THEO. 

 _A SPRIGHTLY LOVE STORY. _

 BY MRS. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT

AUTHOR OF "KATHLEEN, " "PRETTY POLLY PEMBERTON, " "LINDSAY'S LUCK, " "INCONNECTION WITH THE DE WILLOUGHBY CLAIM, " "THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS, ""THE METHODS OF LADY WALDERHURST, " ETC. 

NEW YORKHURST & COMPANYPUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT, 1877By T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS. 

MRS. BURNETT'S NOVELETTES. 

_Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett is one of the most charming among Americanwriters. There is a crisp and breezy freshness about her delightfulnovelettes that is rarely found in contemporaneous fiction, and a closeadherence to nature, as well, that renders them doubly delicious. Of allMrs. Burnett's romances and shorter stories those which first attractedpublic attention to her wonderful gifts are still her best. She has donemore mature work, but never anything half so pleasing and enjoyable. These masterpieces of Mrs. Burnett's genius are all love stories of thebrightest, happiest and most entertaining description; lively, cheerfullove stories in which the shadow cast is infinitesimally small comparedwith the stretch of sunlight; and the interest is always maintained atfull head without apparent effort and without resorting to theconventional and hackneyed devices of most novelists, devices that theexperienced reader sees through at once. No more sprightly novel than"Theo" could be desired, and a sweeter or more beautiful romance than"Kathleen" does not exist in print, while "Pretty Polly Pemberton"possesses besides its sprightliness a special interest peculiar toitself, and "Miss Crespigny" would do honor to the pen of any novelist, no matter how celebrated. "Lindsay's Luck, " "A Quiet Life, " "The Tide onthe Moaning Bar" and "Jarl's Daughter" are all worthy members of thesame collection of Mrs. Burnett's earlier, most original, best andfreshest romances. Everybody should read these exceptionally bright, clever and fascinating novelettes, for they occupy a niche by themselvesin the world's literature and are decidedly the most agreeable, charmingand interesting books that can be found anywhere. _

CONTENTS. 

I. PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY

II. THE ARRIVAL

III. THE MEETING

IV. THEO'S DIARY

V. THE SEPARATION

VI. THEO GOES TO PARIS

VII. "PARTING IS SWEET SORROW"

VIII. THEO'S FIRST TROUBLE

IX. WHAT COMES OF IT ALL

"THEO. "

CHAPTER I. 

PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY. 

A heavy curtain of yellow fog rolled and drifted over the waste ofbeach, and rolled and drifted over the sea, and beneath the curtain thetide was coming in at Downport, and two pair of eyes were watching it. Both pair of eyes watched it from the same place, namely, from theshabby sitting-room of the shabby residence of David North, Esq. , lawyer, and both watched it without any motive, it seemed, unless thatthe dull gray waves and their dull moaning were not out of accord withthe watchers' feelings. One pair of eyes--a youthful, discontented blackpair--watched it steadily, never turning away, as their owner stood inthe deep, old-fashioned window, with both elbows resting upon the broadsill; but the other pair only glanced up now and then, almost furtively, from the piece of work Miss Pamela North, spinster, held in her slender, needle-worn fingers. 

There had been a long silence in the shabby sitting-room for sometime--and there was not often silence there. Three rampant, strong-lunged boys, and as many talkative school-girls, made the houseof David North, Esq. , rather a questionable paradise. But to-day, beinghalf-holiday, the boys were out on the beach digging miraculoussand-caves, and getting up miraculous piratical battles and excursionswith the bare-legged urchins so numerous in the fishermen's huts; andJoanna and Elinor had been absent all day, so the room left to Theo andher elder sister was quiet for once. 

It was Miss Pamela herself who broke the stillness. "Theo, " she said, with some elder-sister-like asperity, "it appears to me that you mightfind something better to do than to stand with your arms folded, as youhave been doing for the last half hour. There is a whole basketful ofthe boys' socks that need mending and--"

"Pam!" interrupted Theo, desperately, turning over her shoulder a facemore like the face of some young Spanish gipsy than that of a poorEnglish solicitor's daughter. "Pam, I should really like to know if lifeis ever worth having, if everybody's life is like ours, or if there arereally such people as we read of in books. "

"You have been reading some ridiculous novel again, " said Pamela, sententiously. "If you would be a little more sensible, and lessromantic, Theodora, it would be a great deal better for all of us. Whathave you been reading?"

The capable gipsy face turned to the window again half-impatiently. 

"I have been reading nothing to-day, " was the answer. "I should thinkyou knew that--on Saturday, with everything to do, and the shopping toattend to, and mamma scolding every one because the butcher's bill can'tbe paid. I was reading Jane Eyre, though, last night. Did you ever readJane Eyre, Pamela?"

"I always have too much to do in attending to my duty, " said Pamela, "without wasting my time in that manner. I should never find time toread Jane Eyre in twenty years. I wish I could. "

"I wish you could, too, " said Theo, meditatively. "I wish there was nosuch thing as duty. Duty always appears to me to be the very thing wedon't want to do. "

"Just at present, it is your duty to attend to those socks of Ralph andArthur's, " put in Pamela, dryly. "Perhaps you had better see to it atonce, as tea will be ready soon, and you will have to cut bread for thechildren. "

The girl turned away from the window with a sigh. Her discussions onsubjects of this kind always ended in the same unsatisfactory manner;and really her young life was far from being a pleasant one. As the nextin age to Pamela, though so many years lay between them, a hundred pettycares fell on her girlish shoulders, and tried her patience greatly withtheir weight, sometimes. And in the hard family struggle for everydaynecessities there was too much of commonplace reality to admit of muchpoetry. The wearisome battling with life's needs had left the mother, asit leaves thousands of women, haggard, careworn, and not too smooth indisposition. There was no romance about her. She had fairly forgottenher girlhood, it seemed to lie so far behind; and even the unconquerablemother-love, that gave rise to her anxieties, had a touch of hardnessabout it. And Pamela had caught something of the sharp, harassed spirittoo. But Theo had an odd secret sympathy for Pamela, though her sisternever suspected it. Pamela had a love-story, and in Theo's eyes this onetouch of forlorn romance was the silver lining to many clouds. Ten yearsago, when Pamela had been a pretty girl, she had had a lover--poorArthur Brunwalde--Theo always mentally designated him; and only a weekbefore her wedding-day, death had ended her love-story forever. PoorPamela! was Theo's thought: to have loved like Jane Eyre, and AgnesWickfield, and Lord Bacon, and to have been so near release from thebread-and-butter cutting, and squabbling, and then to have lost all. Poor Pamela, indeed! So the lovely, impulsive, romance-loving youngersister cherished an odd interest in Pamela's thin, sharp face, andunsympathizing voice, and in picturing the sad romance of her youth, wasalways secretly regardful of the past in her trials of the present. 

As she turned over the socks in the basket, she glanced up now and thenat Pamela's face, which was bent over her work. It had been a prettyface, but now there were faint lines upon it here and there; thefeatures once delicate were sharpened, the blue eyes were faded, and theblonde hair faded also. It was a face whose youth had been its beauty, and its youth had fled with Pamela North's happiness. Her life had endedin its prime; nay, not ended, for the completion had never come--it wasto be a work unfinished till its close. Poor Arthur Brunwalde!

A few more silent stitches, and then the work slipped from Theo'sfingers into her lap, and she lifted her big, inconsistent eyes again. 

"Pam, " she said, "were you ever at Lady Throckmorton's?"

A faint color showed itself on Pamela's faded face. 

"Yes, " she answered, sharply, "I was once. What nonsense is running inyour mind now, for goodness sake?"

Theo flushed up to her forehead, no half flush; she actually glowed allover, her eyes catching a light where her delicate dark skin caught thedusky red. 

"Don't be cross, Pam, " she said, appealingly. "I can't help it. Theletter she sent to mamma made me think of it. Oh, Pam! if I could onlyhave accepted the invitation. "

"But you can't, " said Pam, concisely. "So you may as well let the matterrest. "

"I know I can't, " Theo returned, her quaint resignation telling its ownstory of previous disappointments. "I have nothing to wear, you know, and, of course, I couldn't go there, of all places in the world, withoutsomething nice. "

There was another silence after this. Theo had gone back to her workwith a sigh, and Miss Pamela was stitching industriously. She was neveridle, and always taciturn, and on this occasion her mind was fullyoccupied. She was thinking of Lady Throckmorton's invitation too. 

Her ladyship was a half-sister of their father's, and from the height ofher grandeur magnanimously patronizing now and then. It was during herone visit to London, under this relative's patronage, that Pamela hadmet Arthur Brunwalde, and it was through her that the match had beenmade. But when Arthur died, and she found that Pamela was fixed in herdetermination to make a sacrifice of her youth on the altar of her deadlove, Lady Throckmorton lost patience. It was absurd, she said; Mr. North could not afford it, and if Pamela persisted, she would wash herhands of the whole affair. But Pamela was immovable, and, accordingly, had never seen her patroness since. It so happened, however, that herladyship had suddenly recollected Theo, whose gipsy face had once struckher fancy, and the result of the sudden recollection was anotherinvitation. Her letter had arrived that very morning at breakfast time, and had caused some sensation. A visit to London, under such auspices, was more than the most sanguine had ever dared to dream of. 

"I wish I was Theo, " Joanna had grumbled. "She always gets the lion'sshare of everything, because Elin and I are a bit younger than she is. "

And Theo had glowed up to her soft, innocent eyes, and neglected thebread-and-butter cutting, to awaken a moment later to sudden despair. 

"But--but I have nothing fit to wear, mamma, " she said, in anguishedtones. 

"No, " answered Mrs. North, two or three new lines showing themselves onher harassed forehead; "and we can't afford to buy anything. You can'tgo, Theo. "

And so the castle which had towered so promisingly in the air a momentago, was dashed to the dust with one touch of shabby gentility'starnished wand. The glow died out of Theo's face, and she went back toher bread-and-butter cutting with a soreness of disappointment whichwas, nevertheless, not without its own desperate resignation. This waswhy she had watched the tide come in with such a forlorn sense ofsympathy with the dull sweep of the gray waves, and their dull, creepingmoan; this was why she had been rash enough to hope for a crumb ofsympathy even from Pamela; and this also was why, in despairing ofgaining it, she bent herself to her unthankful labor again, and patchedand darned until the tide had swept back again under the curtain of fog, and there was no more light, even for the stern taskmaster, poverty. 

The silence was effectually broken in upon after this. As soon as thestreet lamps began to twinkle in the murkiness outside, the boys madetheir appearance--Ralph, and Arthur, and Jack, all hungry, anddishevelled, and of course, all in an uproar. They had dug a cave on theshore, and played smugglers all the evening; and one fellow had broughtout a real cutlass and a real pistol, that belonged to his father, andthey had played fighting the coast-guard, and they were as hungry as thedickens now; and was tea ready, and wouldn't Pam let them have somestrawberry-jam?

Pamela laid her work aside, and went out of the room, and then Ralph, who was in the habit of patronizing Theo occasionally, came to hisfavorite corner and sat down, his rough hands clasped round his knees, boy-fashion. 

"I say, Theo, " he began. "I wonder how much it would cost a fellow tobuy a cutlass--a real one?"

"I don't know, " Theo answered, indifferently. "I never bought a cutlass, Ralph. "

"No, of course you never did. What would a girl want with a cutlass? Butcouldn't you guess, now--just give a guess. Would it cost a pound?"

"I daresay it would, " Theo managed to reply, with a decent show ofinterest. "A good one. "

"Well, I'd want a good one, " said Ralph, meditatively; "but if it wouldcost a pound, I shall never have one. I say, Theo, we never do get whatwe want at this house, do we?"

"Not often, " said Theo, a trifle bitterly. 

Ralph looked up at her. 

"Look here, " he said, sagaciously. "I know what you are thinking of. Ican tell by your eyes. You're thinking about having to stay at home fromLady Throckmorton's, and it is a shame too. If you are a girl, you couldhave enjoyed yourself in your girl's way. I'd rather go to their placein Lincolnshire, where old Throckmorton does his hunting. The governorsays that a fellow that was a good shot could bag as much game as hecould carry, and it wouldn't take long to shoot either. I can aim firstrate with a bow and arrow. But that isn't what you want, is it? You wantto go to London, and have lots of dresses and things. Girls always do;but that isn't my style. "

"Ah, Ralph!" Theo broke out, her eyes filling all at once. "I wish youwouldn't! I can't bear to hear it. Just think of how I might haveenjoyed myself, and then to think that--that I can't go, and that Ishall never live any other life than this!"

Ralph opened his round Saxon eyes, in a manner slightly expressive ofgeneral dissatisfaction. 

"Why, you're crying!" he said. "Confound crying. You know I don't crybecause I can't go to Lincolnshire. You girls are always crying aboutsomething. Joanna and Elin cry if their shoes are shabby or their glovesburst out. A fellow never thinks of crying. If he can't get the thing hewants, he pitches in, and does without, or else makes something out ofwood that looks like it. "

Theo said no more. A summons from the kitchen came to her just then. Pamwas busy with the tea-service, and the boys were hungry--so she must goand help. 

Pamela glanced up at her sharply as she entered, but she did not speak. She had borne disappointments often enough, and had lived over them tobecome seemingly a trifle callous to their bitterness in others, and, asI have said, she was prone to silence. But it may be that she was not socallous after all, for at least Theo fancied that her occasionalspeeches were less sharp, and certainly she uttered no reproof to-night. She was grave enough, however, and even more silent than usual, as shepoured out the tea for the boys. A shadow of thoughtfulness rested onher thin sharp face, and the faint, growing lines were almost deepened;but she did not "snap, " as the children called it; and Theo was thankfulfor the change. 

It was not late when the children went to bed, but it was very late whenPamela followed them; and when she went up-stairs, she was sopreoccupied as to appear almost absent-minded. She went to her room andlocked the door, after her usual fashion; but that she did not retirewas evident to one pair of listening ears at least. In the adjoiningbedroom, where the girls slept, Theo lay awake, and could hear her everymovement. She was walking to and fro, and the sounds of opening drawersand turned keys came through the wall every moment. Pamela hadunaccountable secret ways, Joanna always said. Her room was a sanctuary, which the boldest did not dare to violate lightly. There were closetsand boxes there, whose contents were reserved for her own eyes alone, and questions regarding them seldom met with any satisfactory answer. She was turning over these possessions to-night, Theo judged, from thesounds proceeding from her chamber. To be truthful, Theo had somecuriosity about the matter, though she never asked any questions. Theinnate delicacy which prompted her to reverence the forlorn aroma oflong-withered romance about the narrow life had restrained her. Butto-night she was so wide-awake, and Joanna and Elin were so fast asleep, that every movement forcing itself upon her ear, made her morewide-awake still. The turning of keys and unlocking of drawers rousedher to a whimsical meditative wonder. Poor Pam! What dead memories andcoffined hopes was she bringing out to the dim light of her solitarycandle? Was it possible that she ever cried over them a little whenthere was no one to see her relaxing mood? Poor Pam! Theo sighed again, and was just deciding to go to sleep, if possible, when she heard a dooropen, which was surely Pamela's, and feet crossing the narrow corridor, which were surely Pamela's own, and then a sharp yet soft tap on thedoor, and a voice which could have been no other than Pamela's, underany possibility. 

"Theo!" it said, "I want you for a short time. Get up. "

Theo was out upon the floor, and had opened the door in an instant, wider awake than ever. 

"Throw something over you, " said Pamela, in the dry tone that alwayssounded almost severe. "You will take cold if you don't. Put on a shawlor something, and come into my room. "

Theodora caught up a shawl, and, stepping across the landing, stood inthe light, the flare of the candle making a queer, lovely picture ofher. The shawl she had wrapped carelessly over her white night-dress wasone of Lady Throckmorton's gracious gifts; and although it had been wornby every member of the family in succession, and was frayed, and torn, and forlorn enough in broad daylight, by the uncertain Rembrandt glareof the chamber-candle, its gorgeous palm-leaf pattern and soft foldsmade a by no means unpicturesque or unbecoming drapery, in conjunctionwith the girl's grand, soft, un-English eyes, and equally un-Englishebon hair. 

"Shut the door, " said Pamela. "I want to speak to you. "

Theo turned to obey, wonderingly, but, as she did so, her eyes fell uponsomething which made her fairly start, and this something was nothingless than the contents of the opened boxes and closets. Some of saidcontents were revealed through raised lids; but some of them were lyingupon the bed, and the sight of them made the girl catch her breath. Shehad never imagined such wealth--for it seemed quite like wealth to her. Where had it all come from? There were piles of pretty, lace-trimmedgarments, boxes of handkerchiefs, ribbons, and laces, and actually anumber of dresses, of whose existence she had never dreamed--dressesquaint enough in fashion, but still rich and elaborate. 

"Why, Pam!" she exclaimed, "whose are they? Why have you never--"

Pamela stopped her with an abrupt gesture. 

