f his arms, he drew her
close to his breast, pressed her to his heart, and imprinted one warm
kiss upon her brow. Then he left her, and got to the drawing-room
door with his fleetest step.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said John, who met him exactly on the
landing; "but I think my lady rang."

"Lady Bertram did not ring. She is not well, and you had better not
disturb her," said Bertram, trying to look as though he were no whit
disconcerted.

"Oh, very well, sir; then I'll go down again;" and so saying John
followed George Bertram into the hall, and opened the door for him
very politely.

CHAPTER VI.

A MATRIMONIAL DIALOGUE.

Sir Henry had said also on this day that he would not dine at home;
but he came home before dinner; and after being for a few minutes
in his own study, he sent for his wife. Abigail, coming up to her,
brought her Sir Henry's love, and would she be good enough to step
downstairs for five minutes? This was very civil; so she did step
down, and found Sir Henry alone in his study.

"George Bertram has been here to-day?" were the first words which the
husband spoke when he saw that the door had been fairly closed behind
his wife.

What communication there may have been between Sir Henry and his
servant John is, oh my reader, a matter too low for you and me. That
there had been some communication we must both fear. Not that Sir
Henry wished to find his wife guilty; not that he at all suspected
that he should find her guilty. But he did wish to have her entirely
in his power; and he wished also that Bertram should be altogether
banished from his house.

"George Bertram has been here to-day?" He did not look cruel, or
violent, or threatening as he spoke; but yet there was that in his
eye which was intended to make Caroline tremble. Caroline, however,
did not tremble; but looking up into his face with calm dignity
replied, that Mr. Bertram had called that morning.

"And would you object to telling me what passed between you?"

Caroline still looked him full in the face. He was sitting, but
she had not sat down. She was standing before him, faultless in
demeanour, in posture, and in dress. If it had been his aim to
confound her, he certainly had so far missed his object.

"Would I object to telling you what passed between us? The question
is a very singular one;" and then she paused a moment. "Yes, Sir
Henry, I should object."

"I thought as much," said he.

She still stood before h