se," said she, with a well-assumed coldness.

"Even contingently, Mrs. Trafford will not involve herself in my
fortunes," said he, half haughtily. "Well, my journey to Ireland,
amongst other benefits, has taught me a lesson that all my wanderings
never imparted. I have at last learned something of humility. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mr. Maitland," said she, with calm, but evidently not without
effort.

He stooped and kissed her hand, held it for a moment or two in his own,
and with a very faint "Good-bye," turned away and left her. He turned
suddenly around after a few paces, and came back. "May I ask one
question, Alice, before I go?"

"I don't know whether I shall answer it," said she, with a faint smile.

"I cannot afford to add jealousy to my other torments. Tell me, then--"

"Take care, sir, take care; your question may cost you more than you
think of."

"Good-bye,--good-bye," said he, sadly, and departed. "Are the horses
ready, Fenton?" asked he, as his servant came to meet him.

"Yes, sir; and Captain Lyle has been looking for you all over the
garden."

"He's going,--he 's off, Bella," said Alice, as she sat down beside her
sister's bed, throwing her bonnet carelessly down at her feet.

"Who is going?--who is off?" asked Bella, eagerly.

"Of course," continued Alice, following up her own thoughts, "to say
'Stay' means more than I like to be pledged to,--I couldn't do it."

"Poor Tony!--give him my love, Alice, and tell him I shall often
think of him,--as often as ever I think of bygone days and all their
happiness."

"And why must it be Tony that I spoke of?" said Alice, rising, while a
deep crimson flush covered her face and brow. "I think Master Tony has
shown us latterly that he has forgotten the long ago, and has no wish to
connect us with thoughts of the future."

CHAPTER XXX. CONSPIRATORS

In one of those low-ceilinged apartments of a Parisian _hotel_ which
modern luxury seems peculiarly to affect, decorating the walls with the
richest hangings, and gathering together promiscuously objects of art
and _virtu_, along with what can minister to voluptuous ease, Maitland
and Caffarelli were now seated. They had dined, and their coffee stood
before them on a table spread with a costly dessert and several bottles,
whose length of neck and color indicated choice liquor.

They lounged in the easiest of chairs in the easiest of attitudes, and,
as they puffed their havannahs, did not ill-represent