"They are mine, " she said. "I have had them for years, ever sinceArthur--Mr. Brunwalde died. They were to have been my bridal trousseau, and most of them were presents from Lady Throckmorton, who was very kindto me then. Of course, you know well enough, " with dry bitterness, "Ishould never have had them otherwise. I thought I would show them to youto-night, and offer them to you. They may be of use just now. "

She stopped and cleared her throat here, with an odd, strained sound;and before she went on, she knelt down before one of the open trunks, and began to turn over its contents. 

"I wish you to go to Lady Throckmorton's, " she said, speaking withoutlooking at the amazed young face at her side. "The life here is a wearyone for a girl to lead, without any change, and the visit may be a goodthing for you in many ways. My visit to Lady Throckmorton's would havemade me a happy woman, if death had not come between me and myhappiness. I know I am not at fault in saying this to you. I mean it ina manner a girl can scarcely understand--I mean, that I want to save youfrom the life you must lead, if you do not go away from here. "

Her hands were trembling, her voice, cold and dry, as it usually was, trembled too, and the moment she paused, the amazed, picturesque youngfigure swooped down upon her as it were, falling upon its knees, flinging its white-robed arms about her, and burying her in anunexpected confusion of black hair and oriental shawl, showering uponher loving, passionate little caresses. For the first time in her life, Theo was not secretly awed by her. 

"Why, Pam!" she cried, the tears running down her cheeks. "Dear, old, generous Pamela! Do you care for me so much--enough to make such asacrifice! Oh, Pam! I am only a girl as you say; but I think that, because I am a girl, perhaps I understand a little. Do you think that Icould let you make such a sacrifice? Do you think I could let you givethem to me--the things that were to have belonged to poor, dead Arthur'swife? Oh, my generous darling! Poor dead Arthur! and the poor young wifewho died with him!"

For some time Pamela said nothing, but Theo felt the slender, worn form, that her arms clasped so warmly, tremble within them, and the bosom onwhich she had laid her loving, impassioned face throb strangely. But shespoke at length. 

"I will not say it is not a sacrifice, " she said. "I should not speaktruly if I did. I have never told you of these things before, and why Ikept them; because such a life as ours does not make people understandone another very clearly; but to-night, I remembered that I was a girltoo once, though the time seems so far away; and it occurred to me thatit was in my power to help you to a happier womanhood than mine hasbeen. I shall not let you refuse the things. I offer them to you, andexpect you to accept them, as they are offered--freely. "

Neither protest nor reasoning was of any avail. The elder sister meantwhat she said, with just the settled precision that demonstrated itselfupon even the most trivial occasions; and Theo was fain to submit now, as she would have done in any smaller matter. 

"When the things are of no further use, you may return them to me, "Pamela said, dryly as ever. "A little managing will make everything asgood as new for you now. The fashion only needs to be changed, and wehave ample material. There is a gray satin on the bed there, that willmake a very pretty dinner-dress. Look at it, Theo. "

Theo rose from her knees with the tears scarcely dry in her eyes. Shehad never seen such dresses in Downport before. These things of Pamela'shad only come from London the day of Arthur's death, and had never beenopened for family inspection. Some motherly instinct, even in Mrs. North's managing economy, had held them sacred, and so they had rested. And now, in her girl's admiration of the thick, trailing folds of thesoft gray satin, Theodora very naturally half forgot her tears. 

"Pamela!" she said, timidly, "do you think I could make it with a train?I never did wear a train, you know, and--"

There was such a quaint appeal in her mellow-lighted eyes, that Pamelaperceptibly softened. 

"You shall have half a dozen trains if you want them, " she said; andthen, half-falteringly, added, "Theo, there is something else. Comehere. "

There was a little carven ebony-box upon the dressing-table, and shewent to it and opened it. Upon the white velvet lining lay a pretty setof jewels--sapphires, rarely pellucid; then clear pendants sparklinglike drops of deep sea-water frozen into coruscant solidity. 

"They were one of Mr. Brunwalde's bridal gifts to me, " she said, scarcely heeding Theo's low cry of admiration. "I should have worn themupon my wedding-day. You are not so careless as most girls, Theodora, and so I will trust them to you. Hold up your arm and let me clasp oneof the bracelets on it. You have a pretty arm, Theo. "

It was a pretty arm in truth, and the flashing, rose-tinted pendants setit off to a great advantage. Theo, herself, scarcely dared to believeher senses. Her wildest dreams had never pictured anything so beautifulas these pretty, modest sapphires. Was it possible that she--she was towear them? The whole set of earrings, necklace, bracelets, rings, andeverything, with all their crystallized drops and clusters! It was asudden opening of the gates of fairyland! To go to London would havebeen happiness enough; but to go so like an enchanted princess, in allher enchanted finery, was more than she could realize. A color asbrilliant as the scarlet in Lady Throckmorton's frayed palm-leaf shawlflew to her cheeks, she fairly clapped her hands in unconscious ecstasy. 

"Oh, Pam!" she cried, with pathetic gratitude. "How good you are--howgood--how good! I can't believe it, I really can't. And I will take suchcare of them--such care of everything. You shall see the dresses are noteven crushed, I will be so careful. " And then she ended with anotherlittle shower of impulsive caresses. 

But it was late by this time, and with her usual forethought--aforethought which no enthusiasm could make her forget--Pamela sent herback to bed. She would be too tired to sew to-morrow, she said, prudently, and there was plenty of hard work to be done; so, with atimid farewell-kiss, Theo went to her room, and in opening her door, awakened Joanna and Elin, who sat up in bed, dimly conscious of a whitefigure wrapped in their august relative's shawl, and bearing a candle tolight up scarlet cheeks, and inconsistent eyes, and tangled back hair. 

"I am going to London, " the voice pertaining to this startling figurebroke out. "Joanna and Elin, do you hear? I am going to London, to LadyThrockmorton's. "

Joanna rubbed her eyes sleepily. 

"Oh, yes!" she said, not too amiably by any means. "Of course you are. I knew you would. You are everlastingly going somewhere, Theo, and Elinand I stay at home, as usual. Lady Throckmorton will never invite us, Iknow. Where are your things going to come from?" snappishly. 

"Pamela!" was Theo's deprecating reply. "They are the things thatbelonged to her wedding outfit. She never wore them after Mr. Brunwaldedied, you know, Joanna, and she is going to lend them to me. "

"Let us go to sleep, Elin, " Joanna grumbled, drowsily. "We know allabout it now. It's just like Pam, with her partiality. She never offeredto lend them to us, and we have wanted them times and times, worse thanever Theo does now. "

And then Theo went to bed also; but did not sleep, of course; only laywith eyes wide open to the darkness, as any other girl would have done, thinking excitedly of Pamela's generous gifts, and of Lady Throckmorton, and, perhaps, more than once the strange chance which had brought tolight again the wedding-day, that was never more than the sad ghost of awedding, and the bridal gifts that had come to the bride from a deadhand. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE ARRIVAL. 

A great deal of hard work was done during the following week. Theremodelling of the outfit was no light labor: but Pamela was steady toher trust, in her usual practical style. She trimmed, and fitted, andcut, until the always-roughened surface of her thin forefinger wasrougher than ever. She kept Theo at work at the smaller tasks she choseto trust to her, and watched her sharply, with no shadow of the softenedmood she had given the candle-lighted bedroom a glimpse of. She was assevere upon any dereliction from duty as ever, and the hardness of hergeneral demeanor was not a whit relaxed. Indeed, sometimes Theo foundherself glancing up furtively from her tasks, to look at the thin, sharpface, and wondering if she had not dreamed that her arms had clasped athrobbing, shaken form, when they faced together the ghost of long deadlove. 

But the preparations were completed at last, and the trunks packed; andLady Throckmorton had written to say that her carriage would meet heryoung relative's arrival. So the time came when Theo, in giving herfarewell kisses, clung a little closely about Pamela's neck, and whenthe cab-door had been shut, saw her dimly through the smoky glass, andthe mistiness in her eyes; saw her shabby dress, and faded face, andhalf-longed to go back; remembered sadly how many years had passed sinceshe had left the dingy sea-port town to go to London, and meet her fate, and lose it, and grow old before her time in mourning it; saw her, lastof all, and so was whirled up the street, and out of sight. And in likemanner she was whirled through the thronged streets of London, when shereached that city at night, only that Lady Throckmorton's velvet-linedcarriage was less disposed to rattle and jerk over the stones, and moredisposed to an aristocratic, easily-swung roll than the musty vehicle ofthe Downport cabman. 

There was a queer, excited thrill in her pulses as she leaned back, watching the gaslights gleaming through the fog, and the people passingto and fro beneath the gaslights. She was so near her journey's end thatshe began to feel nervous. What would Lady Throckmorton look like? Howwould she receive her? How would she be dressed? A hundred such simple, girlish wonders crowded into her mind. She would almost have been gladto go back--not quite, but almost. She had a lingering, inconsistentrecollection of the contents of her trunks, and the sapphires, whichwas, nevertheless, quite natural to a girl so young, and so unused toeven the most trivial luxuries. She had never possessed a rich orcomplete costume in her life; and there was a wondrous novelty in theanticipation of wearing dresses that were not remodelled from Pamela'sor her mother's cast-off garments. 

When the carriage drew up before the door of the solid stone house, inthe solid-looking, silent square, she required all her courage. Therewas a glare of gaslight around the iron grating, and a glare of gaslightfrom the opening door, and then, after a little confusion of entrance, she found herself passing up a stair-case, under the guidance of aservant, and so was ushered into a large, handsome room, and formallyannounced. 

An elderly lady was sitting before the fire reading, and on hearingTheo's name, she rose, and came forward to meet her. Of course, it wasLady Throckmorton, and, having been a beauty in her long past day, evenat sixty-five Lady Throckmorton was quite an imposing old person. Evenin her momentary embarrassment, Theo could not help noticing her bright, almond-shaped brown eyes, and the soft, close little curls of finesnow-white hair, that clustered about her face under her rich, black-lace cap. 

"Theodora North, is it?" she said, offering her a wrinkled yet strongwhite hand. "I am glad to see you, Theodora. I was afraid you would betoo late for Sir Dugald's dinner, and here you are just in time. I hopeyou are well, and not tired. "

Theo replied meekly. She was quite well, and not at all tired, whichseemed to satisfy her ladyship, for she nodded her handsome old headapprovingly. 

"Very well, then, my dear, " she said. "I will ring for Splaighton totake you up-stairs, and attend to you. Of course, you will want tochange your dress for dinner, and you have not much time. Sir Dugaldnever waits for anybody, and nothing annoys him more than to have dinnerdetained. "

Accordingly, greatly in awe of Sir Dugald, whoever he might be, Theodorawas pioneered out of the room again, and up another broad stair-case, into an apartment as spacious and luxurious as the one below. There hertoilet was performed and there the gray satin was donned in sometrepidation, as the most suitable dress for the occasion. 

She stepped before the full-length mirror to look at herself beforegoing down, and as she did so, she was conscious that her waiting-womanwas looking at her too in sedate approval. The gray satin was verybecoming. Its elaborate richness and length of train changed theundeveloped girl, to whom she had given a farewell glance in the smallmirror at Downport, to the stateliest of tall young creatures. Her barearms and neck were as soft and firm as a baby's; her _riant_, un-Englishface seemed all aglow of color and mellow eyes. But for the presence ofthe maid, she would have uttered a little cry of pleasure, she was sonew to herself. 

It was like a dream, the going down-stairs in the light and brightness, and listening to the soft sweep of the satin train; but it wassingularly undream-like to be startled as she was by the rushing of ahuge Spanish mastiff, which bounded down the steps behind her, andbounding upon her dress, nearly knocked her down. The animal came like arush of wind, and simultaneously a door opened and shut with a bang; andthe man who came out to follow the dog, called to him in a voice sorough that it might have been a rush of wind also. 

"Sabre!" he shouted. "Come back, you scoundrel!" and then his heavy feetsounded upon the carpet. "The deuce!" he said, in an odd, low mutter, which sounded as though he was speaking half to her, half to himself. "My lady's protege, is it? The other Pamela! Rather an improvement onPamela, too. Not so thin. "

Theo blushed brilliantly--a full-blown rose of a blush, and hesitated, uncertain what etiquette demanded of her under the circumstances. Shedid not know very much about etiquette, but she had an idea that thiswas Sir Dugald, whoever Sir Dugald might be. But Sir Dugald set her mindat rest on nearing her. 

"Good-evening, Theodora, " he said, unceremoniously. "Of course, it isTheodora. "

Theo bowed, and blushed more brilliantly still. 

"All the better, " said this very singular individual. "Then I haven'tmade a mistake, " and, reaching, as he spoke, the parlor door at the footof the stairs, and finding that the mastiff was stretched upon the mat, he favored him with an unceremonious, but not unfriendly kick, and thenopened the door, the dog preceding them into the room with slowstateliness. 

"You are a quick dresser, I am glad to see, Theodora, " said LadyThrockmorton, who awaited them. "Of course, there is no need ofintroducing you two to each other. Sir Dugald does not usually wait forceremonies. "

Sir Dugald looked down at the lovely face at his side with a ponderousstare. He might have been admiring it, or he might not; at any rate, hewas favoring it with a pretty close inspection. 

"I believe Sir Dugald has not introduced himself to me, " said Theo, insome confusion. "He knew that I was Theodora North; but I--"

"Oh!" interposed her ladyship, as collectedly as if she had scarcelyexpected anything else, "I see. Sir Dugald Throckmorton. Theodora--youruncle. "

By way of returning Theo's modest little recognition of thepresentation, Sir Dugald nodded slightly, and, after giving her anotherstare, turned to his mastiff, and laid a large muscular hand upon hishead. He was not a very prepossessing individual, Sir DugaldThrockmorton. 

Lady Throckmorton seemed almost entirely oblivious of her husband'spresence; she solaced herself by ignoring him. 

When they rose from the table together, the authoritative old ladymotioned Theo to a seat upon one of the gay foot-stools near her. 

"Come and sit down by me, " she said. "I want to talk to you, Theodora. "

Theo obeyed with some slight trepidation. The rich-colored old browneyes were so keen as they ran over her. But she seemed to be satisfiedwith her scrutiny. 

"You are a very pretty girl, Theodora, " she said. "How old are you?"

"I am sixteen, " answered Theo. 

"Only sixteen, " commented my lady. "That means only a baby in Downport, I suppose. Pamela was twenty when she came to London, and Iremember--Well, never mind. Suppose you tell me something about yourlife at home. What have you been doing all these sixteen years?"

"I had always plenty to do, " Theo answered. "I helped Pamela with thehousework and the clothes-mending. We did not keep any servant, so wewere obliged to do everything for ourselves. "

"You were?" said the old lady, with a side-glance at the girl's slight, dusky hands. "How did you amuse yourself when your work was done?"

"We had not much time for amusements, " Theo replied, demurely, in spiteof her discomfort under the catechism; "but sometimes, on idle days, Iread or walked on the beach with the children, or did Berlin-wool work. "

"What did you read?" proceeded the august catechist. She liked to hearthe girl talk. 

"Love stories, " more demurely still, "and poetry, and sometimes history;but not often history--love stories and poetry oftenest. "

The clever old face was studying her with a novel sort of interest. Uponthe whole, my lady was not sorry she had sent for Theodora North. 

"And, of course, being a Downport baby, you have never had a lover. Pamela never had a lover before she came to me. "

A lover. How Theodora started and blushed now to be sure!

"No, madame, " she answered, and, in a perfect wonder of confusion, dropped her eyes, and was silent. 

But the very next instant she raised them again at the sound of the dooropening. Somebody was coming in, and it was evidently somebody who felthimself at home, and at liberty to come in as he pleased, and when thefancy took him, for he came unannounced entirely. 

Theo found herself guilty of the impropriety of gazing at himwonderingly as he came forward, but Lady Throckmorton did not seem atall surprised. 

"I have been expecting you, Denis, " she said. "Good-evening! Here isTheodora North. You know I told you about her. "

Theo rose from her footstool at once, and stood up tall and straight--ayoung sultana, the youngest and most innocent-looking of sultanas, inunimperial gray satin. The gentleman was looking at her with a pair ofthe handsomest eyes she had ever seen in her life. 

Then he made a low, ceremonious bow, which had yet a sort of indolencein its very ceremony, and then having done this much, he sat down, as ifhe was very much at home indeed. 

"I thought I would run in on my way to Broome street, " he said. "I amobliged to go to Miss Gower's, though I am tired out to-night. "

"Obliged!" echoed her ladyship. 

"Well--yes, " the gentleman answered, with cool negligence. "Obliged inone sense. I have not seen Priscilla for a week. "

The handsome, strongly-marked old eyebrows went up. 

