What sublime indifference!" exclaimed ladies tripped up stairs to their dressing-room. Laura paced the room restless and impatient. Clara, half laughing and half vexed. "What ails you, Hetty? Are you flesh and blood, or are you not? Can you feel?" she continued, giving my arm a hearty pinch as she spoke. "Any way, Laura, her hair must be dressed. Which shall officiate-you or I?" Laura stood looking out of the window in the direction of her own home. "Why in the world doesn't Ralph come!" she exclaimed, as she turned from the window for the fortieth time. Esther, how can you be so calm and quiet? If I were in your place I should go crazy." I did not answer her. I knew not what I feared-what I dreaded; but the presence of "You may," she said. "There's a carriage some unknown horror was overshadowing me. coming yonder, and I presume it is Ralph's. Your uncle Charles was to be first groomsman I'll run down stairs and show him to his room.' ."-and just then he appeared at the door. Away she ran. Presently she returned, leading a little girl by the hand. "It was not Ralph, after all," said she. "Only father and mother and little Amy. Here, pet, come and kiss this lady. This is your new mamma, do you know it?" The child had evidently been instructed, for she came toward me immediately, with her head turned shyly on one side. Then suddenly putting up her rosy lips for a kiss, she said: "Amy loves new mamma, loves her indeed." I caught her to my heart with a throb that was half a pang, half a joy. At all events I would be a loving mother to little Amy; and perhaps in time God would forgive me for my great sin, and give me calm and peace, if I might not hope for joy. "Where is Mr. Ainsley?" asked Clara. "It is time he was here." "Of course it is," Laura replied. "He will surely be late. And where do you suppose he has gone? To Reedville after some flowers for Esther-just as if this pretty little bouquet we made for her would not have answered every purpose? Mother wanted him to send Tom over; but no, he must select them himself. And now there's nothing surer than that he will be late, and keep us all waiting." "Is Mr. Ainsley here? We have none of us seen him, and it is getting very late." "We know it," replied Laura. "He went to Reedville after some flowers. That ever he should have done such a thing!" "How did he go?" "On horseback. He told mother he would be here in half an hour; and it is three hours, certainly. I suppose he is waiting for the unfolding of some choice rose-bud." And Laura laughed, simply because she felt a strong inclination to cry. Charles did not reply, but I knew by his face that he was alarmed. "Hark!" cried Clara, "I hear the horse's hoofs." And just then little Amy flew up stairs, exclaiming: "Papa's come, Aunt Laura! him." Amy hears Our hearts stopped beating, and we looked in each other's faces in white, blank terror. Neither of us dared to approach the door to ask the mean"There-her hair is done," said Clara, tri-ing of the sounds we heard. After a whileumphantly. "Now for the dress and veil. Take care, Laura. Don't tear the lace." 66 66 Amy, you are in the way!" exclaimed Laura. “Run down to grandma, there's a darling. And the minute you hear your papa, come and tell us." Amy's little feet pattered down the stairs, and in a very short time the girls led me before the mirror that they might present me to "the bride." "Oh, the pearls!" cried Clara. "We had nearly forgotten them. Where are they, Hetty?" how long I know not-my grandfather came into the room. "Do not be alarmed, children," he said, stepping quickly up to us, and clasping my cold hand in his. "Be as brave and as calm as you can. We do not know what has happened, but Mr. Ainsley's horse has come without a rider." Laura and Clara screamed and locked each other in a close, half-frenzied embrace. As for me, I was struck dumb, motionless. I could not speak or weep, I hardly breathed. "What have you done?" at last asked Clara, "I am not going to wear them to-night," I in a scarcely audible whisper. answered. "The boys have gone out to look for him "Not wear them! Oh, but you must!" said Charles, and Horace Grey, and the rest. God help Laura. "What will Ralph say?" "He will not care," was my reply. "Do not tease me, girls. My dress is well enough, and I can not wear them." Perceiving that I was in earnest they ceased their persuasions, aud hurriedly gave the finishing touches to their own toilets. Carriage after carriage rolled to the door, and we heard merry voices and light laughter as the you, my poor child!" he continued, clasping my nerveless hands. "This suspense is very terrible, I know, but we must not despair. It is too soon for that." I knew that Ralph Ainsley was dead. The girls wept and moaned, and sympathizing friends looked in upon us, bidding us be of good cheer and hope for the best. But I sat listening for the sound that I knew must come-the solemn, measured tread of those who should bring the bridegroom to his bride. It came at last. Slowly, sadly, reverently they bore that cold, still form into the housethrough the hall where cowered those who but a few brief hours ago had come so gayly to the wedding-feast-up the stairs, and laid it in the bridal chamber. They had found him about a mile from the house. Death, so the physician said, must have been instantaneous. The horse had taken fright, and in the wind and storm and darkness the rider had been unable