the unhappy lady, stung by what she considered
the assurance of a hardened hypocrisy--"do not affect this haughty
superiority; it dupes me no longer. I was your slave while I loved you:
the tie is broken. I am free, and I hate and scorn you! Mercenary and
sordid as you are, your baseness of spirit revives the differences of
our rank. Henceforth, Mr. Maltravers, I am Lady Florence Lascelles, and
by that title alone will you know me. Begone, Sir!"

As she spoke, with passion distorting every feature of her face, all
her beauty vanished away from the eyes of the proud Maltravers, as if
by witchcraft: the angel seemed transformed into the fury; and cold,
bitter, and withering was the eye which he fixed upon that altered
countenance.

"Mark me, Lady Florence Lascelles," said he, very calmly, "you have now
said what you can never recall. Neither in man nor in woman did Ernest
Maltravers ever forget or forgive a sentence which accused him of
dishonour. I bid you farewell for ever; and with my last words I condemn
you to the darkest of all dooms--the remorse that comes too late!"
Slowly he moved away; and as the door closed upon that towering and
haughty form, Florence already felt that his curse was working to its
fulfilment. She rushed to the window--she caught one last glimpse of him
as his horse bore him rapidly away. Ah! when shall they meet again?

CHAPTER IX.

"And now I live--O wherefore do I live?
And with that pang I prayed to be no more."
WORDSWORTH.

IT was about nine o'clock that evening, and Maltravers was alone in
his room. His carriage was at the door--his servants were arranging
the luggage--he was going that night to Burleigh. London--society-the
world--were grown hateful to him. His galled and indignant spirit
demanded solitude. At this time, Lumley Ferrers entered.

"You will pardon my intrusion," said the latter, with his usual
frankness--"but--"

"But what, sir? I am engaged."

"I shall be very brief. Maltravers, you are my old friend. I retain
regard and affection for you, though our different habits have of late
estranged us. I come to you from my cousin--from Florence--there has
been some misunderstanding between you. I called on her to-day after you
left the house. Her grief affected me. I have only just quitted her.
She has been told by some gossip or other some story or other--women are
credulous, foolish creatures;--undeceive her, and, I dare say, all may
be settled."