"For a week, " remarked their owner, quite sharply. "A long time to beabsent. "

It was rather unpleasant, Theodora thought, that they should both seemso thoroughly at liberty to say what they pleased before her, as if shewas a child. Their first words had sufficed to show her that "MissGower's"--wherever Miss Gower's might be, or whatever order of place itwas--was a very objectionable place in Lady Throckmorton's eyes. 

"Well--yes, " he said again. "It is rather a long time, to tell thetruth. "

He seemed determined that the matter should rest here, for he changedthe subject at once, having made this reply, thereby proving to Theothat he was used to having his own way, even with Lady Throckmorton. Hewas hard-worked, it seemed, from what he said, and had a great deal ofwriting to do. He was inclined to be satirical, too, in a carelessfashion, and knew quite a number of literary people, and said a greatmany sharp things about them, as if he was used to them, and stood in noawe whatever of them and their leonine greatness. But he did not talk toher, though he looked at her now and then; and whenever he looked ather, his glance was a half-admiring one, even while it was evident thathe was not thinking much about her. He did not remain with them verylong, scarcely an hour, and yet she was almost sorry to see him go. Itwas so pleasant to sit silent and listen to these two worldly ones, asthey talked about their world. But he had promised Priscilla that hewould bring her a Greek grammar she required; and a broken promise was asin unpardonable in Priscilla's eyes. 

When he was gone, and they had heard the hall-door close upon him, thestillness was broken in upon by my lady herself. 

"Well, my dear, " she said, to Theodora. "What is your opinion of Mr. Denis Oglethorpe?"

"He is very handsome, " said Theo, in some slight embarrassment. "And Ithink I like him very much. Who is Priscilla, aunt?"

She knew that she had said something amusing by Lady Throckmorton'slaughing quietly. 

"You are very like Pamela, Theodora, " she said. "It sounds very likePamela--what Pamela used to be--to be interested in Priscilla. "

"I hope it wasn't rude?" fluttered the poor little rose-colored sultana. 

"Not at all, " answered Lady Throckmorton. "Only innocent. But I can tellyou all about Priscilla in a dozen words. Priscilla is a modern Sappho. Priscilla is an elderly young lady, who never was a girl--Priscilla ismy poor Denis Oglethorpe's _fiancee_. "

"Oh!" said Theodora. 

Her august relative drew her rich silk skirts a little farther away fromthe heat of the fire, and frowned slightly; but not at Theodora--atPriscilla, in her character of _fiancee_. 

"Yes, " she went on. "And I think you would agree with me in saying poorDenis Oglethorpe, if you could see Priscilla. "

"Is she ugly?" asked Theo, concisely. 

"No, " sharply. "I wish she was; but at twenty-two she is elderly, as Isaid just now--and she never was anything else. She was elderly whenthey were engaged, five years ago. "

"But why--why didn't they get married five years ago, if they wereengaged?"

"Because they were too poor, " Lady Throckmorton explained; "becauseDenis was only a poor young journalist, scribbling night and day, andscarcely earning his bread and butter. "

"Is he poor now?" ventured Theo again. 

"No, " was the answer. "I wish he was, if it would save him from theGowers. As it is, I suppose, if nothing happens to prevent it, he willmarry Priscilla before the year is out. Not that it is any business ofmine, but that I am rather fond of him--very fond of him, I might say, and I was once engaged to his father. "

Theo barely restrained an ejaculation. Here was another romance--and shewas so fond of romances. Pamela's love-story had been a great source ofdelight to her; but if Mr. Oglethorpe's father had been anything likethat gentleman himself, what a delightful affair Lady Throckmorton'slove-story must have been! The comfortable figure in the arm-chair ather side caught a glow of the faint halo that surrounded poor Pam; butin this case the glow had a more roseate tinge, and was altogether freefrom the funereal gray that in Pamela always gave Theo a sense ofsympathizing discomfort. 

The next day she wrote to Pamela:

 "I have not had time yet to decide how I like Lady Throckmorton, " she said. "She is very kind to me, and asks a good many questions. I think I am a little afraid of her; but perhaps that is because I do not know her very well. One thing I am sure of, she doesn't like either Sir Dugald or his dog very much. We had a caller last night--a gentleman. A Mr. Denis Oglethorpe, who is a very great favorite of Lady Throckmorton. He is very handsome, indeed. I never saw any one at all like him before--any one half so handsome and self-possessed. I liked him very much because he talked so well, and was so witty. I had on the gray satin when he came, and the train hung beautifully. I am glad we made it with a train, Pamela. I think I shall wear the purple cloth to-night, as Lady Throckmorton said that perhaps he might drop in again, and he knows so many grand people, that I should like to look nice. There seems to be a queer sort of friendship between aunt and himself, though somehow I fancied he did not care much about what she said to him. He is engaged to be married to a very accomplished young lady, and has been for several years; but they were both too poor to be married until now. The young lady's name is Priscilla Gower; and Lady Throckmorton does not like her, which seems very strange to me. She is as poor as we are, I should imagine, for she gives French and Latin lessons, and lives in a shabby house. But I don't think that is the reason Lady Throckmorton does not like her. I believe it is because she thinks she is not suited to Mr. Oglethorpe. I hope she is mistaken, for Mr. Oglethorpe is very nice indeed, and very clever. He is a journalist, and has written a book of beautiful poetry. I found the volume this morning, and have been reading it all day. I think it is lovely; but Lady Throckmorton says he wrote it when he was very young, and makes fun of it now. I don't think he ought to, I am sure. I shall buy a copy before I return, and bring it home to show you. I will write to mamma in a day or so. With kisses and love, and a hundred thanks again for the dresses, I remain, my dearest Pamela, your loving and grateful, "THEO. "

CHAPTER III. 

THE MEETING. 

But Denis Oglethorpe did not appear again for several days. Perhapsbusiness detained him; perhaps he went oftener to see Priscilla. At anyrate, he did not call again until the end of the week. 

Lady Throckmorton was in her private room when he came, and as he madehis entrance with as little ceremony as usual, he ran in upon Theodora. Now, to tell the truth, he had, until this moment, forgotten all aboutthat young person's very existence. He saw so many pretty girls in aday's round, and he was so often too busy to notice half of them--thoughhe was an admirer of pretty girls--that it was nothing new to see oneand forget her, until chance threw them together again. Of course, hehad noticed Theodora North that first night. How could a man helpnoticing her? And the something beautifully over-awed and bashfullycurious in her lovely, uncommon eyes, had half amused him. And yet, until this moment, he had forgotten her, with the assistance of proofs, and printers, and Priscilla. 

But when, after running lightly up the stair-case, he opened thedrawing-room door, and saw a tall, lovely figure in a closely-fittingdress of purple cloth, bending over Sabre, and stroking his huge, tawnyhead with her supple little tender hand, he remembered. 

"Ah, yes!" he exclaimed, in an admiring aside. "To be sure; I hadforgotten Theodora. "

But Theodora had not forgotten him. The moment she saw him she stood upblushing, and with a light in her eyes. It was odd how un-English shelooked, and yet how thoroughly English she was in that delicious, uncomfortable trick of blushing vividly upon all occasions. She wasquite unconscious of the fact that the purple cloth was so becoming, andthat its sweep of straight, heavy folds made her as stately as someRajah's dark-eyed daughter. She did not feel stately at all; she onlyfelt somewhat confused, and rather glad that Mr. Denis Oglethorpe hadsurprised her by coming again. How Mr. Denis Oglethorpe would havesmiled if he had known what an innocent commotion his simple presencecreated!

"Lady Throckmorton is up-stairs reading, " she explained. "I will go andtell her you are here. " There were no bells in the house at Downport, and no servants to answer if any one had rang one, and, very naturally, Theo forgot she was not at Downport. 

"Excuse me. No, " said Mr. Denis Oglethorpe. "I would not disturb her onany account; and, besides, I know she will be down directly. She neverreads late in the evening. This is a very handsome dog, Miss North. "

"Very handsome, indeed, " was Theo's reply. "Come here, Sabre. "

Sabre stalked majestically to her side, and laid his head upon her knee. Theo stroked him softly, raising her eyes quite seriously to Mr. Oglethorpe's face. 

"He reminds me of Sir Dugald himself, " she said. 

Mr. Denis Oglethorpe smiled faintly. He was not very fond of Sir Dugald, and the perfect gravity and _naivete_ with which this pretty, unsophisticated young sultana had made her comment had amounted to avery excellent joke. 

"Does he?" he returned, as quietly as possible, and then his glancemeeting Theo's, she broke into a little burst of horror-strickenself-reproach. 

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "I oughtn't to have said that, ought I? Iforgot how rude it would sound; but, indeed, I only meant that Sabre wasso slow and heavy, and--and so indifferent to people, somehow. I don'tthink he cares about being liked at all. "

She was so abashed at her blunder, that she looked absolutely imploring, and Mr. Denis Oglethorpe smiled again. He felt inclined to make friendswith Theodora. 

"There is a little girl staying at Lady Throckmorton's, " he had said toPriscilla. "A relative of hers. A pretty creature, too, Priscilla, for abread-and-butter Miss. "

But just at this moment, he thought better of the matter. What tender, speechful eyes she had! He was aroused to a recognition of their beautyall at once. What contour there was in the turn of arm and shoulderunder the close-fitting purple cloth! He was artistically thankful thatthere was no other trimming of the straight bodice than the line ofbuttons that descended from the full white ruff of swansdown at herthroat, to her delicate, trim waist. Her unconscious stateliness ofgirlish form, and the conscious shyness of her manner, were theloveliest inconsistency in the world. 

"Oh, I shall not tell Sir Dugald, " he said to her, good-humoredly. "Besides, I think the comparison an excellent one. I don't know anythingin London so like Sir Dugald as Sir Dugald's dog. "

Theodora stroked Sabre, apologetically, but could scarcely find courageto speak. She had stood somewhat in awe of Mr. Denis Oglethorpe, even atfirst, and her discomfort was rapidly increasing. He must think herdreadfully stupid, though he was good-humored enough to make light ofher silly speech. Certainly Priscilla never made such a silly speech inher life; but then, how could one teach French and Latin, and beanything but ponderously discreet?

Mr. Denis Oglethorpe was not thinking of Priscilla's wisdom, however; hewas thinking of Theodora North; he was thinking that he must have beenvery blind not to have seen before that his friend's niece was a beautyof the first water, young as she was. But he had been tired and faggedout, he remembered, on the first occasion of their meeting--too tired tothink of anything but his appointment at Broome street, and Priscilla'sGreek grammar. And now in recognizing what he had before passed by, hewas quite glad to find the girl so young and inexperienced--so modest, in a sweet way. It was easy, as well as proper enough, to talk to herunceremoniously without the trouble of being diffuse and complimentary. So he made himself agreeable, and Theodora listened until she quiteforgot Sir Dugald, and only remembered Sabre, because his big heavy headwas on her knee, and she was stroking it. 

"And you were never in London before?" he said at length. 

"No, sir, " Theo answered. "This is the first time. I was never even outof Downport before. "

"Then we must take you to see the lions, " he said, "if Lady Throckmortonwill let us, Miss Theodora. I wonder if she would let us? If she would, I have a lady friend who knows them all, from the grisliest, downward, and I know she would like to help me to exhibit them to you. How shouldyou like that?"

"Better than anything in the world, " glowing with delighted surprise. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, " she added, quite apologetically. 

Mr. Denis Oglethorpe smiled. 

"It would be simply delightful, " he said. "I should like it better thananything in the world, too. We will appeal to Lady Throckmorton. "

"When Priscilla was in London--" Theodora was beginning a minute later, when the handsome face changed suddenly as her companion turned upon herin evident surprise. 

"Priscilla?" he repeated, after her. 

"How stupid I am!" she ejaculated, distressedly. "I meant to say Pamela. My eldest sister's name is Pamela, and--and--"

"And you said Priscilla by mistake, " interposed Oglethorpe, with asudden accession of gravity. "Priscilla is a little like Pamela. "

It needed nothing more than this simple slip of Theodora North's tongueto assure him that Lady Throckmorton had been telling her the story ofhis engagement to Miss Gower, and, as might be anticipated, he was notas devoutly grateful to her ladyship as he might have been. He wascareless to a fault in some things, and punctilious to a fault inothers; and he was very punctilious about Priscilla Gower. He was not anardent lover, but he was a conscientiously honorable one, and, apartfrom his respect for his betrothed, he was very impatient ofinterference with his affairs; and my lady was not chary of interferingwhen the fancy seized her. It roused his pride to think how liberally hemust have been discussed, and, consequently, when Lady Throckmortonjoined them, he was not in the most amiable of moods. But he managed toend his conversation with Theo unconstrainedly enough. He even gainedher ladyship's consent to their plan. It was curiously plain how theyboth appeared to agree in thinking her a child, and treating her as one. Not that Theo cared about that. She had been so used to Pamela, that shewould have felt half afraid of being treated with any greater ceremony;but still she could clearly understand that Mr. Oglethorpe did not speakto her as he would have spoken to Miss Gower. But free from any touch oflight gallantry as his manner toward the girl was, Denis Oglethorpe didnot forget her this night. On the contrary, he remembered her verydistinctly, and had in his mind a very exact mental representation ofher purple robe, soft white ruff, and all, as he buttoned up his paletotover his chest in walking homeward. But he thought of her carelessly andhonestly enough, as a beautiful young creature years behind him inexperience, and utterly beyond him in all possibility of any sentimentalfancy. 

The friendship existing between Lady Throckmorton and this young man wasa queer, inconsistent sentiment enough, and yet was a friendship, and amature one. The two had encountered each other some years ago, whenDenis had been by no means in his palmiest days. In fact, my lady hadpicked him up when he stood in sore need of friends, and Oglethorpenever forgot a favor. He never forgot to be grateful to LadyThrockmorton; and so, despite the wide difference between theirrespective ages and positions, their mutual liking had ripened into afamiliarity of relationship which made them more like elder sister andyounger brother than anything else. Oglethorpe, junior, was pretty muchwhat Oglethorpe, senior, had been, and notwithstanding her practicalviews, Lady Throckmorton liked him none the worse for it. She petted andpatronized him, questioned and advised him, and if he did not pleaseher, rated him roundly without the slightest compunction. In fact, shewas a woman of caprices even at sixty-five, and Denis Oglethorpe was oneof her caprices. 

And, in like manner, Theodora North became another of them. Finding hertractable, she became quite fond of her, in her own way, and was atleast generous to lavishness in her treatment of her. 

"You are very handsome, indeed, Theodora, " she said to her a few daysafter her arrival. "Of course, you know that--ten times handsomer thanever poor Pamela could have been. Your figure is perfect, and you haveeyes like a Syrian, instead of a commonplace English woman. I am goingto give you a rose-pink satin dress. Rose-pink is just your shade, andsome day, when we go out together, I will lend you some of my diamonds. "

After this whimsical manner she lavished presents upon her whenever shehad a new fancy. In truth, her generosity was constitutional, and shehad been generous enough toward Pamela, but she had never been soextravagant as she was with Theodora. Theodora was an actual beauty, ofan uncommon type, in the face of her ignorance of manners and customs. Pamela had never, at her best, been more than a delicately pretty girl. 

In the meantime, Denis Oglethorpe made friendly calls as usual, andalways meeting Theodora, found her very pleasant to talk to and look at. He found out her enthusiastic admiration for the poetic effusions of hisyouth, and in consideration thereof, good-humoredly presented her with acopy of the volume, with some very witty verses written on the fly-leafin a flourishing hand. It was worth while to amuse Theodora, she was sopretty and unassuming in her delight at his carelessly-amiable effortsfor her entertainment. She was only a mere child after all at sixteen, with Downport in the background; so he felt quite honestly at ease inbeing attentive to her girlish requirements. Better that he should amuseher than that she should be left to the mercy of men who would perhapshave the execrable taste to spoil her pretty childish ways withflattery. 

"Don't let all these fine people and fine speeches turn your head, Theodora, " he would say, in a tone that might either have been jest orearnest. "They spoiled me in my infancy, and my unfortunate experiencecauses me to warn you. "

But whether he jested or not, Theo was always inclined to listen to himwith some degree of serious belief. She took his advice when it wasproffered, and regarded his wisdom as the wisdom of an oracle. Whoshould know better than he what was right? His indifference to the ruleof opinion could only be the result of conscious perfection, and hiscareless satires were to her the most brilliant of witticisms. He paidher his first compliment the night the rose-colored satin-dress camehome. 

They were going to see Faust together with Lady Throckmorton, and shehad finished dressing early, and came down to the drawing-room, andthere Denis found her when he came up-stairs--the thick, lustrous foldsof satin billowing upon the carpet around her feet, something white, andsoft, and heavy wrapped about her. 

He was conscious of a faint shock of delight on first beholding her. Hehad just left Priscilla, pale and heavy-eyed, in dun-colored merino, poring over a Greek dictionary, and the sudden entering the bright room, and finding himself facing Theodora North in rose-colored satin, was alittle like electricity. 

