ruggle.
She implored him, on her very knees, to show her a little mercy in
return for all her love. "For pity's sake, leave me!" she cried. "You
are strong, and I am weak. You can end it forever, and pray do. You
don't want me; you don't value me: then, leave me, once and for all, and
end this hell you keep me in."

No; he could not, or he would not, leave her alone. Look at a bird's
wings!--how like an angel's! Yet so vile a thing as a bit of birdlime
subdues them utterly; and such was the fascinating power of this mean
man over this worthy woman. She was a reader, a thinker, a model
of respectability, industry, and sense; a businesswoman, keen and
practical; could encounter sharp hands in sharp trades; could buy or
sell hogs, calves, or beasts with any farmer or butcher in the country,
yet no match for a cunning fool. She had enshrined an idol in her heart,
and that heart adored it, and clung to it, though the superior head saw
through it, dreaded it, despised it.

No wonder three years of this had drawn a tell-tale wrinkle across the
polished brow.

Phoebe Dale had not received a letter for some days; that roused her
suspicion and stung her jealousy; she came up to London by fast train,
and down to Gravesend directly.

She had a thick veil that concealed her features; and with a little
inquiring and bribing, she soon found out that Mr. Falcon was there with
a showy dogcart. "Ah!" thought Phoebe, "he has won a little money at
play or pigeon-shooting; so now he has no need of me."

She took the lodgings opposite him, but observed nothing till this very
morning, when she saw him throw off his dressing-gown all in a hurry and
fling on his coat. She tied on her bonnet as rapidly, and followed him,
until she discovered the object of his pursuit. It was a surprise to
her, and a puzzle, to see another man step in, as if to take her
part. But as Reginald still followed the loitering pair, she followed
Reginald, till he turned and found her at his heels, white and lowering.

She confronted him in threatening silence for some time, during which he
prepared his defence.

"So it is a LADY this time," said she, in her low, rich voice, sternly.

"Is it?"

"Yes, and I should say she is bespoke--that tall, fine-built gentleman.
But I suppose you care no more for his feelings than you do for mine."

"Phoebe," said the egotist, "I will not try to deceive you. You have
often said you are my true friend."

"And I think I