to control him. Had my prayers been answered? Had God thus removed the evil to come from both of us? I know not. But, Katie, as tearless and benumbed, both in body and mind, I stood by the bedside and gazed upon that white, dead face, I felt as Cain must have felt when the voice of his brother's blood called to him from the ground. The flowers for which Ralph Ainsley had bartered his life were lightly clasped in his stiffened fingers, and they were buried with him. I need not, I can not tell you of the long years of remorse and self-abasement that followed. God knows, and He keeps a record of them all in the book of His remembrance. But I came forth from that fiery furnace chastened, and, I trust, purified by "much tribulation." You know that long after these events-it was more than ten years-I became Horace Grey's wife. I felt very unworthy of him, utterly unworthy of such unchanging love as he had given me. For months and years I dared not listen to him, dared not grant myself the blessedness, the rest and peace he offered me. There came a time, however, when I felt that God had forgiven me; and that at last I might place my hand in his without the fear of its being to him who held it a curse rather than a blessing. ARMADALE. BY WILKIE COLLINS, AUTHOR OF “NO NAME," "THE WOMAN IN WHITE," ETC. BOOK THE FOURTH. CHAPTER XIV. MISS GWILT'S DIARY. "ALL SAINTS' TERRACE, NEW ROAD, LONDON, "I CAN hardly hold my head, up, I am so tired. But, in my situation, I must trust nothing to memory. Before I go to bed I must write my customary record of the events of the day. bound to do when he has the honor of escorting a lady on a long railway journey. "What little mind he has was full, of course, of his own affairs and Miss Milroy's. No words can express the clumsiness he showed in trying to talk about himself, without taking me into his confidence or mentioning Miss Milroy's name. me, was going to London, he gravely informed me, on a matter of indescribable interest to him. It was a secret for the present, but he hoped to tell it me soon; it had made a great difference already in the way in which he looked at the slanders spoken of him in Thorpe-Ambrose; he was too happy to care what the scandal-mongers said of him now, and he should soon stop their mouths "So far, the turn of luck in my favor (it was long enough before it took the turn!) seems likely to continue. I succeeded in forcing Armadale-the brute required nothing short of forc-by appearing in a new character that would suring!)—to leave Thorpe-Ambrose for London alone in the same carriage with me, before all the people in the station. There was a full attendance of dealers in small scandal, all staring hard at us, and all evidently drawing their own conclusions. Either I knew nothing of ThorpeAmbrose, or the town-gossip is busy enough by this time with Mr. Armadale and Miss Gwilt. "I had some difficulty with him for the first half hour after we left the station. The guard (delightful man!-I felt so grateful to him!) had shut us up together, in expectation of halfa-crown at the end of the journey. Armadale was suspicious of me, and he showed it plainly. Little by little I tamed my wild beast-partly by taking care to display no curiosity about his journey to town, and partly by interesting him on the subject of his friend Midwinter, dwelling especially on the opportunity that now offered itself for a reconciliation between them. I kept harping on this string till I set his tongue going, and made him amuse me as a gentleman is As prise them all. So he blundered on, with the "There was no difficulty, on reaching the terminus, in getting him to come in the cab with me to the hotel where Midwinter is staying. He was all eagerness to be reconciled with his suppose. Pooh! I may own the truth to my own diary! There was a moment when I forgot every thing in the world but our two selves as completely as he did. I felt as if I was back in my teens-until I recovered and remembered the lout in the cab at the door. And then I was five-and-thirty again in an instant. dear friend-principally, I have no doubt, be- | His delight at seeing me some days sooner than cause he wants the dear friend to lend a help- he had hoped had something infectious in it, I ing-hand to the elopement. The real difficulty lay, of course, with Midwinter. My sudden journey to London had allowed me no opportunity of writing to warn him-or, rather, of writing to combat his superstitious conviction that he and his former friend are better apart. I thought it wise to leave Armadale in the cab at the door, and to go into the hotel by myself to pave the way for him. "His face altered when he heard who was below, and what it was I wanted of him. He "Fortunately Midwinter had not gone out. I looked not angry but distressed. He yielded, however, before long, not to my reasons, for I gave him none, but to my entreaties. His old fondness for his friend might possibly have had some share in persuading him against his will; but my own opinion is that he acted entirely under the influence of his fondness for Me. dress) than I am at all likely to spend before the wedding-day. "The other errand was of a far more serious kind. It led me into an attorney's office. "I was well aware last night (though I was too weary to put it down in my diary) that I "I waited in the sitting-room while he went could not possibly see Midwinter this morning, down to the door; so