t of Spain."

And so Arthur soon settled down again into the easy tenor of Madeira
life. He now scarcely made a pretence of living at the hotel, since,
during their cruise, Mildred had had a pavilion which stood in the
garden luxuriously set up for his occupation. Here he was happy enough
in a dull, numb way, and, as the days went on, something of the old
light came back to his eyes, and his footfall again grew quick and
strong as when it used to fall in the corridors of the Abbey House. Of
the past he never spoke, nor did Mildred ever allude to Angela after
that conversation at sea which had ended so strangely. She contented
herself with attempting to supplant her, and to a certain extent she
was successful. No man could have for very long remained obdurate to
such beauty and such patient devotion, and it is not wonderful that he
grew in a way to love her.

But there was this peculiarity about the affair--namely, that the
affection which he bore her was born more of her stronger will than of
his own feelings, as was shown by the fact that, so long as he was
actually with her and within the circle of her influence, her power
over him was predominant; but, the moment that he was out of her
sight, his thoughts would fall back into their original channels, and
the old sores would begin to run. However much, too, he might be
successful in getting the mastery of this troubles by day, at night
they would assert themselves, and from the constant and tormenting
dreams which they inspired he could find no means of escape.

For at least four nights out of every seven, from the moment that he
closed his eyes till he opened them again the morning, it would seem
to him that he had been in the company of Angela, under every possible
variety of circumstance, talking to her, walking with her, meeting her
suddenly or unexpectedly in crowded places or at dinner-parties--
always her, and no one else--till at last poor Arthur began to wonder
if his spirit took leave of his body in sleep and went to seek her,
and, what is more, found her. Or was it nothing but a fantasy? He
could not tell; but, at any rate, it was a fact, and it would have
been hard to say if it distressed or rejoiced him most.

Occasionally, too, he would fall into a fit of brooding melancholy
that would last him for a day or two, and which Mildred would find it
quite impossible to dispel. Indeed, when he got in that way, she soon
discovered that the only thing to do w