t way, and the
means of attacking it are in possession of the Count. If I succeed in
wresting them from him, the object of your life and mine is fulfilled.
If I fail, the wrong that Laura has suffered will, in this world, never
be redressed."

"Do you fear failure yourself, Walter?"

"I dare not anticipate success, and for that very reason, Marian, I
speak openly and plainly as I have spoken now. In my heart and my
conscience I can say it, Laura's hopes for the future are at their
lowest ebb. I know that her fortune is gone--I know that the last
chance of restoring her to her place in the world lies at the mercy of
her worst enemy, of a man who is now absolutely unassailable, and who
may remain unassailable to the end. With every worldly advantage gone
from her, with all prospect of recovering her rank and station more
than doubtful, with no clearer future before her than the future which
her husband can provide, the poor drawing-master may harmlessly open
his heart at last. In the days of her prosperity, Marian, I was only
the teacher who guided her hand--I ask for it, in her adversity, as the
hand of my wife!"

Marian's eyes met mine affectionately--I could say no more. My heart
was full, my lips were trembling. In spite of myself I was in danger
of appealing to her pity. I got up to leave the room. She rose at the
same moment, laid her hand gently on my shoulder, and stopped me.

"Walter!" she said, "I once parted you both, for your good and for
hers. Wait here, my brother!--wait, my dearest, best friend, till
Laura comes, and tells you what I have done now!"

For the first time since the farewell morning at Limmeridge she touched
my forehead with her lips. A tear dropped on my face as she kissed me.
She turned quickly, pointed to the chair from which I had risen, and
left the room.

I sat down alone at the window to wait through the crisis of my life.
My mind in that breathless interval felt like a total blank. I was
conscious of nothing but a painful intensity of all familiar
perceptions. The sun grew blinding bright, the white sea birds chasing
each other far beyond me seemed to be flitting before my face, the
mellow murmur of the waves on the beach was like thunder in my ears.

The door opened, and Laura came in alone. So she had entered the
breakfast-room at Limmeridge House on the morning when we parted.
Slowly and falteringly, in sorrow and in hesitation, she had once
approached me. Now s