"Oh! it's Theodora, is it?" he said, slowly, when he recovered himself. "Thank you, Theodora. "

"What for?" asked Theo, blushing. 

"For the rose-colored satin, " he returned, complacently. "It is so verybecoming. You look like a sultana, my dear Theodora. "

Theo looked up at him for a second, and then looked down. Much as sheadmired Mr. Denis Oglethorpe, she never quite comprehended him. He hadsuch an eccentric fashion of being almost curt sometimes. She had seenhim actually give a faint start when he entered, and she had notunderstood that, and now he had paid her a compliment, but with so muchof something puzzling hidden in his quiet-sounding voice, that she didnot understand that either--and he saw she did not. 

"I have been making a fine speech to Theodora, " he said to LadyThrockmorton, when she came in. "And she does not comprehend it in theleast. "

It was somewhat singular, Theo thought, that he should be so silentafter this, for he was silent. He even seemed absent-minded, for somereason or other. He did not talk to her as much as usual, and she wasquite sure he paid very little attention to Faust. 

But during the final act she found that he was not looking at the stageat all; but was sitting in the shadow of the box-curtain watchingherself. She had been deeply interested in Marguerite a minute before, and, in her heart-touched pleasure, had leant upon the edge of the box, her whole face thrilled with excitement. But the steady gaze magnetizedher, and drew her eyes round to the shadowy corner where Denis sat; andshe positively turned with just such a start as he himself had givenwhen Theodora North, in rose-colored satin, burst upon him, in suchvivid, glowing contrast to Priscilla Gower, in dun merino. 

"Oh!" she said, and though the little exclamation was scarcely more thanan indrawn breath, Denis heard it, and came out of his corner to take aseat at her side, and lean over the box-edge also. 

"What is it, Theodora?" he asked, in a low, clear voice. "Is itMarguerite?"

She looked at him in a little fright at herself. She did not know whyshe had exclaimed--she scarcely knew how; but when she met hisunembarrassed eyes, she began to think that possibly it might beMarguerite. Indeed, a second later, she was quite sure it had beenMarguerite. 

"Yes--I think so, " she faltered. "Poor Marguerite! If she could onlyhave saved him?"

"How?" he asked. 

"I don't--at least I scarcely know; but I think the author ought to havemade her save him, someway. If--if she could have suffered something, orsacrificed something--"

"Would she have done it if she could?" commented Denis, languidly. Hehad quite recovered himself by this time. 

"I would have done it if I had been Marguerite, " Theo half whispered. 

In his surprise he forgot his self-possession. He turned upon hersuddenly, and meeting her sweet, world-ignorant eyes, felt the faint, pained shock once more, and strangely enough his first thought was adisconnected one of Priscilla Gower. 

"You?" he said, the next moment. "Yes, I believe you would, Theodora. "

He was sure she would, after that swift glance of his, and--Well, what ahappy man he would be for whom this tender young Marguerite would sufferor be sacrificed. The idea had really never occurred to him before thatTheodora North was nearly a woman; but it occurred to him now with allthe greater force, because he had been so oblivious to the fact before. 

He sat by her side until the curtain fell; but his silent mood seemed tohave come upon him again. He was very much interested in Margueriteafter this, Theo thought; but it is very much to be doubted whether hecould have given a clear account of what was passing before his eyesupon the stage. He did not even go into the house with them when theyreturned; but as he stood upon the door-step, touching his hat in afinal adieu, he was keenly alive to a consciousness of Theodora North atthe head of the stair-case, with billows of glistening rose-pink satinlying on the rich carpet about her feet, as she half turned toward himto bid him good-night. 

Bright as the future was, it left a sense of discomfort, he could notexplain why. He dismissed the carriage, and walked down the street, feeling fairly depressed in spirits. 

He had, perhaps, never given the girl a thought before, unless whenchance had thrown them together, and even then his thoughts had beencommon admiring ones. She had pleased him, and he had tried to amuse herin a careless, well-meant fashion, though he had never made finespeeches to her, as nine men out of ten would have done. He had been soused to Priscilla, that it never occurred to him that a girl so young asthis one could be a woman. And, after all, his blindness had not beenthe result of any frivolous lack of thought. A sharp experience had madehim as thoroughly a man of the world as a man may be; but it had notmade him callous or indifferent to the beauties of life. No one wouldever have called him emotional, or prone to enthusiasms of a weak kind, and yet he was by no means hard of heart. He had quiet fancies of hisown about people and things, and many of these reticent, rarely-expressed ideas were reverent, chivalrous ones of women. Theopposing force of a whole world could never have shaken his faith inPriscilla Gower, or touched his respect for her; but though, perhaps, hehad never understood it so, he had never felt very enthusiasticallyconcerning her. Truly, Priscilla Gower and enthusiasm were not inaccordance with each other. Chance had thrown them together when bothwere very young, and propinquity did the rest. Propinquity is thestrongest of agents in a love affair, and in Denis Oglethorpe's loveaffair, propinquity had accomplished what nothing else would have beenlikely to have done. The desperate young scribbler of twenty years hadbeen the lodger of the elder Miss Gower, and Priscilla, aged seventeen, had brought in his frugal dinners to him, and receipted his modest billson their weekly payment. 

Priscilla at seventeen, silent, practical, grave and handsome, had, perhaps, softened unconsciously at the sight of his often pale face--heworked so hard and so far into the night; when at length they becamefriends, Priscilla gravely, and without any hesitation, volunteered tohelp him. She could copy well and clearly, and he could come into heraunt's room--it would save fires. So she helped him calmly anddecorously, bending her almost austerely-handsome young head over hispapers for hours on the long winter nights. It is easy to guess how thematter terminated. If ever he won success he determined to give it toPriscilla--and so he told her. He had never wavered in his faith for asecond since, though he had encountered many beautiful and womanlywomen. He had worked steadily for her sake, and shielded her from everycare that it lay within his power to lighten. He was not old MissElizabeth Gower's lodger now--he was her niece's husband in perspective. He was to marry Priscilla Gower in eight months. This was why TheodoraNorth, in glistening rose-pink satin, sent him home confronting asuddenly-raised spirit of pain. Twice, in one night, he had foundhimself feeling toward Theodora North as he had never felt towardPriscilla Gower in his life. Twice, in one night, he had turned his eyesupon this girl of sixteen, and suffered a sudden shock of enthusiasm, orsomething like it. He was startled and discomfited. She had no right towin such admiration from him--he had no right to give it. 

But as his walk in the night-air cooled him, it cooled his ardor ofself-examination somewhat. His discontent was modified by the time hereached his own door, and took his latch-key out of his pocket. The facethat had looked down upon him beneath the light at the head of thestair-case, had faded into less striking color--it was only a girl'sface again. He was on better terms with himself, and his weakness seemedless formidable. 

"I will keep my promise to-morrow, " he said, "and Priscilla shall gowith us. Poor Priscilla!--poor girl! Rose-pink satin would scarcely bein good taste in Broome street. "

The promise he had made was nothing more than a ratification of the oldone. They were to see the lions together, and Priscilla was to guidethem. 

And when the morrow came, he found it, after all, safe enough, and aneasy enough matter, to tuck Theodora's small, gloved hand under his arm, when they set out on their tour of investigation and discovery. The girlwas pretty enough, too, in her soft, black merino--her "best" dress inDownport--but she was not dazzling. The little round, black-plumed hatwas becoming also; but in his now more prosaic mood, he could standthat, too, pretty as it was in an innocent, unconsciously-coquettishway. Theo was never coquettish herself in the slightest degree. She wasnot world-wise enough for that yet. But she was quite exhilaratingto-day; so glad to be out even in the London fog of November; so glad tobe taken lion-hunting; so delighted with the shops and their gaywindows; so ready to let her young tongue run on in a gay stream ofchatter, altogether so bright, and pretty, and joyous, that her escortwas fain to be delighted too. 

"Guess where we are going to first?" said he. (He had not before openlyspoken of Priscilla to her. )

She glanced up into his face, brightly. She remembered what he had toldher about his lady friend. 

"I don't exactly know the name of the place, " she said; "but I think Iknow the name of the person we are going to see. "

"Do you?" was his reply. "Then say it to me--let me hear it. "

"Miss Gower, " she answered, softly, in a pretty reverence for him. "MissPriscilla Gower. "

He nodded, slightly, with a curious mixture of expressions in his face. 

"Yes, " he said. "Miss Gower, or rather Miss Priscilla Gower, as you say. Number twenty-three, Broome street; and Broome street is not afashionable locality, my dear Theodora. "

"Isn't it?" queried Theo. "Why not?"

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"Ask Lady Throckmorton, " he said. "But do you know who Miss PriscillaGower is, Theodora?"

Her bright eyes crept up to his, half-timidly; but she said nothing, sohe continued. 

"Miss Priscilla Gower is the young lady to whom I am to be married nextJuly. Did you know that?"

"Yes, " answered Theo, looking actually pleased, and blushing beautifullyas he looked down at her. "But I am very much obliged to you for tellingme, Mr. Oglethorpe. "

"Why?" he asked. It was very preposterous, that even though his mood wasso prosaic and paternal a one, he was absurdly, vacantly sensible offeeling some uneasiness at the brightness of her upturned face. Forpity's sake, why was it that he was impelled to such a puerileweakness--such a vanity, as he sternly called it. 

"Because, " returned Theo, "it makes me feel as if--I mean it makes mehappy to think you trust me enough to tell me about what has made youhappy. I hope--oh! I do hope Miss Priscilla Gower will like me. "

He had been looking straight before him while she spoke, but thisbrought his eyes to hers again, and to her face--bright, appealing, upturned--and he found himself absolutely obliged to steady himself witha jesting speech. 

"My dearest Theodora, " he said. "Miss Priscilla Gower could not possiblyhelp it. "

Comforting as this assurance was to her, it must be confessed she foundherself somewhat over-awed on reaching Broome street, and being takeninto the tiny, dwarfed-looking parlor of number twenty-three; MissElizabeth Gower herself was there, in her company-cap, andlong-cherished company-dress of snuff-colored satin. There were not manyshades of difference in either her snuff-colored gown, or hersnuff-colored skin, or her neat, snuff-colored false-front, Theofancied, but she was not at all afraid of her. She was a trifle afraidof Miss Priscilla. Miss Priscilla was sitting at the table reading whenthey entered, and as she rose to greet them, holding her book in onehand, the thought entered Theo's mind that she could comprehend dimlywhy Lady Throckmorton disliked her, and thought her unsuited to DenisOglethorpe. There was an absence of anything girl-like in her fine, ivory-pale face, somehow, though it was a young face and a handsomeface, at whose fine lines and clear contour even a connoisseur could nothave caviled. Its long almond-shaped, agate-gray eyes, black-fringed andlustrous as they were, still were silent eyes--they did not speak evento Denis Oglethorpe. 

"I am glad you have come, " she said, simply, extending her hand inacknowledgment of Denis's introduction. The quietness of this greetingspeech was a fair sample of all her manner. It would have been sheerlyimpossible to expect anything like effusiveness from Priscilla Gower. The most sanguine and empty-headed of mortals would never have lookedfor it in her. She was constitutionally unenthusiastic, if such a thingmay be. 

But she was gravely curious in this case concerning Theodora North. Thefact that Denis had spoken of her admiringly was sufficient to arouse inher mind an interest in this young creature, who was at once, and soinconsistently, beautiful, timid, and regal, without consciousness. 

"Three years more will make her something wonderful, as far as beauty isconcerned, " he had said; and, accordingly, she had felt some slightpleasure in the anticipation of seeing her. 

Yet Theo had some faint misgivings during the day as to whether MissPriscilla Gower would like her or not. She was at first even inclined tofear that she would not, being so very handsome, and grave, and womanly. But toward the end of their journeying together, she felt more hopeful. Reticent as she was, Priscilla Gower was a very charming young person. She talked well, and with much clear, calm sense; she laughed musicallywhen she laughed at all, and could make very telling, caustic speecheswhen occasion required; but still it was singular what a wide differencethe difference of six years made in the two girls. As Lady Throckmortonhad said, it was not a matter of age. At twenty-two Theodora North wouldoverflow with youth as joyously as she did now at seventeen; atseventeen Priscilla Gower had assisted her maiden aunt's lodger to copyhis manuscript with as mature a gravity as she would have displayedto-day. 

"I hope, " said Theodora, when, after their sight-seeing was over, shestood on the pavement before the door in Broome street, her nice littlehand on Denis Oglethorpe's arm, "I hope you will let me come to see youagain, Miss Gower. "

Priscilla, standing upon the door-step, smiled down on her bloominggirl's face, a smile that was a little like moonlight. All Priscilla'ssmiles were like moonlight. Theo's had a delicious glow of the sun. 

"Yes, " she said, in her practical manner. "It will please me very muchto see you, Miss Theodora. Come as often as you can spare the time. "

She watched the two as they walked down the street together, Theo'sblack feather glossy in the gaslight, as it drooped its long end againstOglethorpe's coat, and as she watched them, she noticed even this trifleof the feather, and the trifling fact that though Theo was almost regalin girlish height, she was not much taller than her companion'sshoulder. It was strange, she thought afterward, that she should havedone so; but even while thinking it strange in the afterward that cameto her, she remembered it all as distinctly as ever, and knew that tothe last day of her life she would never quite forget the quiet of thenarrow, dreary street, the yellow light of the gas-lamps, and the twofigures walking away into the shadow, with their backs toward her, thegirl holding Denis Oglethorpe's arm, and the glossy feather in her blackhat drooping its tip upon his shoulder. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THEO'S DIARY. 

Up-stairs, in a sacred corner of the chamber Lady Throckmorton hadapportioned to her, Theodora North kept her diary. Not a solid, long-winded diary, full of creditable reflections upon the day's events, but, on the contrary, a harmless little book enough--a pretty littlebook, bound in pink and gold, and much ornamented about the corners, andgreatly embellished with filagree clasps. Lady Throckmorton had given itto her because she admired it, and, in a very natural enthusiasm, shehad made a diary of it. And here are the entries first recorded in itsgilt-edged pages:

_December_ 7. --Mr. Oglethorpe was so kind as to remember his promiseabout showing me the lions. Enjoyed myself very much. Miss PriscillaGower went with us. She is very dignified, or something; but I think Ilike her. I am sure I like her, so I will go to see her again. I wonderhow it is she reminds me of Pamela without being like Pamela at all. Poor Pam always so sharp in her ways, and I do not think Miss Gower evercould speak sharply at all. And yet she reminds me of Pam. 

_December_ 14. --Went to the theatre again with Lady Throckmorton and Mr. Oglethorpe. I wonder if the rose-pink satin is not becoming to me? Ithought it was; but before I went up-stairs to dress, Mr. Oglethorpesaid to me, "Don't put on the rose-pink satin, Theodora. " I am sorrythat he does not think it is pretty. Wore a thin, white-muslin dress, and dear, dearest old Pamela's beautiful sapphires. The muslin had along train. 

_December_ 18. --Mr. Oglethorpe came to-night with a kind of message fromMiss Gower. 

From these innocent extracts, persons of an unlimited experience mightdraw serious conclusions; but when she made said entries, kneelingbefore her toilet-table, each night, our dear Theodora thought nothingabout them at all. She had nothing else in particular to write about atpresent, so, in default of finding a better subject, she jotted downguileless remembrances of Denis Oglethorpe and the length of her trains. 

But one memorable evening, on going into the sitting-room, with the pinkand gold volume in her hand, she encountered Sir Dugald, who seemed tobe in an extraordinary frame of mind, and withal nothing loth to meether. 

"What pretty book have you there, Theodora?" he asked, in his usualamiably uncivilized manner. 

"It is my diary, " Theo answered. "Lady Throckmorton gave it to me. I putthings down in it. "

"Oh, oh!" was the reply, taking hold of both Sabre's ears, andchuckling. "Put things down, do you? What sort of things do you putdown, eh, pretty Theodora? Lovers, eh? Literary men, eh?"

Theo grew pink all over--pink as to cheeks, pink as to slim whitethroat, even pink as to small ears. She was almost frightened, and herfright was of a kind such as she had never experienced before. But itwas not Sir Dugald she was afraid of--she was used to him. It wassomething new of which she had never thought until this very instant. 

"Literary men, eh?" Sir Dugald went on. "Do you put down what theirnames are, and what they do, and how they make mistakes, and take thewrong young lady to see Norma, and Faust and Il Trovatore? IlTrovatore's a nice opera; Theo and Leonora sounds something likeTheodora. It doesn't sound anything like Priscilla, does it? The devilfly away with Priscilla, I say. Priscilla isn't musical, is it, Leonora?"