I knew nothing of what in the position he now occupies toward me, withpassed between them when they first saw each out at least appearing to take him into my conother again. But oh, the difference between fidence on the subject of myself and my circumthe two men when the interval had passed, and stances. Excepting one necessary consideration they came up stairs together and joined me. which I must be careful not to overlook, there is They were both agitated, but in such different not the least difficulty in my drawing on my inways! The hateful Armadale, so loud and red vention, and telling him any story I please— and clumsy; the dear, lovable Midwinter, so for thus far I have told no story to any body. pale and quiet, with such a gentleness in his Midwinter went away to London before it was voice when he spoke, and such tenderness in possible to approach the subject. As to the Milhis eyes every time they turned my way Ar- roys (having provided them with the customary madale overlooked me as completely as if I had reference), I could fortunately keep them at not been in the room. He referred to me over arm's-length on all questions relating purely to and over again in the conversation; he constant-myself. And lastly, when I effected my memly looked at me to see what I thought, while I orable reconciliation with Armadale on the sat in my corner silently watching them; he drive in front of the house, he was fool enough wanted to go with me and see me safe to my to be too generous to let me defend my characlodgings, and spare me all trouble with the cab- ter. When I had expressed my regret for havman and the luggage. When I thanked him ing lost my temper and threatened Miss Milroy, and declined, Armadale looked unaffected, re- and when I had accepted his assurance that my lieved at the prospect of seeing my back turned pupil had never done nor meant to do me any at last, and of having his friend all to himself. injury, he was too magnanimous to hear a word I left him with his awkward elbows half over on the subject of my private affairs. Thus I the table, scrawling a letter (no doubt to Miss am quite unfettered by any former assertions of Milroy), and shouting to the waiter that he my own; and I may tell any story I please— wanted a bed at the hotel. I had calculated (if with the one drawback hinted at already in the I succeeded in reconciling them) on his staying shape of a restraint. Whatever I may invent as a matter of course where he found his friend in the way of pure fiction, I must preserve the staying. It was pleasant to find my anticipa- character in which I have appeared at Thorpetions realized, and to know that I have as good Ambrose-for, with the notoriety that is atas got him now under my own eye. tached to my other name, I have no other choice but to marry Midwinter in my maiden name as 'Miss Gwilt.' "After promising to let Midwinter know where he could see me to-morrow, I went away in the cab to hunt for lodgings by myself. "With some difficulty I have succeeded in getting a sitting-room and bedroom to suit me in this house, where the people are perfect strangers to me. Having paid a week's rent in advance (for I naturally preferred dispensing with a reference), I find myself with exactly three shillings and ninepence left in my purse. It is impossible to ask Midwinter for money, after he has already paid Mrs. Oldershaw's note-of-hand. I must borrow something to-morrow on my watch and chain at the pawnbroker's. Enough to keep me going for a fortnight is all, and more than all, that I want. In that time, or in less than that time, Midwinter will have married me. "July 29th. Two o'clock.-Early in the morning I sent a line to Midwinter, telling him that he would find me here at three this afternoon. That done, I devoted the morning to two errands of my own. One is hardly worth mentioning-it was only to raise money on my watch and chain. I got more than I expected, and more (even supposing I buy myself one or two little things in the way of cheap summer "This was the consideration that took me into the lawyer's office. I felt that I must inform myself, before I saw Midwinter later in the day, of any awkward consequences that may follow the marriage of a widow who conceals her widow's name. I "Knowing of no other professional person whom I could trust, I went boldly to the lawyer who had my interests in his charge at that terrible past time in my life which I have more reason than ever to shrink from thinking of now. He was astonished, and, as I could plainly detect, by no means pleased to see me. I hardly opened my lips before he said he hoped I was not consulting him again (with a strong emphasis on the word) on my own account. took the hint, and put the question I had come to ask in the interests of that accommodating personage on such occasions-an absent friend. The lawyer evidently saw through it at once; but he was sharp enough to turn my 'friend' to good account on his side. He said he would answer the question as a matter of courtesy toward a lady represented by myself; but he must make it a condition that this consultation of him by deputy should go no further. "I accepted his terms, for I really respected the clever manner in which he contrived to keep me at arm's-length without violating the laws of good-breeding. In two minutes I heard what he had to say, mastered it in my own mind, and went out. "Short as it was, the consultation