to that odious Darrell, and had raised her to the rank of his
Marchioness, was a crime in his eyes never to be expiated. He
considered, not without reason, that Mrs. Lyndsay had shamefully
deceived him; and fully believed that she had been an accomplice with
Jasper in that artifice which he was quite gentleman enough to consider
placed those who had planned it out of the pale of his acquaintance. And
when Caroline, who had been weeping too vehemently to read her lord's
countenance, came to a close, Lord Montfort took up his hat and said: "I
beg never to hear again of this lawyer and his very disreputable family
connections. As you say, you and your mother have behaved very ill to
him; but you don't seem to understand that you have behaved much worse
to me. As to condescending to write to him, and enter into explanations
how you came to be Lady Montfort, it would be so lowering to me that I
would never forgive it--never. I would just as soon that you run away
at once;--sooner. As for Mrs. Lyndsay, I shall forbid her entering my
house. When you have done crying, order your things to be packed up. I
shall return to England to-morrow."

That was perhaps the longest speech Lord Montfort ever addressed to his
wife; perhaps it was also the rudest. From that time he regarded her
as some Spaniard of ancient days might regard a guest on whom he was
compelled to bestow the rights of hospitality--to whom he gave a seat at
his board, a chair at his hearth, but for whom he entertained a profound
aversion, and kept at invincible distance, with all the ceremony of
dignified dislike. Once only during her wedded life Caroline again saw
Darrell. It was immediately on her return to England, and little more
than a month after her marriage. It was the day on which Parliament had
been prorogued preparatory to its dissolution--the last Parliament of
which Guy Darrell was a member. Lady Montfort's carriage was detained in
the throng with which the ceremonial had filled the streets, and Darrell
passed it on horseback. It was but one look in that one moment; and the
look never ceased to haunt her--a look of such stern disdain, but also
of such deep despair. No language can exaggerate the eloquence which
there is in a human countenance, when a great and tortured spirit speaks
out from it accusingly to a soul that comprehends. The crushed heart,
the ravaged existence, were bared before her in that glance, as clearly
as to a wanderer through the nig