Once having freed herself from him, which was by no means an easymatter, Theo flew up-stairs, tremulous, breathless, flushed. She did notstop to think. She had seen the drawing-room empty and unlighted, saveby a dull fire, on her way down-stairs, so she turned to thedrawing-room. She had been conscious of nothing but Sir Dugald, so shehad not heard the hall-door open; and, not having heard the hall-dooropen, had, of course, not heard Denis Oglethorpe come in. So, in runninginto the fire-lit room, she broke in upon that gentleman, who wasstanding in the shadow, and it must be confessed was rather startled byher sudden entrance and curiously-excited face. 

He stopped her short, however, collectedly enough. 

"What is the matter, Theodora?" he demanded. 

She slipped down upon a footstool, all in a flutter, when she saw him, she was so shaken; and then, in her sudden abasement and breathlesstremor, gave vent to a piteous little half-sob, though she was terriblyashamed of it. 

"I--I don't know, " she answered him. "It's--it's nothing at all. " But heknew better than that, and guessing very shrewdly that he was not whollyunconnected with the matter himself, questioned her as closely as wasconsistent with delicacy, and, in the end, after some diplomacy, and afew more of surprised, piteous, little unwilling half-sobs, gleaned agreat deal of the truth from her. 

"It was only--only something Sir Dugald said about you and Miss Gower, and--and something about me, " she added, desperately. 

"Oh!" he said, looking so composed about it that the very sight of hiscomposure calmed her, and made her begin to think she had seen amountain in a mole-hill. "Sir Dugald? Only Sir Dugald? What did he say, may I ask, as it--it is about myself and Miss Gower?"

Of course he might ask, but the difficulty lay in gaining any definiteanswer. Theodora blushed, and then actually turned a little pale, looking wondrously abased in her uncalled-for confusion; but she was notat all coherent in her explanations, which were really not meant forexplanations at all. 

"Il Trovatore was so beautiful!" she burst out, finally; "and so wasFaust; and I had never been to the opera in all my life before, and, ofcourse--" blushing and palpitating, but still looking at him without ashade of falsehood in her innocent, straightforward eyes; "of course, Icouldn't. How could I be so silly, and vain, and presuming, as to thinkof--of--of--"

She stopped here, as might be expected, and, if the room had been lightenough, she might have seen a shadow fall on Oglethorpe's face, as heprompted her. 

"Of what?"

Her eyes fell. "Of what Sir Dugald said, " she ended, in a troubledhalf-whisper. 

There was a slight pause, in which both pairs of eyes lookeddown--Theodora's upon the rug of tiger-skin at her feet, Oglethorpe's atTheodora herself. They were treading upon dangerous ground, he knew, andyet in the midst of his fierce anger at his weakness, he was consciousof a regret--a contemptible regret, he told himself--that the eyes shehad raised to his own a moment ago, had been so very clear andguilelessly honest in their accordance with the declaration her lips hadmade. 

"But, my dear Theodora, " he at length broke the silence by saying, carelessly, "why should we trouble ourselves about that elderly Goth, orVandal, if you choose--Sir Dugald? Who does trouble themselves about SirDugald, and his amiably ponderous jocoseness? Not Lady Throckmorton, Iam sure; not society in general, you must know; consequently, let ustreat Sir Dugald with silent contempt, in a glorious consciousness ofour own spotless innocence. "

He was half uneasy under his satirical indifference; though he was soaccustomed to conceal his thoughts under indifference and satire, he wasscarcely sure enough of himself at this minute; but, despite this, hecarried out the assumed mood pretty well. 

"We have no need to be afraid of Sir Dugald's Vandalism, if we have nofear of ourselves, and, considering, as you so very justly observed, that it is quite impossible for us to be silly, and vain, and presumingtoward each other. I think we must be quite safe. I believe you said itwould be impossible, Theodora?"

Just one breath's space, and Theodora North looked up at him, as it werethrough the influence of an electric flash of recognition. There was awild, sweet, troubled color on her cheeks, and her lips were trembling;her whole face seemed to tremble; her very eyes had a varying tremulousglow. 

"Quite impossible, wasn't it, Theodora?" he repeated, and though he hadmeant it for nothing more than a careless, daring speech, his voicechanged in defiance of him, and altered, or seemed to alter, both wordsand their meaning. What, in the name of madness, he would have been rashenough to say next, in response to the tremor of light and color in theupturned face, it would be hard to say, for here he was stopped, as itwere, by Fortune herself. 

Fortune came in the form of Lady Throckmorton, fresh from Trollope'slast, and in a communicative mood. 

"Ah! You are here, Denis, and you, too, Theodora? Why are you sitting inthe dark?" And, as she bent over to touch the bell, Theodora rose fromher footstool to make way for her--rose with a little sigh, as if shehad just been awakened from a dream which was neither happy nor sad. 

It was very plainly Lady Throckmorton's business to see, and, seeing, understand the affairs of her inexperienced young relative; but if LadyThrockmorton understood that Theodora North was unconsciouslyendangering the peace of her girlish heart, Lady Throckmorton was verysilent, or very indifferent about the matter. But she was not mouldedafter the manner of the stern female guardians usually celebrated inlove stories. She was not mercenary, and she was by no meansauthoritative. She had sent for Theo with the intention of extending toher the worldly assistance she had extended to Pamela, and, beyond that, the matter lay in the girl's own hands. Lady Throckmorton had no highviews for her in particular; she wanted to see her enjoy herself as muchas possible until the termination of her visit, in whatever manner itterminated, whether matrimonially or otherwise. Besides, she was not soyoung as she had been in Pamela's time, and, consequently, though shewas reasonably fond of her handsome niece, and more than usuallygenerous toward her, she was inclined to let her follow her own devices. For herself, she had her luxurious little retiring-room, with itsluxurious fires and lounges; and after these, or rather with these, camean abundance of novels, and the perfect, creamy chocolate her Frenchcook made such a masterpiece of--novels and chocolate standing aselderly and refined dissipations. And not being troubled with any verystrict ideas of right or wrong, it would, by no means, have annoyed herladyship to know that her handsome Theodora had out-generalled her petgrievance, Priscilla Gower. Why should not Priscilla Gower beout-generalled, and why should not Denis marry some one who was as muchbetter suited to him, as Theodora North plainly was?

"Tut! tut!" she said to Sir Dugald. "Why shouldn't they be married toeach other? It would be better than Priscilla Gower, if Theodora hadnothing but Pam's gray satin for her bridal trousseau. "

So Theo was left to herself, and having no confidant but the pink andgold journal, gradually began to trust to its page some very troubledreflections. It had not occurred to her that she could possibly beguilty in admiring Mr. Denis Oglethorpe so much as she did, and infeeling so glad when he came, and so sorry when he went away. She hadnot thought that it was because he was sitting near her, and talking toher between the acts; that Il Trovatore and Faust had been sothrillingly beautiful and tender. And this was quite true, even thoughshe had not begun to comprehend it as yet. 

She had no right to feel anxious about him; and yet, when, after havingcommitted himself in the rash manner chronicled, he did not make hisappearance for nearly two weeks, she was troubled in no slight degree. Indeed, though the thought was scarcely defined, she had someunsophisticated misgivings as to whether Miss Priscilla Gower might nothave been aroused to a sense of the wrongs done her through the mediumof Il Trovatore, and so have laid an interdict upon his visits; but itwas only Sir Dugald who had suggested this to her fancy. 

But by the end of the two weeks, she grew tired of waiting, and the dayswere so very long, that at length, not without some slight compunction, she made up her mind to go and pay a guileless visit to Miss PriscillaGower herself. 

"I am going to see Miss Gower, aunt, " she ventured to say one morning, at the breakfast table. 

Sir Dugald looked up from his huge slice of broiled venison, clumsilyjocose after his customary agreeable manner. 

"What's that, Leonora?" he said. "Going to see the stern vestal, areyou? Priscilla, eh?"

Lady Throckmorton shrugged her shoulders in an indifferent sarcasm. Shewas often both sarcastic and indifferent in her manner toward SirDugald. 

"Theo's in-goings and out-goings are scarcely our business, so long asshe enjoys herself, " she said. "Present my regards to the Miss Gowers, my dear, and say I regret that my health does not permit me to accompanyyou. "

A polite fiction by the way, as my lady was looking her best. It wasonly upon state occasions, and solely on Denis' account, that she eversubmitted to Broome street, albeit the fat, gray horses, and fat graycoachman did occasionally recognize the existence of that remotelocality. 

It so happened that, as they drew up before Miss Gower's modest doorthis morning, the modest door in question opened, and Denis Oglethorpehimself came out, and, of course, caught sight of Theodora North, whohad just bent forward to pull the check-string, and so gave him a fullview of her charming _reante_, un-English face, and, in her pleasure atseeing him, that young lady forgot both herself and Sir Dugald, andexclaimed aloud, "Oh, Mr. Oglethorpe!" she cried out. "I am so glad--" and then stopped, in a confusion and trepidation absolutely brilliant. 

He came to the window, and looked in at her. 

"Are you coming to see Priscilla?" he said. 

"Lady Throckmorton said I might, " she answered, the warmth in her facechilled by his unenthusiastic though kindly tone. She did not know whata struggle it cost him to face her thus carelessly all at once. 

He did not even open the carriage-door himself, but waited for thefootman to do it. 

"Priscilla will be glad to see you, " he said, quietly. "I will go intothe house again with you. "

The dwarfed sitting-room looked very much as it had looked on Theo'sfirst introduction to it; but on this occasion Miss Elizabeth was notarrayed in the snuff-colored satin; and when they entered, Priscilla waskneeling down upon the hearth-rug, straightening out an obstreperousfold in it. 

She rose, collectedly, at once, and as her face turned toward them, Theowas struck with some fancy of its being a shade paler than it had beenthe last time she had seen it. But her manner was not changed in theleast, and she welcomed her visitor with grave cordiality. Poor littlesnuff-colored Miss Elizabeth was delighted. She was getting very fond ofcompany in her old age, and had taken a great fancy to Theodora North. 

"Send the carriage away, and stay with us until evening, Miss Theodora, "she fluttered in wild, old-maidenly excitement. "Do stay, Miss Theodora, and I will show you how to do the octagon-stitch, as I promised the lasttime you were here. You remember how you admired it in that antimacassarI was making for Priscilla?"

Miss Elizabeth's chief delight and occupation was the making ofmiraculously-gorgeous mysteries for Priscilla; and Theo's modesteulogies of her last piece of work had won her admiration and regard atonce. Consequently, under stress of Miss Elizabeth, the carriage wasfain to depart, much to the abasement of the fat, gray coachman, whofelt himself much dishonored in finding he was compelled, not only topay majestic calls to Broome street, but to acknowledge the humiliatingfact of friendly visits. 

"We must have a fire in the best parlor, my dear, " chirped Elizabeth, ecstatically, when Theo's hat and jacket were being carried out of theroom. "Don't forget to tell Jane, Priscilla, and--" fumbling in herlarge side-pocket, "here's the key of the preserve-closet. Quincepreserve, my dear, and white currant-jelly. "

Theodora was reminded of Downport that day, in a hundred ways. The nicelittle company-dinner reminded her of it; the solitary little roast fowland the preserves and puddings; but the company-dinners at Downport hadalways been detracted from by the sharp annoyance in Pam's face, and thegeneral domestic bustle, and the total inadequacy of gravy and stuffingto the wants of the boys. She was particularly reminded of it by theceremonious repairing to the fire in the front parlor, where everythingwas so orderly, and even the family portraits had the appearance offamily portraits roused from a deep reverie to be surprised at anintrusion. 

"My late lamented parents, my dear, " said Miss Elizabeth, rubbing herspectacles, and admiringly regarding an owl-like, elderly gentleman, inan aggressive brown wig, and an equally owl-like lady, in aself-announcing false-front, embarrassingly suggestive of MissElizabeth's own. "My late lamented parents, at the respective ages offifty and fifty-seven. My sister, Anastasia; my only brother, mysister-in-law, his wife; and my dear Priscilla, at seventeen years. "

Theo turned from the others to look at this last with a deeper interest;remembered that it was when she was seventeen, that Priscilla had firstmet Denis Oglethorpe. It was a small picture, half life-size, and set inan oval frame of black walnut. Priscilla at seventeen had not been verydifferent from Priscilla at twenty-two. She had a pale, handsome, ungirlish face--a Minerva face--steady, grave, handsome eyes, and a finehead, unadorned, save with a classic knot of black brown hair. Thepicture was not even younger-looking than Priscilla was now. 

Miss Elizabeth regarded it in affectionate admiration of its beauty. 

"My dear, " she said to Theodora, "that is the most beautiful face inLondon, to my old eyes. It reminds me of my dear Anastasia in her youth. I was always glad my brother Benjamin's daughter was not like his wife. We were not fond of my brother Benjamin's wife. She was a very giddyyoung person, and very fond of gayety. She died of lung-fever, contracted through exposing herself one night at a military ball, indirect opposition to my brother Benjamin's wishes. She insisted uponwearing blue-satin slippers, and a low-necked dress. "

"Oh, dear!" said Theodora, secretly conscious of a guilty sympathy forthe giddy young person who ran counter to brother Benjamin's wishes, inthe matter of military balls and blue-satin slippers. 

"Yes, my love!" Miss Elizabeth proceeded. "And for that reason I wasalways glad to find that Priscilla was not at all like her. Priscillaand I have been very happy together, in our quiet way; she has been thebest of dear, good girls to me. Indeed, I really don't know what I shalldo when I must lose her, as of course you know I shall be obliged to, when she marries Mr. Denis Oglethorpe!"

"Yes, ma'am, " answered Theo, and as she spoke, she felt a curious, startled glow flash over her. This was the first time an actual approachto the subject had been made in her presence. 

"Yes, my dear!" said Miss Elizabeth again. "I shall feel the separationvery deeply, but it must be, you know. They have waited so long for eachother, that I should be a very wicked selfish old woman to throw anyobstacle, even so slight a one as my own discomfort, in their way. Don'tyou think so?"

"Yes, madame, " Theo faltered, very unsteadily, indeed. 

But Miss Elizabeth did not notice any hesitation in her manner, and wenton with her confidential chat, eulogizing Priscilla and her betrothedaffectionately. Mr. Denis Oglethorpe would be a rich man some of thesedays, and then what a happy life must Priscilla's be--so young, sobeautiful, so beloved. "Not that wealth brings happiness, my dear MissTheodora. Riches are very deceitful, you know; but there is a great dealof solid comfort in a genteel sufficiency. "

To all of which Theo acquiesced, modestly, inwardly wondering if she wasvery wrong in wishing that Oglethorpe had not left them quite so early. 

The day passed pleasantly enough, however, in a quiet way. MissElizabeth was very affectionate and communicative, and told her a greatmany stories of Anastasia, and the late-lamented Benjamin, as they satby the fire together, in the evening, and blundered over theoctagon-stitch. It was an Afghan Miss Elizabeth was making now; and whenat tea-time, Mr. Oglethorpe came, he found Theodora North sitting on thehearth, flushed with industrious anxiety, and thrown into reflected glowof brilliant Berlin wool, a beautiful young spider in a gorgeous Afghanweb. 

"I should like, " she was saying as he entered, "to buy Pamela and thegirls some nice little presents. What would you advise me to get, MissGower?"

She was very faithful to the shabby household at Downport. Her letterswere never careless or behind time, and no one was ever neglected in themultiplicity of messages. She would be the most truthful and faithful ofloving women a few years hence, this handsome Theodora. There was somereserve in her manner toward Denis this evening. She attended to MissElizabeth's octagon-stitch, and left him to amuse Priscilla. He had notseemed very much pleased to see her in the morning, and besides, Priscilla was plainly his business. But when the carriage was announced, and she returned to the parlor, after an absence of a few minutes, drawing on her gloves, and buttoning her pretty jacket close up to herbeautiful slender, dusky throat, Denis took his hat and accompanied herto the carriage. He did not wait for the footman this time; but, afterassisting her to get in, closed the door himself, and leaned against theopen window for a moment. 

"I want you to deliver a message to Lady Throckmorton for me, " he said. "May I trouble you, Theodora?"

She bent her head with an unpleasantly-quickened heart-beat. It was veryfoolish, of course, but she felt as if something painful was going tohappen, and nothing on earth could prevent it. 

"Business has unexpectedly called me away from London--from England, " heexplained, in a strange yet quite steady voice. "I am obliged to go toBelgium at once, and my affairs are in such a condition that I may becompelled to remain across the channel for some time. Be good enough tosay to Lady Throckmorton that I regret deeply that I could not see herbefore going; but--but the news has been sudden, and my time is fullyoccupied; but I will write to her from my first stopping-place. "

"I will tell her, " said Theodora. 

"Thank you, " he replied, courteously, and then, after a shorthesitation, began again, in the tone he used so often--the tone thatmight be jest or earnest. "And now, there is something else, a subjectupon which I wish to ask your unbiased opinion, my dear Theodora, beforeI say good-bye. When a man finds himself in a danger with which hecannot combat, and remain human--in danger, where defeat means dishonor, do you not agree with me, that the safest plan that man can adopt is torun away?"

