Stancy.'

'My errand has failed!' said Somerset, turning on his heel. 'I'll walk
back to the town with you.'

However he did not walk far with Havill; society was too much at that
moment. As soon as opportunity offered he branched from the road by
a path, and avoiding the town went by railway to Budmouth, whence he
resumed, by the night steamer, his journey to Normandy.

XIII.

To return to Charlotte De Stancy. When the train had borne Somerset from
her side, and she had regained her self-possession, she became conscious
of the true proportions of the fact he had asserted. And, further, if
the telegram had not been his, why should the photographic distortion
be trusted as a phase of his existence? But after a while it seemed so
improbable to her that God's sun should bear false witness, that instead
of doubting both evidences she was inclined to readmit the first.
Still, upon the whole, she could not question for long the honesty of
Somerset's denial and if that message had indeed been sent by him, it
must have been done while he was in another such an unhappy state
as that exemplified by the portrait. The supposition reconciled all
differences; and yet she could not but fight against it with all the
strength of a generous affection.

All the afternoon her poor little head was busy on this perturbing
question, till she inquired of herself whether after all it might not
be possible for photographs to represent people as they had never been.
Before rejecting the hypothesis she determined to have the word of a
professor on the point, which would be better than all her surmises.
Returning to Markton early, she told the coachman whom Paula had sent,
to drive her to the shop of Mr. Ray, an obscure photographic artist in
that town, instead of straight home.

Ray's establishment consisted of two divisions, the respectable and the
shabby. If, on entering the door, the visitor turned to the left,
he found himself in a magazine of old clothes, old furniture, china,
umbrellas, guns, fishing-rods, dirty fiddles, and split flutes. Entering
the right-hand room, which had originally been that of an independent
house, he was in an ordinary photographer's and print-collector's
depository, to which a certain artistic solidity was imparted by a
few oil paintings in the background. Charlotte made for the latter
department, and when she was inside Mr. Ray appeared in person from the
lumber-shop adjoining, which,