rain, and the black surrounding darkness, in the wake of a syce with an oilskin cape over his head, and a lantern in his hand. She watched the trio go down the hill, till they and their flickering light were lost to sight.

Then she went and sat down beside the dying fire-feeling somewhat exhausted-and assured herself that she had done well, had acted as any other wife of spirit would have done, but her fury was abating and her confidence with it; cold remorse began to whisper in her ear, as she listened to the booming of the thunder and the roaring of the rain; they had nearly three miles to go by the long road, and Betty was in her evening dress and shoes! Of course George did not care for Betty now; even her distorted mind could not summon the ghost of a charge against him. She glanced over past months, with the piercing eye of a jealous wife. No, there was not a word or a glance by which she could arraign him.

He had got over it ages ago. Betty would marry some wealthy man, and George was her husband. She must forgive them! At the end of half-an-hour's solitary meditation, during which she had reckoned up her probable allowance and probable prospects at home, she actually had absolved them both. Betty had no business to have an understanding with George when she was a mere child-and of course did not know her own mind; but Betty had always been good to her, forbearing, generous, and useful. Only that very morning she had cooked her a dainty little dish to tempt her appetite, and she had gone down in all the rain to get her a remedy for her cold, and a novel from the library.

If

And George? yes, he was good to her too; he never refused her money, he never flirted with other women, he always remembered her birthday, he wrote regularly when she was from home, and punctually met her at the station on her return. he was cold and reserved, and hated French poodles, it was his nature, and he could not help himself. Looking round among the Lords and Masters of her acquaintances, she could not name a woman who had a better husband than her own.

And supposing he had really meant what he said? There was a strange expression in his eyes—a look that she had never seen there before, not even when she threw the tennis-bat at Mrs. Monkton! and once, in a passion, another lady told her that she

wondered Mr. Holroyd did not get a divorce for incompatibility of temper! But no, no; nothing but death should ever part them. Her Australian trip had shown her one thing most distinctly-that alone, and unprotected by her popular, gentlemanly husband, she was a very helpless and insignificant little person. What was she to do? Perhaps he would never come back! The bare idea filled her with dismay. She was now all penitence (as usual). She would follow them instantly to Mr. Redmond's door. She would make it up; she would abase herself; she would go by the short cut across the hill, and be there almost as soon as they were! No sooner thought than done. She ran into her room, and put on a cloak and a pair of strong shoes, and going into the back verandah, called imperatively for a lamp and a guide.

But what hill servant, sleeping comfortably in his “comlee," would respond to the screams of a bad memsahib-demanding a light and attendant, at one o'clock, and on such a night? As she had sowed, she reaped. No answer came, not a sound, not a sign, from the cluster of godowns at the back; for once she refrained from rousing them in person. She had no time to lose. She was obliged to hunt up a lantern, and to light and carry it herself; and with "Mossoo" for her sole escort, she set forth in the streaming downpour, and started rapidly up the hill.

CHAPTER XXXII.

"IN WHICH BELLE'S WISH IS FULFILLED."

"Covering with moss the dead's unclosed eye

The little red breast teacheth charity."

BETTY almost ran down the footpath, her feet shod with indignation, and refused her companion's proffered arm with a sharp gesture, that was nearer akin to passion than politeness. At first she hurried along bravely enough, but afterwards more slowly and painfully. What are bronze shoes, and silk stockings, among rocks and broken branches, and overflowing watercourses? One of her feet was badly cut, her hair had been blown adrift by the stormy rain that beat her and buffeted her so mercilessly. At last she was compelled to cling to the arm she had scorned; for as she stumbled forward in the wake of the

blinking lantern and shivering syce, furious gusts of wind came sweeping down between Cheena and Diopatha, and threatened to carry her off her balance, and to extinguish the light. The pair made no attempt to speak, for their voices would have been lost amid the crash of the thunder, and the hollow roar of the torrents as they tumbled tumultuously down the ravines, and poured into the lake with the noise of an explosion. Amid the unchanging fury of the storm, there were intervals of blinding light, alternating with spells of utter darkness. Once, in a comparatively sheltered spot, Betty halted to twist up her hair. As she did so, a dazzling white flash lit up the dark surrounding hills- the grey sheets of rain pattering into the lake-the streaming path-themselves.

There was a momentary lull, as if the raving, screaming wind was taking breath, and Betty said tremulously, but with perfect distinctness:

'George, to-night, it must be good-bye between us; you will understand that it cannot be otherwise."