Her quickened heart might almost have been running a life-and-death racewith her leaping pulse, but she answered him almost steadily. 

"Yes, " she said to him. "You are quite right. He had better go away. "

"Thank you, " he returned again. "Then you will give me your hand andwish me God-speed; and, perhaps--I say perhaps--you will answer meanother question. This morning, when you spoke to me through thecarriage window, you began to say something about being glad. Were yougoing to say--" He broke off here, sharply. "No!" he exclaimed. "I willnot ask you. "

"I was going to say that I was glad to see you, " Theo interrupted, gravely. "I was glad to see you. And now, perhaps, you had better tellthe coachman to drive on. I will deliver your message to LadyThrockmorton; and as I shall not see you again, unless I am here inJuly--of course you will come back then--good-bye, Mr. Oglethorpe. "

She gave him her hand through the carriage-window, and, for a moment, heheld it, to all appearance quite calm, as he looked down at the lovelyface the flare of an adjacent gaslight revealed to him against abackground of shadow. 

"Good-bye, " he said, and then released it. "Drive on, " he called to thecoachman, and in a moment more, he stood alone watching the carriageturn the corner. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE SEPARATION. 

"Mr. Denis Oglethorpe has gone away. He will not come back again untilJuly, when he is to marry Miss Gower. "

This was the last entry recorded in the little pink-and-gold journal, and after it came a gap of months. 

It was midnight after the memorable day spent in Broome street that therecord was made, and having made it, Theodora North shut the book with astartled feeling that she had shut within its pages an unfinished pageof her life. 

It was a strange feeling to have come upon her so suddenly, and therewas a strange kind of desperateness in its startling strength. It wasstartling; it had come upon her without a moment's warning, it seemed, and yet, if she had been conscious of it, there had been warning enough. Warning enough for an older woman--warning enough for Denis Oglethorpe;but it had not seemed warning to a girl of scarcely seventeen years. Butshe understood it now; she had understood it the moment he told her inthat strained, steady voice that he was going away. She had deliveredhis message to Lady Throckmorton, and listened quietly to her wanderingcomments, answering them as best she could. She had waited patientlyuntil Sir Dugald's barbarous eleven o'clock supper was over, and thenshe had gone to her room, stirred the fire, and dropped down upon thehearth-rug to think it over. She thought over it for a long time, herhandsome eyes brooding over the red coals, but after about half an hourshe spoke out aloud to the silence of the room. 

"He loved me, " she said. "He loved me--me. Poor Priscilla! Ah, poorPriscilla! How sorry I am for you. "

She was far more sorry for Priscilla than she was for herself, though itwas Priscilla who had won the lover, and herself who had lost himforever. She cared for him so much more deeply than she realized as yet, that she would rather lose him, knowing he loved her, than win himfeeling uncertain. The glow in her eyes died away in tears, but she wastoo young to realize despair or anything like it. The truth was that thecurious enchantment of the day had not been altogether sad, and atseventeen one does not comprehend that fate can be wholly bitter, orthat some turn in fortune is not in store for the future, howeverhopeless the present may seem. 

In this mood the entry was made in the little journal, and having madeit, Theodora North cried a little, hoped a little, and wonderedguilelessly how matters could end with perfect justice to PriscillaGower. 

The household seemed rather quiet after the change. Mr. Denis Oglethorpewas a man to be missed under any circumstances--and Theo was not theonly one who missed him. Lady Throckmorton missed him also, but she hadthe solace of her novels and her chocolate, which Theo had not. Novelshad been delightful at Downport, when they were read in hourly fear ofthe tasks that always interfered to prevent any indulgence; but in thosedays, for some reason, they were not as satisfactory as they appearedonce, and so being thrown on her own resources, she succumbed to thevery natural girlish weakness of feeling a sort of fascination forBroome street. It was hard to resist Broome street, knowing that theremust be news to be heard there, and so she gradually fell into the habitof paying visits, more to Miss Elizabeth Gower than to her niece. Theelder Miss Gower was always communicative, and always ready to talkabout her favorites, and to Theo, in her half-puzzled, half-sad frame ofmind, this was a curious consolation. The two spent hours together, sometimes, in the tiny parlor, stumbling over Berlin wool difficulties, and now and then wandering to and fro, conversationally, from Priscillato the octagon-stitch, and from the octagon-stitch to Denis. 

Priscilla was prone to reserve, and rarely joined them in their talks;and, besides, she was so often busy, that if she had felt theinclination to do so, she had not time to indulge it. But she was evenmore silent than she had seemed at first, Theo thought, and she was sureher pale, handsome face was paler, though, of course, that was easily tobe accounted for by her lover's absence. 

She was a singular girl this Priscilla Gower. The first time Theo eversaw her display an interest in anybody, or in anything, was when shefirst heard Pamela's love-story mentioned. 

She was sitting at work near them, when Theo chanced to mention ArthurBrunwalde, and, to her surprise, Priscilla looked up from her deskimmediately. 

"He was your sister's lover, was he not?" she said, with an abruptinterest in the subject. 

"Yes, " answered Theo; "but he died, you know. "

Priscilla nodded. 

"The week before their wedding-day, " she said. "Mr. Oglethorpe told meso. "

Theo answered in the affirmative again. 

"And poor Pam could not forget him, " she added, her usual tenderreverence for poor Pam showing itself in her sorrowing voice. "She wasvery pretty then, and Lady Throckmorton was angry because she would notmarry anybody else; but Pamela never cared for anybody else. "

Priscilla got up from her chair, and, coming to the hearth, leanedagainst the low mantel, pen in hand. She looked down on Theodora Northwith a curious expression in her cold, handsome eyes. 

"Is your sister like you?" she asked. 

Her tone was such a strange one that Theo lifted her face with a faint, startled look. 

"No, " she replied, almost timidly. "Pamela is fairer than I am, and notso tall. We are not alike at all. "

"I was not thinking of that, " said Priscilla. "I was wondering if youwere alike in disposition. I think I was wondering most whether youwould be as faithful as Pamela. "

"That is a strange question, " Miss Elizabeth interposed. "Theodora hasnot been tried. "

But Priscilla was looking straight at Theo's downcast eyes. 

"But I think Theodora knows, " she said, briefly. "Are you like yoursister in that, Theodora? I remember hearing Mr. Oglethorpe say once youwould be. "

Theo dropped her ivory crochet-needle, and bent to pick it up, with ablurred vision and nervous fingers. 

"I cannot tell, " she said. "I am not old enough to know yet. "

"You are seventeen, " said Priscilla. "I knew at seventeen. "

Theo recovered the needle, and reset it in her work to give herselftime, and then she looked up and faced her questioner bravely, in a sortof desperateness. 

"If I knew that I loved any one. If I had ever loved any one as Pamelaloved Mr. Brunwalde, I should be like Pamela, " she said. "I should neverlove any one else. "

From that time she fancied that Priscilla Gower liked her better thanshe had done before; at any rate, she took more notice of her, thoughshe was never effusive, of course. 

She talked to her oftener, and seemed to listen while she talked, eventhough she was busy at the time. She said to her once that she wouldlike to know Pamela; and, emboldened by this, Theo ventured to bring oneof Pam's letters to read to her; and when she had read it, told thewhole story of her sister's generosity in a little burst of enthusiasticlove and gratitude that fairly melted tender-hearted old Miss Elizabethto tears, and caused her to confide afterward to Theo the fact that sheherself had felt the influence of the tender passion, in consequence ofthe blandishments of a single gentleman of uncertain age, whoseperformances upon the flute had been the means of winning heraffections, but had unhappily resulted in his contracting a fatal coldwhile serenading on a damp evening. 

"He used to play 'In a Cottage near a Wood, ' my dear, most beautifully, "said Miss Elizabeth, wild with pathos, "though I regret to say that, aswe did not live in a musical neighborhood, the people next door did notappreciate it; the gentleman of the house even going so far as to saythat he was not sorry when he died, as he did a few weeks after the coldsettled on his dear weak lungs. He was the only lover I ever had, mydear Theodora, and his name was Elderberry, a very singular name, by theway, but he was a very talented man. "

When Theo went into the little back bedroom that evening to put on herhat, Priscilla Gower went with her, and, as she stood before thedressing-table buttoning her sacque, she was somewhat puzzled by theexpression on her companion's face. Priscilla had taken up her muff, andwas stroking the white fur, her eyes downcast upon her hand as it movedto and fro, the ring upon its forefinger shining in the gaslight. 

"I had a letter from Mr. Oglethorpe yesterday, " Priscilla said, at last. "He is in Vienna now; he asked if you were well. To-night I shall answerhim. Have you any message to send?"

"I?" said Theo. It seemed to her so strange a thing for Miss PriscillaGower to say, that her pronoun was almost an interjection. 

"I thought, perhaps, " said Priscilla, quietly, "that a message from youwould gratify him, if you had one to send. "

Theo took up her gloves and began to draw them on, a sudden feeling ofpain or discomfort striking her. It was a feeling scarcely definedenough to allow her to decide whether it was real pain or onlydiscomfort. 

"I do not think I have any message to send, " she replied. "Thank you, Miss Priscilla. "

She took her muff then, and went back to the parlor to kiss MissElizabeth, in a strange frame of mind. She was beginning to feel morestrangely concerning Mr. Denis Oglethorpe, and it was Priscilla Gowerwho had stirred her heart. She found Lady Throckmorton waiting at homefor her, to her surprise, in a new mood. She had that evening received aletter from Denis herself, and it had suggested an idea to her. 

"I have been thinking, Theo, " she said, "that we might take a run overthe Channel ourselves. I have not been in Paris for four years, and Ibelieve the change would do me good. The last time I visited the Spas, my health improved greatly. "

It was just like her ladyship to become suddenly possessed of a whim, and to follow its lead on the spur of the moment. She was a woman ofcaprices, and her caprices always ruled the day, as this one did, toTheo's great astonishment. It seemed such a great undertaking toTheodora, this voyage of a few hours; but Lady Throckmorton regarded itas the lightest of matters. To her it was only the giving of a feworders, being uncomfortably sea-sick for a while, and then landing inCalais, with a waiting-woman who understood her business, and aman-servant who was accustomed to travelling. So when Theo broke intoexclamations of pleasure and astonishment, she did not understand eitherher enthusiasm or her surprise. 

"What, " she said, "you like the idea, do you? Well, I think I have madeup my mind about it. We could go next week, and I dare say we couldreach Vienna before Denis Oglethorpe goes away. "

Theo became suddenly silent. She gave vent to no further exclamations. She would almost have been willing to give up the pleasure of thejourney after that. She was learning that it was best for her not to seeDenis Oglethorpe again, and here it seemed that she must see him inspite of herself, even though she was conscientious enough to wish to dowhat was best, not so much because it was best for herself, as becauseit was just to Priscilla Gower. But Lady Throckmorton had come to adecision, and forthwith made her preparations. She even wrote to Vienna, and told Denis that they were coming, herself and Theodora North, and hemust wait and meet them if possible. 

It was a great trial to Theodora, this. She was actually girlish andsensitive enough to fancy that Mr. Denis Oglethorpe might imagine theirintention to follow him was some fault of hers, and she wasuncomfortable and nervous accordingly. She hoped he would have leftVienna before the letter reached him; she hoped he might go away inspite of it; she hoped it might never reach him at all. And yet, inspite of this, she experienced an almost passionately keen sense ofdisappointment when, on the day before their departure, LadyThrockmorton received a letter from him regretting his inability tocomply with her request, and announcing his immediate departure for someplace whose name he did not mention. Business had called him away, andLady Throckmorton, of course, knew what such business was, and howimperative its demands were. 

"He might have waited, " Theo said to herself, with an unexpected, inconsistent feeling of wretchedness. "I would have stayed anywhere tohave seen him only for a minute. He had no need to be so ready to goaway. " And then she found herself burning all over, as it were, in hershame at discovering how bold her thoughts had been. 

Perhaps this was the first time she really awoke to a full consciousnessof where she had drifted. The current had carried her along so far, andshe had not been to blame, because she had not comprehended her danger;but now it was different. She was awakening, but she was at the edge ofthe cataract, and its ominous sounds had alarmed her. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THEO GOES TO PARIS. 

The letters that were faithfully written to Downport during thefollowing month were the cause of no slight excitement in the house ofDavid North, Esq. The children looked forward to the reception of themas an event worthy of being chronicled. Theo was an exact correspondent, and recorded her adventures and progress with as careful a precision asif it had been a matter of grave import whether she was in Boulogne orBordeaux, or had stayed at one hotel or the other. It was not thepleasantest season of the year to travel, she wrote, but it was, ofcourse, the gayest in the cities. Lady Throckmorton was very kind andvery generous. She took her out a great deal, and spent a great deal ofmoney in sight-seeing, which proved conclusively how kind she was, asher ladyship knew all the places worth looking at, as well as she knewCharing Cross or St. Paul's. And at the end of a month came a letterfrom Paris full of news and description. 

 "We reached Paris three days ago, " wrote Theo, "and are going to remain until Lady Throckmorton makes up her mind to go somewhere else, or to return to London. She has a great number of friends here, who have found us out already. She is very fond of Paris, and I think would rather stay here than anywhere else; so we may not come away until spring. We went to the opera last night, and saw Faust again. You remember my telling you about going to see Faust in London the first time I wore the rose-pink satin. I wore the same dress last night, and Lady Throckmorton lent me some of her diamonds, and made Splaighton puff my hair in a new way. Splaighton is my maid, and I don't know what to do with her sometimes, Pamela. You know I am used to waiting on myself, and she is so serious and dignified that I feel half ashamed to let her do things for me. Two or three gentlemen, who knew Lady Throckmorton, came into our box, and were introduced to me. One of them (I think Lady Throckmorton said he was an _attache_) called on us this morning, and brought some lovely flowers. I must not forget to tell you about my beautiful morning robes. One of them is a white merino, trimmed with black velvet, and I am sure we should think it pretty enough for a party dress at home. I am glad you liked your little present, my darling Pam. Give my dearest love to Joanna and Elin, and tell them I am saving my pocket money to buy them some real Parisian dresses with. Love and kisses to mamma and the boys from

 "Your THEO. "

She did not know, this affectionate, handsome Theo, that when she wrotethis innocent, schoolgirl letter, she might have made it a record oftriumphs innumerable, though unconscious. She had never dreamed for amoment that it was the face at Lady Throckmorton's side that had causedsuch a sudden accession to the list of the faithful. But this was thecase, nevertheless, and Lady Throckmorton was by no means unconscious ofit. Of course, it was quite natural that people who had forgotten her inLondon should remember her in Paris; but it was even more natural thatpersons who did not care for her at all, should be filled withadmiration for Theo in rose-colored satin. And so it was. Such a changecame over the girl's life all at once, that, as it revealed itself toher, she was tempted to rub her bright eyes in her doubt as to thereality of it. 

Two weeks after she reached Paris she awoke and found herself famous;she, Theodora North, to whom, as yet, Downport and shabbiness, andbread-and-butter cutting, were the only things that appeared real enoughnot to vanish at a touch. People of whom she had read six months ago, regarding their very existence as almost mythical, flattered, applauded, followed her. They talked of her, they praised her, they made high-flownspeeches to her, at which she blushed, and glowed, and opened herlovely, half-uncomprehending eyes. She was glad they liked her, gratefulfor their attentions, half-confused under them; but it was some timebefore she understood the full meaning of their homage. In rose-coloredsatin and diamonds she dazzled them; but in simple white muslin, with ablack-velvet ribbon about her perfect throat, and a great white rose inher dark hair, she was a glowing young goddess, of whom they ravedextravagantly, and who might have made herself a fashion, if she hadbeen born a few years earlier, and been born in Paris. 

Lady Throckmorton was actually proud of her, and committed extravagancesshe might have repented of, if the girl had not been so affectionatelygrateful and tractable. Then, as might be expected, there arose out ofthe train the indefatigable adorer, who is the fate of every pretty orpopular girl. But in this case he was by no means unpleasant. He wasfamous, witty, and fortunate. He was no less a personage than the_attache_, of whom she had written to Pamela, and his name was VictorMaurien. He had been before all the rest, and so had gained some slightfooting, which he was certainly not the man to relinquish. He had gainedground with Lady Throckmorton too, and in Denis Oglethorpe's absence, had begun almost to fill his place. He was graceful, faithful in herladyship's service; he talked politics with her when she was gravelyinclined, and told her the news when she was in a good humor; he wasindefatigable and dignified at once, which is a rare combination; and hethought his efforts well rewarded by a seat at Theo's side in their boxin the theatre, or by the privilege of handing her to her carriage, andgaining a few farewell words as he bade her good-night. He was not likethe rest either. It was not entirely her beauty which had enchanted him, though, like all Frenchmen, he was a passionate worshipper of thebeautiful. The sweet soul in her eyes had touched his heart. Herignorance had done more to strengthen it than anything she could havedone. There was not a spark of coquetry in her whole nature. Shelistened to his poetic speeches, wondering but believing--wondering howthey could be true of her, yet trusting him and all the world tooseriously to accuse him of anything but partiality. 

