y it is."

"You have seen him, I suppose?"

"Oh yes; I have seen him."

Percy was short in his speech, and pale as Robert had never seen him
before. He requested hastily to be told the situation of Lord Elling's
pew.

"Don't you think of going into the gallery?" said Robert, but received
no answer, and with an inward moan of "Good God! they'll think I've come
here in a sort of repentance," he found himself walking down the aisle;
and presently, to his amazement, settled in front of the Fairly pew, and
with his eyes on Mrs. Lovell.

What was the matter with her? Was she ill? Robert forgot his own
tribulation in an instant. Her face was like marble, and as she stood
with the prayer-book in her hand, her head swayed over it: her lips made
a faint effort at smiling, and she sat quietly down, and was concealed.
Algernon and Sir John Capes were in the pew beside her, as well as Lady
Elling, who, with a backward-turned hand and disregarding countenance,
reached out her smelling-bottle.

"Is this because she fancies I know of her having made a bet of me?"
thought Robert, and it was not his vanity prompted the supposition,
though his vanity was awakened by it. "Or is she ashamed of her
falsehood?" he thought again, and forgave her at the sight of her sweet
pale face. The singing of the hymns made her evident suffering seem holy
as a martyr's. He scarce had the power to conduct himself reverently, so
intense was his longing to show her his sympathy.

"That is Mrs. Lovell--did you see her just now?" he whispered.

"Ah?" said Major Waring.

"I'm afraid she has fainted."

"Possibly."

But Mrs. Lovell had not fainted. She rose when the time for rising came
again, and fixing her eyes with a grave devotional collectedness upon
the vicar at his reading-desk, looked quite mistress of herself--but
mistress of herself only when she kept them so fixed. When they moved,
it was as if they had relinquished some pillar of support, and they
wavered; livid shades chased her face, like the rain-clouds on a grey
lake-water. Some one fronting her weighed on her eyelids. This was
evident. Robert thought her a miracle of beauty. She was in colour like
days he had noted thoughtfully: days with purple storm, and with golden
horizon edges. She had on a bonnet of black velvet, with a delicate
array of white lace, that was not suffered to disturb the contrast to
her warm yellow hair. Her little gloved hands were both holding the
book; at tim