yet ever-growing accusation, against
which she defended herself in vain.

Surely, surely she had done no wrong! To have allowed Arthur to go on
binding his life ever more and more closely to hers, would have been a
crime. What could she give him, that such a nature most deeply needed?
Home, wifely love, and children--it was to these dear enwrapping
powers she had committed him in what she had done. She had feared for
herself indeed. But is it a sin to fear sin?--the declension of one's
own best will, the staining of one's purest feeling?

On her part she could proudly answer for herself. Never since Welby's
marriage, either in thought or act, had she given Arthur's wife the
smallest just cause of offence. Eugenie's was often an anxious and
a troubled conscience; but not here, not in this respect. She knew
herself true.

But from Elsie's point of view? Had she in truth sacrificed an
ignorant child to her impetuous wish for Arthur's happiness, a too
scrupulous care for her own peace? How 'sacrifice'? She had given
the child her heart's desire. Arthur was not in love; but Elsie Bligh
would have accepted him as a husband on any terms. Tenderly, in good
faith, trusting to the girl's beauty, and Arthur's rich and loving
nature, Eugenie had joined their hands.

Was that in reality her offence? In spite of all the delicacy with
which it had been done, had the girl's passion guessed the truth? And
having guessed it, had she then failed--and failed consciously--to
make the gift her own?

Eugenie had watched--often with a sinking spirit--the development of
a nature, masked by youth and happiness, but essentially narrow and
poor, full of mean ambitions and small antipathies. Arthur had played
his part bravely, with all the chivalry and the conscience that might
have been expected of him. And there had been moments--intervals--of
apparent happiness, when Eugenie's own conscience had been laid to
sleep.

Was there anything she might have done for those two people, that she
had not done? And Elsie had seemed--she sadly remembered--to love her,
to trust her--till this tragic breakdown. Indeed, so long as she
could dress, dance, dine, and chatter as much as she pleased, with
her husband in constant attendance, Mrs. Welby had shown no open
discontent with her lot; and if her caresses often hurt Eugenie more
than they pleased, there had been no outward dearth of them.

Alack!--Eugenie's heart was wrung with pity for the young ma