"Yes," he returned hoarsely, "I could never ask you to run the risk of such another scene. It must be as you say-God help us!"

A second flash, bright as day, illumined his face; it was ashen; and in the haggard eyes so near to hers there was a look of wistfulness and despair-such an agonised look, as the eyes of the dying wear when they take leave of those they love best, and pass away, alone, into that undiscovered country.

In a moment, all was black again, and once more the pair resumed that struggle onwards, arm in arm, staggering against the wind, and wrapped in the darkness and the silence of their own thoughts. After half an hour's scrambling and groping, and climbing of slippery paths that ran with water, bruised, drenched, beaten and breathless, they arrived at their destination, and were vociferously announced by the barking of half a dozen curs of high and low degree.

Mr. Redmond always retired late, and was still sitting up; reading-no—not a treatise on jurisprudence, but a French novel; he came in his dressing-gown and spectacles, and opened the door in person, and beheld his niece in a soaking evening dress, bareheaded, and almost barefoot; and Holroyd looking ghastly, with the rain pouring off his cap and moustache.

'What-what does this mean?" he demanded in a voice in which anger and amazement struggled for the mastery. "Do you wish to murder the girl-sir-that you bring her out in such a plight on such a night?"

"I am more sorry than I can say, but I could not help it

"Come in, come in, man alive! and don't stand dripping there, come in and explain yourself!"

"Uncle Bernard," said Betty, taking off her cloak and throwing back her wringing hair. "He cannot explain-Belle and I have had a quarrel."

'A quarrel about what?" turning the lamp full on her colourless face. Dead silence.

"There has been more than a quarrel! There is something in the back-ground. Holroyd, you don't leave my house till you explain the whole business."

“Oh, uncle, do not keep him," expostulated Betty. "Don't you see how wet he is?"

"Then you shall tell me, run away at once, and put on dry clothes. I shall not go to bed till I have come to the bottom of this affair! What will everyone say when they hear that your cousin turned you out of doors in the middle of such a night? Holroyd, in common Christian charity I must give you something to drink. I don't want to have your death on my head, but mind you, I have not done with you. Have some old brandy, neat?"

"No, thank you, I must go," and he glanced at Betty.

"Yes," she said, approaching him quickly as she spoke. "You must forgive Belle; she will be very sorry; forgive her as a favour to me. Remember," she added, almost in a whisper, "what you promised me last Christmas. Good-bye." Her lips trembled, whilst her eyes dismissed him.

"Good-bye," he echoed, in a husky voice, wringing her hand as he spoke. In another second he was gone-gone without a word or glance towards Mr. Redmond, and was hurrying down the hill at breakneck speed.

"Must I tell you, Uncle Bernard?" said Betty, when, after a short interval, she returned to the sitting-room, in a long, white, woollen gown, and with her hair hanging over her shoulders.

"Yes, you must tell me everything, and you must drink this cherry brandy.

"I would so much rather not do one or the other."

"And you will have to do both."

"Then, Uncle Bernard, remember you make me tell what I have never told to a soul," and her eyes flashed at him through tears of passionate pain. "But you stand in the place of my father."

"I do, and you stand to me in the place of a daughter. Begin what you have to say-at once."

"I-I-how can I begin?" she said, shading her face with her hands. "I knew George Holroyd very well three years ago. I was a good deal at Bridgetstown with his mother and sister, and -and-" she hesitated.

"And he made love to you," continued her uncle bluntly.

"He could not marry, for he had no money; he was supporting his mother and sister, and he had but little besides his pay." "I am surprised he did not ask you to share that!" sneered her listener.

"No, no, he would not bind me to any promise, but he said that if his prospects improved-he would write.”

"And he never did. Oh, oh—I see it all!"

"

'Yes, he wrote and enclosed the letter to Mrs. Redmond, but Mrs. Redmond wanted him to marry her own daughter. She scratched out my name-and gave the letter to Belle."

"What!" shouted Mr. Redmond, rising to his feet, "what mad woman's nonsense is this?"

Belle

"It is true: the letter seemed to apply to either of us. thought he liked her-she hated Noone, she was glad to get away from it-at any price," she gasped, in short and breathless

sentences.

"And you paid the price?"

To this question Betty gave no answer or sign, beyond a slight quivering of the lips.

"Well, go on," continued the Collector imperiously.

"I never knew the truth, until Mrs. Redmond was dying, and then she told me all. Belle went out to Bombay in complete ignorance, and George met her, and married her."

"The fool! the maniac! the great idiot!" cried Mr. Redmond throwing up his hands. "He must have been out of his mind."