ood firm at the wheel. Perhaps, with God's blessing, he
might guide us safe to land.

I had not time to say more, when, with its pretty grey ponies, the
curricle once more passed our way. Two ladies were in it: one leaned
out and bowed. Presently a lacquey came to beg Mr. Halifax would come
and speak with Lady Caroline Brithwood.

"Shall you go, John?"

"Certainly--why not?" And he stepped forward to the carriage-side.

"Ah! delighted to see mon beau cousin. This is he, Emma," turning to
the lady who sat by her--oh, what a lovely face that lady had! no
wonder it drove men mad; ay, even that brave man in whose honest life
can be chronicled only this one sin, of being bewitched by her.

John caught the name--perhaps, too, he recognized the face--it was only
too public, alas! His own took a sternness, such as I had never before
seen, and yet there was a trace of pity in it too.

"You are quite well. Indeed, he looks so--n'est-ce pas, ma chere?"

John bore gravely the eyes of the two ladies fixed on him, in rather
too plain admiration--very gravely, too, he bowed.

"And what of our young bride, our treasure that we stole--nay, it was
quite fair--quite fair. How is Ursula?"

"I thank you, Mrs. Halifax is well."

Lady Caroline smiled at the manner, courteous through all its coldness,
which not ill became the young man. But she would not be repelled.

"I am delighted to have met you. Indeed, we must be friends. One's
friends need not always be the same as one's husband's, eh, Emma? You
will be enchanted with our fair bride. We must both seize the first
opportunity, and come as disguised princesses to visit Mrs. Halifax."

"Again let me thank you, Lady Caroline. But--"

"No 'buts.' I am resolved. Mr. Brithwood will never find it out. And
if he does--why, he may. I like you both; I intend us to be excellent
friends, whenever I chance to be at Norton Bury. Don't be proud, and
reject me, there's good people--the only good people I ever knew who
were not disagreeable."

And leaning on her large ermine muff, she looked right into John's
face, with the winning sweetness which Nature, not courts, lent to
those fair features--already beginning to fade, already trying to hide
by art their painful, premature decay.

John returned the look, half sorrowfully; it was so hard to give back
harshness to kindliness. But a light laugh from the other lady caught
his ear, and his hesitation--if hesitation he had