hat congregated
directly, and she left the street. But she soon came back again, and
waited about for Reginald Falcon.

It was night when he appeared. She seized him by the breast, and taxed
him with his villany.

What with her iron grasp, pale face, and flashing eyes, he lost his
cool impudence, and blurted out excuses. It was an old and unfortunate
connection; he would give the world to dissolve it, if he could do it
like a gentleman.

Phoebe told him to please himself: he must part with one or the other.

"Don't talk nonsense," said this man of brass; "I'll un-Falcon her on
the spot."

"Very well," said Phoebe. "I am going home; and, if you are not there by
to-morrow at noon"--She said no more, but looked a great deal. Then she
departed, and refused him her hand at parting. "We will see about that
by and by," said she.

At noon my lord came down to the farm, and, unfortunately for Phoebe,
played the penitent so skilfully for about a month, that she forgave
him, and loved him all the more for having so nearly parted with him.

Her peace was not to endure long. He was detected in an intrigue in the
very village.

The insult struck so home that Phoebe herself, to her parents'
satisfaction, ordered him out of the house at once.

But, when he was gone, she had fits of weeping, and could settle to
nothing for a long time.

Months had elapsed, and she was getting a sort of dull tranquillity,
when, one evening, taking a walk she had often with him, and mourning
her solitude and wasted affection, he waylaid her, and clung to
her knees, and shed crocodile tears on her hands, and, after a long
resistance, violent at first, but fainter and fainter, got her in his
power again, and that so completely that she met him several times by
night, being ashamed to be seen with him in those parts by day.

This ended in fresh promises of marriage, and in a constant
correspondence by letter. This pest knew exactly how to talk to a woman,
and how to write to one. His letters fed the unhappy flame; and, mind
you, he sometimes deceived himself, and thought he loved her; but it
was only himself he loved. She was an invaluable lover; a faithful,
disinterested friend; hers was a vile bargain; his, an excellent one,
and he clung to it.

And so they went on. She detected him in another infidelity, and
reproached him bitterly; but she had no longer the strength to break
with him. Nevertheless, this time she had the sense to make a st