To the last day of his life Victor Maurien will not forget one quietevening, when he came to the hotel and found Theodora North by herself, in their private parlor, reading an English letter by the blaze of acandelabra. It had arrived that very day from Downport, and something init had touched her, for when she rose to greet him, her gipsy eyes weremistily soft. 

They began to draw near to each other that night. Half-unconsciously shedrifted into confiding to him the yearnings toward the home whoseshadows and sharpnesses absence had softened. It was singular how muchpleasanter everything seemed, now she looked back upon it in the past. Downport was not an unpleasant place after all. She could remember timeswhen the sun shone upon the dingy little town and the wide-spread ofbeach, and made it almost pretty. 

"I am afraid I did not love them all enough, " she said. "LadyThrockmorton does not intend that I shall go there to remain again; butif I were to go, I feel as if I could help them more--Pamela, you know, and mamma. I want to send Joanna and Elin something, to show them that Idon't forget them at all. I think I should like to send them some prettydresses. Joanna is fair and she always wanted a pale-blue silk. Do youthink a pale-blue silk would be very expensive, M. Maurien?"

She started, and colored a little the next moment, recognizing theoddity of her speech, and her little laugh was very sweet to hear. 

"I forgot, " she said. "How should you know, to be sure. Political mendon't care about pale-blue silk, do they?" And she laughed again, such afresh, enjoyable little laugh, that he was ready to fall down andworship her in his impulsive French fashion. Until Lady Throckmortoncame, she amused him with talking of England and the English people, until the _naivete_ of her manner had an indescribable fascination forhim. He could have listened to her forever. She told him about Downportand its small lines, unconsciously showing him more of her past lifethan she fancied. Then, of course, she at last came to Broome street andMiss Elizabeth, and Miss Priscilla, and--Mr. Denis Oglethorpe. 

"He is very talented, indeed, " she said. "He has written, oh! a greatdeal. He once wrote a book of poems. I have the volume in one of mytrunks. "

He looked at her quietly but keenly when she said this, and he did notneed more than a second glance to understand more than she understoodherself. He read where Mr. Denis Oglethorpe stood, by the queer, suddeninner light in her eyes, and the unconscious fluctuation of rich colorin her bright glowing face. He was struck with a secret pang in asecond. There would be so frail a thread of hope for the man who wasonly second with a girl like this one. 

"I know the gentleman you speak of, " he said, aloud. "We all know him. He is a popular man. I saw him only a few weeks ago. "

Her eyes flashed up to his--the whole of her face flashed with electriclight. 

"Did you?" she said. "Where was he? I didn't know--" and there shestopped. 

"He was here, " was the answer. "In Paris--in this very hotel, the daybefore you came here. He had overworked himself, I think. He was lookingpaler than usual, and somewhat worn-out. It was fatigue, I suppose. "

Her eyes fell, and the light died away. She was thinking to herself thathe might have waited twenty-four hours longer--only a day--such a shorttime. Just at that moment she felt passionately that she could not bearto let him go back to England and Priscilla Gower without a farewellword. 

In all the whirl of excitement that filled her life, through all thedays that were full of it, and the nights that were fairly dazzling toher unaccustomed eyes, she never forgot Denis Oglethorpe. She rememberedhim always in the midst of it all, and now her remembrance was of adifferent kind; there was more pain in it, more unrest, more longing andstrength. She had ripened wonderfully since that last night in Broomestreet. 

Among the circle of Lady Throckmorton's friends, and even beyond itspale, she was a goddess this winter. Her dark _viante_ face, with itsinnocence and freshness of beauty, carried all before it, and this herfirst season was a continuation of girlish triumphs. The chiefcharacteristic of her loveliness was that it inspired people with a sortof enthusiasm. When she entered a room a low murmur of pleasure followedher. There was not a man who had exchanged a word with her who would nothave been ready to perform absurdities as well as impossibilities forher sweet young sake. 

"How kind people are to me!" she would say to Lady Throckmorton. "I canhardly believe it, sometimes. Oh, how Joanna and Elin would like Paris!"

They had been two months in Paris, and in the meantime had heard nothingfrom Denis Oglethorpe. He had not written to Lady Throckmorton since theletter dated from Vienna, so they supposed he had lost sight of them andthought writing useless. There were times when Theo tried to make up hermind that she had seen him for the last time before his marriage, butthere were times again when, on going out, her last glance at her mirrorhad a thrill of expectation in it that was almost a pang. 

She was sitting in their box in the theatre one night, half listening toMaurien, half to the singers, and wondering dreamily what was going onin Broome street at the moment, when she suddenly became conscious of aslight stir among the people in the seats on the other side of thehouse. She turned her face quickly, as if she had been magnetized. Making his way toward their box was a man whom at first she saw mistily, in a moment more quite clearly. Her heart began to beat faster than ithad ever beaten in her young life, her hand closed upon herbouquet-holder with a nervous strength; she turned her face to the stagein the curious, excited, happy, and yet fearing tremor that tookpossession of her in a second. By some caprice or chance they had cometo see Faust again, and the Marguerite who had been their attraction, was at this very moment standing upon the stage, repeating softly hersimple, pathetic little love-spell, "_Er lieber mich, er lieber mich nicht. _"

Theo found herself saying it after Marguerite to the beating of herheart. "_Er lieber mich, er lieber mich nicht. Er lieber mich_, --" andthere she stopped, breathlessly, for the box door opened, and DenisOglethorpe entered. 

She had altered so much since they had last met that she scarcely daredto look at him, even after the confusion of greetings and formalitieswas over, and he had answered Lady Throckmorton's questions, andexplained to her the cause of his protracted wandering--for, though shedid not meet his eyes, she knew that he was altered, too. He looked wornand fatigued, she thought, and there was a new unrest in his expression. 

It was fully a quarter of an hour before he left Lady Throckmorton andcame to her side; but when he did so, something in his face or air, perhaps, made Victor Maurien give way to his greater need in an impulseof generosity. 

There was a moment's silence between them after he sat down, duringwhich, in her excited shyness, Theo only looked at Marguerite with afluttering of rich, warm color on her cheeks. It was he who ended thepause himself. 

"Are you glad to see me, Theodora?" he said, in a low, unsteady voice. 

"Yes, " she answered, tremulously. "I am glad. "

"Thank you, " he returned. "And yet it was chance that brought me here. Iwas not even sure you were in Paris until I saw you from the other sideof the house a few moments ago. I wonder, my dear Theodora, " slippinginto the old careless, whimsical manner, "I wonder if I am doomed to bea rascal?"

It might be that her excitement made her nervous; at any rate there wasa choking throb in her throat, as she answered him. 

"If you please, " she whispered, "don't. "

His face softened, as if he was sorry for her girlish distress. He wasstruck with a fancy that if he were cruel enough to persist, he couldmake her cry. And then the relapse in the old manner, had only been arelapse after all, and had even puzzled himself a little. So he wasquiet for a while. 

"And so it is Faust again, " he said, breaking the silence. "Do youremember what you said to me the first time you saw Faust, Theodora--thenight the rose-colored satin came home? Do you remember telling me thatyou could die for love's sake? I wonder if you have changed your mind, among all the fine people you have seen, and all the fine speeches youhave heard. I met one of Lady Throckmorton's acquaintances in Bordeaux, a few days ago, and he told me a wonderful story of a young lady who wasthen turning the wise heads of half the political Parisians--a sort ofenchanted princess, with a train of adorers ready to kiss the hem of hergarment. "

He was endeavoring to be natural, and was failing wretchedly. His voicewas actually sad, and she had never heard it sad in all theirintercourse before. She had never thought it could be sad, and the soundwas something like a revelation of the man. It made her afraid ofherself--afraid for herself. And yet above all this arose a thrill ofhappiness which was almost wild. He was near her again! he had not goneaway, he would not go away yet. Yet! there was a girl's foolish, lovingcomfort in the word! It seemed so impossible that she could lose himforever, that for the brief moment she forgot Priscilla Gower andjustice altogether. In three months the whole world had altered its faceto her vision. She had altered herself; her life had altered she knew, but she did not know that she had been happier in her ignorance of herown heart than she could be now in her knowledge of it. 

Her little court were not very successful to-night. Denis Oglethorpekept his place at her side with a persistence which baffled the boldestof her admirers, and she was too happy to remember the rest of theworld. It was not very polite, perhaps, and certainly it was not verywise to forget everything but that she herself was not forgotten; butshe forgot everything else--this pretty Theo, this handsome andimpolitic Theo. She did not care for her court, though she wassweet-temperedly grateful to her courtiers for their homage. She didcare for Denis Oglethorpe. Ah, poor Priscilla! He went home with them totheir hotel. He stayed, too, to eat of the _petite souper_ LadyThrockmorton had ordered. Her ladyship had a great deal to say to him, and a great number of questions to ask, so he sat with them for an houror so accounting for himself and replying to numberless queries, all thetime very conscious of Theo, who sat by the fire in a mist of whitedrapery and soft, thick, white wraps, the light from the wax tapersflickering in Pamela's twinkling sapphires, and burning in the greatcrimson-hearted rose fastened in the puffs of her hair. 

But Lady Throckmorton remembered at last that she had to give someorders to her maid, and so for a moment they were left together. 

Then he went to the white figure at the fire and stood before it, losingsomething of both color and calmness. He was going to be guilty of aweakness, and knowing it, could not control himself. He was not so greata hero as she had fancied him, after all. But it would have been veryheroic to have withstood a temptation so strong and so near. 

"Theo, " he said. "The man who ran away from the danger he dared not faceis a greater coward than he fancied. The chances have been against him, too. I suppose to-night he must turn his back to it again, but--"

She stopped him all at once with a little cry. She had been so happy anhour ago, that she could not fail to be weak now. Her face dropped uponthe hands on her lap, and were hidden there. The crimson-hearted roseslipped from her hair and fell to her feet. 

"No, no!" she cried. "Don't go. It is only for a little while; don't goyet!"

CHAPTER VII. 

"PARTING IS SWEET SORROW. "

He did not go away. He could not yet. He stayed in Paris, day after day, even week after week, lingering through a man's very human weakness. Hecould no longer resist the knowledge of the fact that he had lost thebest part of the battle; he had lost it in being compelled toacknowledge the presence of danger by flight; he had lost it completelyafter this by being forced to admit to himself that there was not muchmore to lose, that in spite of his determination, Theodora North hadfilled his whole life and nature as Priscilla Gower had never filled it, and could never fill it, were she his wife for a thousand years. He hadmade a mistake, and discovered having made it too late--that was all;but he blamed himself for having made it; blamed himself for beingblind; blamed himself more than all for having discovered his blindnessand his blunder. Thinking thus, he resolved to go away. Yes, he would goaway! He would marry Priscilla at once, and have it over. He would putan impassable barrier between himself and Theo. 

But, though he reproached himself, and anathematized himself, andresolved to go away, he did not leave Paris. He stayed in the face ofhis remorseful wretchedness. It was a terrible moral condition to be in, but he absolutely gave up, for the time, to the force of circumstances, and floated recklessly with the current. 

If he had loved Theodora North when he left her for Priscilla's sake, heloved her ten thousand fold, when he forbore to leave her for her own. He loved her passionately, blindly, jealously. He envied every man whowon a smile from her, even while his weakness angered him. She hadchanged greatly during their brief separation, but the change grewdeeper after they had once again encountered each other. She was moreconscious of herself, more fearful, less innocently frank. She did notreveal herself to him as she had once done. There is a stage of love inwhich frankness is at once unnatural and impossible, and she had reachedthis stage. Even her letters to Priscilla were not frank after hisreappearance. 

Since the night of their interview after their return from the theatre, he had not referred openly to his reasons for remaining. He had heldhimself to the letter of his bond so far, at least, though he was oftensorely tempted. He visited Lady Throckmorton and Theo as he had visitedthem in London, and was their attendant cavalier upon most occasions, but beyond that he rarely transgressed. It was by no means a pleasantposition for a man in love to occupy. The whole world was between himand his love, it seemed. The most infatuated of Theodora North's adorersdid not fear him, handsome and popular as he was, dangerous rival as hemight have appeared. Lady Throckmorton's world knew the history of theirfavorite, having learned it as society invariably learns such things. Most of them knew that his fate had been decided for years; all of themknew that his stay in Paris could not be a long one. A man whosemarriage is to be celebrated in June has not many months to lose betweenFebruary and May. 

But this did not add to the comfort of Denis Oglethorpe. The rest ofTheo's admirers had a right to speak--he must be silent. The shallowestof them might ask a hearing--he dared not for his dishonored honor'ssake. So even while nearest to her he stood afar off, as it were awitness to the innocent triumph of a girlish popularity that galled himintolerably. He puzzled her often in these days, and out of herbewilderment grew a vague unhappiness. 

And yet, in spite of this, her life grew perilously sweet at times. Onlya few months ago she had dreamed of such bliss as Jane Eyre's andZulick's, wonderingly; but there were brief moments now and then whenshe believed in it faithfully. She was very unselfish in her girlishpassion. She thought of nothing but the wondrous happiness love couldbring to her. She would have given up all her new luxuries and triumphsfor Denis Oglethorpe's sake. She would have gone back to Downport withhim, to the old life; to the mending, and bread-and-butter cutting, andshabby dresses; she would have taken it all up again cheerfully, withoutthinking for one moment that she had made a sacrifice. Downport wouldhave been a paradise with him. She was wonderfully devoid of calculationor worldly wisdom, if she had only been conscious of it. An absurdlyloving, simple, impolitic young person was this Theodora of ours; but I, for one, must confess to feeling some weak sympathy for her veryignorance. 

Among the many of the girl's admirers whom Denis Oglethorpe enviedjealously, perhaps the one most jealously envied, was Victor Maurien. Ajealous man might have feared him with reason under any circumstances, and Denis chafed at his good-fortune miserably. The man who had thehonorable right to success could not fail to torture him. 

"It would be an excellent match for Theo, " was Lady Throckmorton'scomplacent comment on the subject of the _attache's_ visit, and thecomment was made to Denis himself. "M. Maurien is the very man to takegood care of her; and besides that, he is, of course, desirable. Girlslike Theo ought to marry young. Marriage is their _forte_; they are toodependent to be left to themselves. Theo is not like Pamela or yourPriscilla Gower, for instance; queenly as Theo looks, she is the verieststrengthless baby on earth. It is a source of wonder to me where she gotthe regal air. "

But, perhaps, Lady Throckmorton did not understand her lovely youngrelative fully. She did not take into consideration a certain mentalripening process which had gone on slowly but surely during the last fewmonths. The time came when Theodora North began to comprehend herpowers, and feel the change in herself sadly. Then it was that sheceased to be frank with Denis Oglethorpe, and began to feel a notfully-defined humiliation and remorse. 

Coming in unexpectedly once, Denis found her sitting all alone, withopen book in her lap, and eyes brooding over the fire. He knew thevolume well enough at sight; it was the half-forgotten, long-condemnedcollection of his youthful poems; and when she saw him, she shut it up, and laid her folded hands upon it, as if she did not wish him torecognize it. 

He was in one of his most unhappy moods, for some reason or other, andso unreasonable was his frame of mind, that the movement, simple as itwas, galled him bitterly. 

"Will you tell me why you did that?" he asked, abruptly. 

Her eyes fell upon the carpet at her feet, but she sat with her handsstill clasped upon the half-concealed book, without answering him. 

"You would not have done it three months ago, " he said, almostwrathfully, "and the thing is not more worthless now than it was then, though it was worthless enough. Give it to me, and let me fling it intothe fire. "

She looked up at him all at once, and her eyes were full to the brim. Lady Throckmorton was right in one respect. She was strengthless enoughsometimes. She was worse than strengthless against Denis Oglethorpe. 

"Don't be angry with me, " she said, almost humbly. "I don't think youcould be angry with me if you knew how unhappy I am to-day. " And thetears that had brimmed upward fell upon the folded hands themselves. 

"Why to-day?" he asked, softening with far more reason than he had beengalled. "What has to-day brought, Theodora?"

She answered him with a soft little gasp, of a remorseful sob. "It hasbrought M. Maurien, " she confessed. 

"And sent him away again?" he added, in a low, unsteady voice. 

She nodded; her simple, pathetic sorrowfulness showing itself even inthe poor little gesture. 

"He has been very fond of me for a long time, " she said, tremulously. "He says that he loves me. He came to ask me to be his wife. I am verysorry for him. "

"Why?" he asked again, unsteadily. 

"I was obliged to make him unhappy, " she answered. "I do not love him. "

"Why?" he repeated yet again; but his voice had sunk into a whisper. 

