s afterwards, that as soon as I had told him of Geraldine's
identity, he, still thirsting to disbelieve, reluctant to condemn,
catching at straws to save his idol from being shattered as men in love
will do, had thrown himself across his horse and torn off to Fern Dell
to see whether or no Geraldine was at home.

His heart beat faster and thicker as he entered the drawing-room than it
had done before the lines at Ferozeshah, or in the giant semicircle at
Sobraon; it stood still as in the far end of the room, lying back on a
low chair, sat Geraldine, her gloves and sailor hat lying on her lap.
She sprang up to welcome him with her old gay smile.

"Good God! that a child like that can be such an accomplished actress!"
thought Fairlie, as he just touched her hand.

"Have you been out to-day?" he asked suddenly.

"You see I have."

"Prevarication is conviction," thought Fairlie, with a deadly chill over
him.

"Where did you go, love?" asked mamma.

"To see Adela Ferrers; she is not well, you know, and I came home
through part of the wood to gather some of the anemones; I don't mean
anemones, they are over--lilies of the valley."

She spoke hurriedly, glancing at Fairlie all the time, who never took
his iron gaze off her, though all the beauty and glory was draining away
from his life with every succeeding proof that stared him in the face
with its cruel evidence.

At that minute Lady Vane was called from the room to give some
directions to her head gardener about some flowers, over which she was
particularly choice, and Fairlie and Geraldine were left in dead
silence, with only the ticking of the timepiece and the chirrup of the
birds outside the open windows to break its heavy monotony.

Fairlie bent over a spaniel, rolling the dog backwards and forwards on
the rug.

Geraldine stood on the rug, her head on one side in her old pretty
attitude of plaintiveness and defiance, the bright sunshine falling
round her and playing on her gay dress and fair hair--a tableau lost
upon the Colonel, who though he had risen too, was playing sedulously
with the dog.

"Colonel Fairlie, what is the matter with you? How unkind you are
to-day!"

Fairlie was roused at last, disgusted that so young a girl could be so
accomplished a liar and actress, sick at heart that he had been so
deceived, mad with jealousy, and that devil in him sent courtesy flying
to the winds.

"Pardon me, Miss Vane, you waste your coquetteries on me. U