happy, indeed, if she determines to
retaliate upon them for any neglect."

"Yes. But how to retaliate, Mrs. Townley?" Lambert had not a suggestive
mind.

"Well, for instance, suppose they sent her away into seclusion,--with
Frank's consent, another serious question,--and she should take the
notion to fly her retirement, and appear inopportunely at some social
function clothed as she is now! I fancy her blanket would be a wet one
in such a case--if you will pardon the little joke."

Lambert sighed. "Poor Frank--poor devil!" he said, almost beneath his
breath.

"And wherefore poor Frank? Do you think he or the Armours of Greyhope
are the only ones at stake in this? What about this poor girl? Just
think why he married her, if our suspicions are right,--and then imagine
her feelings when she wakes to the truth over there, as some time she is
sure to do!"

Then Lambert began to see the matter in a different light, and
his sympathy for Francis Armour grew less as his pity for the girl
increased. In fact, the day before they got to Liverpool he swore at
Armour more than once, and was anxious concerning the reception of the
heathen wife by her white relatives.

Had he been present at a certain scene at Greyhope a day or two before,
he would have been still more anxious. It was the custom, at breakfast,
for Mrs. Armour to open her husband's letters and read them while he was
engaged with his newspaper, and hand to him afterwards those that were
important. This morning Marion noticed a letter from Frank amongst the
pile, and, without a word, pounced upon it. She was curious--as any
woman would be--to see how he took Miss Sherwood's action. Her father
was deep in his paper at the time. Her mother was reading other letters.
Marion read the first few lines with a feeling of almost painful wonder,
the words were so curious, cynical, and cold.

Richard sat opposite her. He also was engaged with his paper, but,
chancing to glance up, he saw that she was becoming very pale, and that
the letter trembled in her fingers. Being a little short-sighted, he
was not near enough to see the handwriting. He did not speak yet. He
watched. Presently, seeing her grow more excited, he touched her foot
under the table. She looked up, and caught his eye. She gasped slightly.
She gave him a warning look, and turned away from her mother. Then she
went on reading to the bitter end.

Presently a little cry escaped her against her will. At that her