her arms fell loosely downward, and shrinking to a pale heap in
the chair, she fainted quite away.

CHAPTER LXXIII.

THE TWO BROTHERS.

Ralph had been away from home since the day before Mabel was taken ill.
He had left suddenly, after a conversation with Agnes in the
breakfast-room; and, though the governess sat up till late at night,
anxious and watchful, he did not return. Thus it happened that Mrs.
Harrington was, for the time, left completely in the hands of her
servants.

But, where had Ralph gone, and why? To indulge in one strong passion,
and escape the meshes of another, the young man had left home. Spite of
her craft, and that consummate self-control that seemed incompatible
with her evil nature, Agnes had at last madly confessed her love to the
young man. It is possible that some kindly expression on his part might
have led to this unwomanly exposure, for Agnes had an amount of sullen
pride in her nature which would have kept her silent, had not some
misinterpreted word or action led her astray. Ralph's unfeigned
surprise, joined to the cold restraint with which he met her outgush of
passion, fell like cold lead upon her fiery nature. All that was bitter
and hard in her soul, rose up at once to resent the indignity which her
own uncurbed impulses had provoked. But, she was tenacious of an object
once aimed at; and, instead of the hope that had filled her life till
now, came a firm resolution, at any cost of truth or conscience, to win
a return of her love, even though it were to cast it back in bitter
retribution, for the shame under which she writhed.

This was a new source of distress to the young man, and he left home
really without any definite object, but to escape the society of a
person whose presence had become almost a reproach to him. He did not
speak of his departure to Mrs. Harrington, because its object was
indefinite in his own mind, and he had spent one night from home before
she was aware of his absence.

By some attraction, which we do not pretend to explain, the young man
went first to the house where he had seen Lina. He had no wish to enter
it, and shrunk painfully from the thought of seeing her again; but still
he lingered around the dwelling--left it--returned again, and could not
tear himself away, so tenacious and cruel was his object.

His object--true it was not love; now the very word seemed enough to
drive him mad. The unwelcome passion of one woman heaped upon the