ould go to
England?"

"He told me you only wanted an excuse."

"Oh!!"

"When he told me that, I caught at it, of course. It was all the world
to me to get my Rosa told by such a kind, good, sensible friend as you;
and, Mrs. Falcon, I had no scruple about troubling you, because I knew
the stones would sell for at least a thousand pounds more in England
than here, and that would pay your expenses."

"I see, sir; I see. 'Twas very natural: you love your wife."

"Better than my life."

"And he told you I only wanted an excuse to go to England?"

"He did, indeed. It was not true?"

"It was anything but true. I had suffered so in England; I had been so
happy here: too happy to last. Ah! well, it is all over. Let us think
of the matter in hand. Sure that was not the only letter you gave my
husband? Didn't you write to HER?"

"Of course I did; but that was enclosed to you, and not to be given to
her until you had broken the joyful news to her. Yes, Mrs. Falcon, I
wrote and told her everything: my loss at sea; how I was saved,
after, by your kindness. Our journeys, from Cape Town, and then to the
diggings; my sudden good fortune, my hopes, my joy--O my poor Rosa! and
now I suppose she will never get it. It is too cruel of him. I shall
go home by the next steamer. I CAN'T stay here any longer, for you or
anybody. Oh, and I enclosed my ruby ring that she gave me, for I thought
she might not believe you without that."

"Let me think," said Phoebe, turning ashy pale. "For mercy's sake, let
me think!

"He has read both those letters, sir.

"She will never see hers: any more than I shall see mine."

She paused again, thinking harder and harder.

"We must take two places in the next mail steamer. I must look after my
husband, AND YOU AFTER YOUR WIFE."

CHAPTER XXV.

Mrs. Falcon's bitter feeling against Dr. Staines did not subside; it
merely went out of sight a little. They were thrown together by potent
circumstances, and in a manner connected by mutual obligations; so
an open rupture seemed too unnatural. Still Phoebe was a woman, and,
blinded by her love for her husband, could not forgive the innocent
cause of their present unhappy separation; though the fault lay entirely
with Falcon.

Staines took her on board the steamer, and paid her every attention. She
was also civil to him; but it was a cold and constrained civility.

About a hundred miles from land the steamer stopped, and the passengers
soon