achment which would
have been quite to her mind, if there was no loss of honor in allowing
it whilst she held a secret which, in all probability, would seem an
insuperable barrier in the eyes of Canon Pascal.

This secret she had kept resolutely in the background of her own memory,
conscious of its existence, but never turning her eyes towards it. The
fact that it was absolutely a secret, suspected by no one, made this
more possible; for there was no gleam of cognizance in any eye meeting
hers which could awaken even a momentary recollection of it. It seemed
so certain that her husband was dead to every one but herself, that she
came at last almost to believe that it was true.

And was it not most likely to be true? Through all these long years
there had come no hint to her in any way that he was living. She had
never seen or heard of any man lingering about her home where she and
her children lived, all whom Roland loved, and loved so passionately.
Certainly she had made no effort to discover whether he was yet alive;
but though it would be well for her if he was dead--a cause of rest
almost amounting to satisfaction--it was not likely that he would remain
content with unbroken and complete ignorance of how she and her children
were faring. If he had been living, surely he would have given her some
sign.

There was a terrible duty now lying in her path. Before she could give
her consent to Felix marrying Alice, she must ascertain positively if
her husband was dead. Should it be so, her secret was safe, and would
die with her. Nobody need ever know of this fraud, so successfully
carried out. But if not? Then she knew in herself that her lips could
never confess the sin in which she had shared; and nothing would remain
for her to do but to oppose with all the energy and persistence possible
the marriage either of her son or daughter. And she fully believed that
neither of them would marry against her will.

Her health had not permitted her hitherto to make the exertion necessary
for ascertaining this fact, on which her whole future depended--hers and
her children's. The physician whom she had consulted in London had urged
upon her the imperative necessity of avoiding all excitement and
fatigue, and had ordered her down to this dull little village of
Freshwater, where not even a brass band on the unfinished pier or the
arrival of an excursion steamer could disturb or agitate her. She had
nothing to do but to sit on th