told me every thing I wanted to know. I risk nothing by marrying Midwinter in my maiden instead of my widow's name. The marriage is a good marriage in this way-that it can only be set aside if my husband finds out the imposture, and takes proceedings to invalidate our marriage in my lifetime. That is the lawyer's answer in the lawyer's own words. It relieves me at once-in this direction, at any rate-of all apprehension about the future. The only imposture my husband will ever discover-and then only if he happens to be on the spot-is the imposture that puts me in the place, and gives me the income, of Armadale's widow; and by that time I shall have invalidated my own marriage forever. "Half past two! He will be here in half an hour. I must go and ask my glass how I look. I must rouse my invention, and make up my little domestic romance. Am I feeling nervous about it? Something flutters in the place where my heart used to be. At five-and-thirty too! and after such a life as mine! "Six o'clock.-He has just gone. The day for our marriage is a day determined on already. "I have tried to rest and recover myself. I can't rest. I have come back to these leaves. There is much to be written in them since Midwinter has been here that concerns me nearly. "Let me begin with what I hate most to remember, and so be the sooner done with itlet me begin with the paltry string of falsehoods I told him about my family troubles. that way. I have seen handsomer men by hundreds, cleverer men by hundreds. What can this man have roused in me? Is it Love? L thought I had loved, never to love again. Does a woman not love when the man's hardness to her drives her to drown herself? A man drove me to that last despair in days gone by. Did all my misery at that time come from something which was not Love? Have I lived to be five-and-thirty, and am I only feeling now what Love really is?—now, when it is too late? Ridiculous! Besides, what is the use of asking? What do I know about it? What does any woman ever know? The more we think of it the more we deceive ourselves. I wish I had been born an animal. My beauty might have been of some use to me then-it might have got me a good master. "Here is a whole page of my diary filled; and nothing written yet that is of the slightest use to me! My miserable made-up story must be told over again here, while the incidents are fresh in my memory-or how am I to refer to it consistently on after-occasions when I may be obliged to speak of it again? "There was nothing new in what I told him : it was the commonplace rubbish of the circulating libraries. A dead father; a lost fortune; vagabond brothers, whom I dread ever seeing again; a bedridden mother dependent on my exertions No! I can't write it down! I hate myself, I despise myself, when I remember that he believed it because I said it—that he was distressed by it because it was my story! I will face the chances of contradicting myself—I will risk discovery and ruin-any thing rather than dwell on that contemptible deception of him a moment longer. "My lies came to an end at last. And then he talked to me of himself and of his prospects. Oh, what a relief it was to turn to that, at the time! What a relief it is to come to it now! him, must go with him as his wife. "What can be the secret of this man's hold on me? How is it that he alters me so that I "He has accepted the offer about which he hardly know myself again? I was like myself wrote to me at Thorpe-Ambrose; and he is now in the railway carriage yesterday with Arma- engaged as occasional foreign correspondent to dale. It was surely frightful to be talking to the new newspaper. His first destination is the living man, through the whole of that long Naples. I wish it had been some other place; journey, with the knowledge in me all the while for I have certain past associations with Naples that I meant to be his widow-and yet I was which I am not at all anxious to renew. It only excited and fevered. Hour after hour I has been arranged that he is to leave England never shrunk once from speaking to Armadale not later than the eleventh of next month. Be-but the first trumpery falsehood I told Mid-fore that time, therefore, I, who am to go with winter turned me cold when I saw that he believed it! I felt a dreadful hysterical choking in the throat when he entreated me not to reveal my troubles. And once-I am horrified when I think of it-once, when he said, 'If I could love you more dearly, I should love you more dearly now,' I was within a hair's-breadth of turning traitor to myself! I was on the very point of crying out to him, 'Lies! all lies! I'm a fiend in human shape! Marry the wretchedest creature that prowls the streets, and you will marry a better woman than me!' Yes! the seeing his eyes moisten, the hearing his voice tremble while I was deceiving him, shook me in "There is not the slightest difficulty about the marriage. All this part of it is so easy that I begin to dread an accident. The proposal to keep the thing strictly private-which it might have embarrassed me to make- comes from him. Marrying me in his own name-the name that he has kept concealed from every living creature but myself and Mr. Brock-it is his interest that not a soul who knows him should be present at the ceremony; his friend Armadale least of all. He has been a week in London already. When another week has passed he proposes to get the License, and to |