ow how long, gazing woefully at the ruins of that crumbled
world which had all fallen to pieces about her. All was to pieces now.
What was she and what was the other? Why should she be here and not the
other? Two, were there?--two with an equal claim upon him? Was
everything false, even the law, even the external facts which made her
Tom's wife. He had another wife and a child. He was two, he was not one
true man; one for baby and her, another for Bice and the Contessa. When
she heard her husband coming in Lucy fled upstairs like a hunted thing,
and took refuge in the nursery where little Tom was sleeping. Even her
bourgeoise horror of betraying herself, of letting the servants suspect
that anything was wrong, had no effect upon her to-night.

CHAPTER XLI.

SEVERED.

Sir Tom came home later, so much later than he intended that he entered
the house with such a sense of compunction as had not visited him since
the days when the alarm of being caught was a part of the pleasure. He
had no fear of a lecture from Lucy, whose gifts were not of that kind;
but he was partially conscious of having neglected her on her first
night in town, as well as having sinned against her in matters more
serious. And he did not know how to explain his detention at the
Contessa's new house, or the matters which he had been discussing there.
It was a sensible relief to him not to find her in any of the
sitting-rooms, all dark and closed up, except his own room, in which
there was no trace of her. She had gone to bed, which was so sensible,
like Lucy's unexaggerated natural good sense: he smiled to
himself--though, at the same time, a wondering question within himself,
whether she felt at all, passed through his mind--a reflection full of
mingled disappointment and satisfaction. But when, a full hour after his
return, after a tranquil period of reflection, he went leisurely
upstairs, expecting to find her peacefully asleep, and found her not,
nor any evidence that she had ever been there, a great wave of alarm
passed over the mind of Sir Tom. He paused confounded, looking at her
vacant place, startled beyond expression. "Lucy!" he cried, looking in
his dismay into every corner, into his own dressing-room, and even into
the large wardrobe where her dresses hung, like shells and husks, which
she had laid aside. And then he made an agitated pause, standing in the
middle of the room, not knowing what to think. It was by this time about
two