"Because, " she said, trembling all over now--"because I cannot. "

He could not utter another word. There was such danger for him, and hisperilled honor, in her simple tremor and sadness, that he was forced tobe silent. 

It was not safe to follow M. Maurien at least. But, as might beanticipated, their conversation flagged in no slight degree. The heartsof both were so full of one subject that it would have been hard toforce them to another. Theo, upon her low _sultane_, sat mute withdrooped eyes, becoming more silent every moment. Oglethorpe, inregarding her beautiful downcast face, forgot himself also. It wasalmost half an hour before he remembered he had not made the visitwithout an object. He had something to say to her--something he had oncesaid to her before. He was going away again, and had come to tell herso. But he recollected himself at last. 

"I must not forget that I had a purpose in coming here to-night, " hesaid. 

"A purpose?" she repeated, after him. 

"Yes, " he answered. "I found last night, on returning to my hotel, thatthere was a letter awaiting me from London--from my employers, in fact. I must leave Paris to-morrow morning. "

"And will you not come back again?" she added, breathlessly almost. Thenews was so sudden that it made her breathless. This was the lasttime--the very last!

They might never see each other again in this world, and if they didever chance to meet, Priscilla Gower would be his wife. And yet he wasstanding there now, only a few feet from her, so near that heroutstretched hand would touch him. The full depth of misery in thethought flashed upon her all at once, and drove the blood back to herheart. 

"Why?" she gasped out unconsciously, through the very strength of herpangs. "You are going away forever. "

She scarcely knew that she had uttered the words until she saw howdeathly pale he grew. The beads of moisture started out upon hisforehead, and his nervous hand went up to brush them away. 

"Not forever, I trust, " he said, huskily. "Only until--until--"

"Until July, " she ended for him; "until you are married to MissPriscilla Gower. "

She held up one little, trembling, dusky hand, and actually began totell the intervening months off her fingers. She was trying so hard tocalm herself that she did not think what she was doing. She only knewshe must do or say something. 

"How many months will it be?" she said. "It is February now; March, April, May, June, July. Five months--not quite five, perhaps. We may notbe here then. Lady Throckmorton intends to visit the Spas during thesummer. "

From the depths of her heart she was praying that some chance might takethem away from Paris before he returned. It would be his bridaltour--Priscilla's bridal tour. Ah, if some wildly happy dream had onlychanced to make it her bridal tour, and she could have gone with him asPriscilla would, from place to place; near him all the time, loving andtrusting him always, depending on him, obedient to his lightest wishes. Miss Priscilla was far too self-restrained to ever be as foolishly, thrillingly tender and fond, and happy as she, Theodora North, wouldhave been. She could have given a little sob of despair and pain as shethought of it. 

As it was, the hopeless, foolish tears rose up to her large eyes, andmade them liquid and soft; and when they rose, Denis Oglethorpe sawthem. Such beautiful eyes as they were; such ignorant, believing, fawn-like eyes. The eyes alone would have unmanned him--under the tearshe broke down utterly, and so was left without a shadow of control. 

He crossed the hearth with a stride and stood close to her, his wholeface ablaze with the fierceness of his remorseful self-reproach and thepower of his love. 

"Listen to me, Theo, " he said. "Let me confess to you; let me tell youthe truth for once. I am a coward and a villain. I was a villain to aska woman I did not truly love to be my wife. I am a coward to shrink fromthe result of my vanity and madness. She is better than I am--this womanwho has promised herself to me; she is stronger, truer, purer; she hasloved me, she has been faithful to me; and God knows I honor and revereher. I am not worthy to kiss the ground her feet have trodden upon. Iwas vain fool enough to think I could make her happy by giving to herall she did not ask for--my life, my work, my strength--not rememberingthat Heaven had given her the sacred right to more. She has held to ourbond for years, and now see how it has ended! I stand here before youto-night, loving you, adoring you, worshipping you, and knowing myself adishonored man, a weak, proved coward, whose truth is lost forever. 

"I do not ask you for a word. I do not say a word further. I will notperjure myself more deeply. I only say this as a farewell confession. Itwill be farewell; we shall never see each other again on earth perhaps;and if we do, an impassable gulf will lie between us. I shall go back toEngland and hasten the marriage if I can; and then, if a whole life'sstrenuous exertions and constant care and tenderness will wipe out thedishonor my weakness has betrayed me into, it shall be wiped out. I donot say one word of love to you, because I dare not. I only say, forgiveme, forget me, and good-by. "

She had listened to him with a terrified light growing in her eyes; butwhen he finished she got up from her seat, shivering from head to foot. 

"Good-by, " she said, and let him take her cold, lithe, trembling hands. But the moment he touched them, his suppressed excitement and her ownhalf-comprehended pain seemed to frighten her, and she began to try todraw them from his grasp. 

"Go away, please, " she said, with a wild little sob. "I can't bear it. Idon't want to be wicked, and perhaps I have been wicked, too. Miss Goweris better than I am--more worth loving. Oh, try to love her, and--and--only go away now, and let me be alone. "

She ended in an actual little moan. She was shivering and sobbing, hardas she tried to govern herself. And yet, though this man loved her, andwould have given half his life to snatch her to his arms and rain kissesof comfort upon her, he let the cold little hand drop, and in a momentmore had left her. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THEO'S FIRST TROUBLE. 

He had been gone three days, and, in their lapse, Theo felt as if threelustrums had passed. Their parting had been so unexpected a one, thatshe could not get used to it, or believe it was anything else but apainful dream. After all, it seemed that Fortune was crueller than shehad imagined possible. He was gone, and to Priscilla Gower; and she hadnever been able to believe that some alteration, of which she had novery definite conception, would occur, and end her innocent little ghostof a love-story, as all love-stories should be ended. It had never beenmore than the ghost of a story. Until that last night he had neveruttered a word of love to her; he had never even made the fine speechesto her which she might have expected, and, doubtless, would haveexpected, if she had been anybody else but Theodora North. She had notexpected them, though, and, consequently, was not disappointed when shedid not receive them. But she found herself feeling terribly lonelyafter Denis Oglethorpe left Paris. The first day she felt more stunnedthan anything else. The second her sensibilities began to revive keenly, and she was full of sad, desperate wonder concerning him--concerning howhe would feel when he stood face to face with Priscilla Gower; how hewould look, what he would say to her. The third day was only the secondintensified, and filled with a something that was almost like a terrornow and then. 

It was upon this third day that Lady Throckmorton was unexpectedlycalled away. A long-lost friend of her young days had suddenly made herappearance at Rouen, and having, by chance, heard of her ladyship'spresence in Paris, had written to her a letter of invitation, which theties of their girlhood rendered almost a command. So to Rouen herladyship went, for once leaving Theo behind. Madam St. Etunne was aninvalid, and the visit could not be a very interesting one to a younggirl. This was one reason why she was left--the other was the moreimportant one, that she did not wish to go, and made her wishes known. She was not sorry for the chance of being left to herself for a fewdays--it would be only a few days at most. 

"Besides, " said Lady Throckmorton, looking at her a trifle curiously, "you do not look well yourself. Theo, you look feverish, or nervous, orsomething of the kind. How was it I did not notice it before? You musthave caught cold. Yes, I believe I must leave you here. "

Consequently, Theo was left. She was quiet enough, too, when herladyship had taken her departure. It was generally supposed that MissNorth had accompanied her chaperon, and so she had very few callers. Shespent the greater part of her time in the apartment in which DenisOglethorpe had bidden her farewell, and, as may be easily imagined, itdid not add to her lightness of spirit to sit in her old seat and ponderover the past in the silence of the deserted room. She arose from herottoman one night, and walked to one of the great mirrors that extendedfrom floor to ceiling. She saw herself in it as she advanced--aregal-like young figure, with a head set like a queen's, speechful darkeyes, and glowing lips; a face that was half child's, half woman's, andyet wholly perfect in its fresh young life and beauty. Seeing thisreflection, she stopped and looked at it, in a swift recognition of anew thought. 

"Oh, Pam!" she cried out, piteously. "Oh, my poor, darling, faded Pam. You were pretty once, too, very dear, pretty and young. And you werehappier than I can be, for Arthur only died. Nobody came between yourlove and you--nobody ever could. He died, but he was yours, Pam, and youwere his. "

She cried piteously and passionately when she went back to her seat, rested her arm upon a lounging-chair near her, and hid her face upon it, crying as only a girl can, with an innocent grief that had a pathos ofits own. She was so lovely and remorseful. It seemed to her that somefault must have been hers, and she blamed herself that even now shecould not wish that she had never met the man whose love for her was adishonor to himself. Where was he now? He had told Lady Throckmortonthat business would call him to several smaller towns on his way, so hemight not be very far from Paris yet. She was thinking of this when atlast she fell asleep, sitting by the fire, still resting her hand uponthe chair by her side. It was by no means unnatural, though by no meanspoetic, that her girl's pain should end so. 

But when the time-piece on the mantle chimed twelve with its silvertongue, she found herself suddenly and unaccountably wide awake. She satup and looked about her. It was not the clock's chime that had awakenedher she thought. It must have been, something more, she was so very wideawake indeed, and her senses were so clear. One minute later she foundout what it was. There was some slight confusion down-stairs; a door wasopened and closed, and she heard the sound of voices in theentrance-hall. She turned her head, and listening attentively, discovered that some one was coming up to the room in which she sat. Thedoor opened, and upon the threshold stood a servant bearing in his handa salver, and upon the salver a queer, official-looking document, suchas she did not remember ever having seen before. 

"A telegram, " he said, rapidly in French, "for milady. They had thoughtit better to acquaint Mad'moiselle. "

She took it from him, and opened it slowly and mechanically. She read itmechanically also--read it twice before she comprehended its fullmeaning, so great was the shock it gave her. Then she started from herseat with a cry that made the servant start also. 

"Send Splaighton to me, " she said, "this minute, without a moment'sdelay. "

For the telegram she had just read told her that in a wayside inn, atSt. Quentin, Denis Oglethorpe lay dying, or so near it that the medicalman had thought it his duty to send for the only friend who was on theright side of Calais, and that friend, whose name he had discovered bychance, was Lady Throckmorton. 

It was, of course, a terribly unwise thing that Theodora North decidedupon doing an hour later. Only such a girl as she was, or as her lifehad necessarily made her, would have hit upon a plan so loving, so wildand indiscreet. But it did not occur to her, even for a second, thatthere was any other thing to do. She must go to him herself in LadyThrockmorton's stead; she must take Splaighton with her, and go try totake care of him until Lady Throckmorton came, or could send forPriscilla Gower and Miss Elizabeth. 

"Ma'mselle, " began the stricken Splaighton, when, as she stood beforethe erect young figure and desperate young face, this desperate plan washurriedly revealed to her. "Ma'mselle, you forget the imprudence--"

But Theo stopped her, quite ignorant of the fact, that by doing so, sheforfeited her reputation in Splaighton's eyes forever. 

"He is going to die!" she said, with a wild little sob in her voice. "And he is all alone-and--and he was to have been married, Splaighton, inJuly--only a few months from now. Oh, poor Priscilla Gower! Oh, poorgirl! We must save him. I must go now and try to save him for her. Oh, if I could just have Pamela with me. "

The woman saw at once that remonstrance would be worse than useless. Theo was slowly revealing to her that this despairing, terrified youngcreature would not understand her resistance in the slightest degree. She would not comprehend what it meant; so, while Splaighton packed up afew necessary articles, Theo superintended her, following her from placeto place, with a longing impatience that showed itself in every word andgesture. She did not dare to do more, poor child. She had never overcomeher secret awe of her waiting-woman. In her inexperienced respect forher, she even apologized pathetically and appealingly for the libertyshe was taking in calling upon her. 

"I am sorry to trouble you, " she said, humbly, and feeling terriblyhomesick as she said it; "but I could not go alone, you know--and I mustgo. There is a lace collar in that little box that you may have, Splaighton. It is a pretty collar, and I will give you the satin bowthat is fastened to it. "

Scarcely two hours later they were on their way to St. Quentin. It neveroccurred to Theo, in the midst of her fright and unhappiness, that shewas now doing a very unwise and dangerous thing. She only thought of onething, that Denis was going to die. She loved him too much to think ofherself at all, and, besides, she did not, poor innocent, know anythingabout such things. 

It was a wonderful trial of the little old French doctor's calmness ofmind, when, on his next visit to his patient, he found himselfconfronted by a tall, young creature, with a pale, desperate face, andlovely tear-fraught eyes, instead of by the majestic, elderly person, the perusal of Lady Throckmorton's last letter to Denis had led him toexpect. It was in the little inn parlor that he first encounteredTheodora North, when she arrived, and on seeing her he gazed over hisspectacles, first at herself, and then at the respectable Splaighton, ina maze of bewilderment, at seemingly having made so strange a blunder. 

"Lady Throckmorton?" he said, at last, in English, or in a brokenattempt at it. "Oh! _Oui_--I understand. The sister of monsieur? Ah, milady?"

Theo broke in upon him in a passionate impulse of fear and grief. 

"No, " she said. "I am not Lady Throckmorton. I am only her niece, Theodora North. My aunt was away when your telegram arrived, and--and Iknew some one must come--so I came myself. Splaighton and I can takecare of Mr. Oglethorpe. Oh, monsieur, is it true that he is dying?--willhe never get well? How could it happen? He was so strong only a few dayssince. He must not die. It cannot be true that he will die--he has somany friends who love him. "

Monsieur, the doctor, softened perceptibly under this; she was so youngand innocent-looking, this girlish little English mademoiselle. Monsieurup-stairs must be a lucky man to have won her tender young heart soutterly. Strange and equivocal a thing as the pretty child (she seemed achild to him) was doing, he never for an instant doubted the ignorantfaith and love that shone in the depths of her beautiful agonized eyes. He bowed to her as deferentially as to a sultana, when he made hisanswer. 

"It had been an accident, " he commenced. "The stage had overturned onits way, and monsieur being in it, had been thrown out by its fallinginto a gully. His collar-bone had been broken, and several of his ribsfractured; but the worst of his injuries had been a gash on his head--asharp stone had done it. Mademoiselle would understand wherein thedanger lay. He was unconscious at present. "

This he told her on their way to the chamber up-stairs; but even thegravity of his manner did not prepare her for the sight the opening ofthe door revealed to her. Handsome Denis Oglethorpe lay upon the narrowlittle bed with the face of a dying man, which is far worse than that ofa dead man. There were spots of blood on his pillow and upon hisgarments; he was bandaged from head to foot, it seemed, with ghastlyred, wet bandages; his eyes were glazed, and his jaw half dropped. 

A low, wild cry broke from the pale lips of the figure in the door-way, and the next instant Theodora North had flown to the bedside and droppedupon her knees by it, hiding her deathly-stricken young face upon herlover's lifeless hand, forgetting Splaighton, forgetting the doctor, forgetting even Priscilla Gower, forgetting all but that she, in thismoment, knew that she could not give him up, even to the undivided quietof death. 

"He will die! He will die!" she cried out. "And I never told him. Oh, mylove! love! Oh, my dearest, dear!"

The little, old doctor drew back, half way, through a suddenly strangerimpulse of sympathy. He was uneasily conscious of the fact, that thestaid, elderly person at his side was startled and outragedsimultaneously by this passionate burst of grief on the part of heryoung mistress. He had seen so many of these unprepossessing Englishwaiting-women that he understood the state of her feelings as byinstinct. He turned to her with all the blandness possible under thecircumstances, and gave her an order which would call for her presencedown-stairs. 

When she departed, as she did in a state bordering on petrification, hecame forward to the bedside. He did not speak, however; merely lookingdown at his patient in a silence whose delicacy was worthy of honor, even in a shrivelled little snuff-taking, French, village doctor. Thepretty young mademoiselle would be calmer before many minutes hadelapsed--his experience had taught him. And so she was. At least, herfirst shock of terror wore away, and she was calm enough to speak tohim. She lifted her face from the motionless hand, and looked up at himin a wild appeal for help, that was more than touching. 

"Don't say he will die!" she prayed. "Oh, monsieur, only save him, andhe will bless you forever. I will nurse him so well. Only give mesomething to do, and see how faithful I shall prove. I shall neverforget anything, and I shall never be tired--if--if he can only live, monsieur, " the terrified catching of her breath making every littlepause almost a sob. 

"My child, " he answered her, with a grave touch of something quite likeaffection in his air. "My child, I shall save him, if he is to be saved, and you shall help me. "

How faithfully she held to the very letter of her promises, only thislittle, shrivelled village doctor could say. How tender, and watchful, and loving she was, in her care of her charge, only he could bearwitness. She was never tired--never forgetful. She held to her place inthe poor little bedroom, day and night, with an intensity of zeal thatwas actually astonishing. Priscilla Gower and Pamela North might havebeen more calm--certainly would have been more self-possessed, but theycould not have been more faithful. She obeyed every order given to herlike a child. She sat by the bedside, hour after hour, day and night, watching every change of symptom, noting every slight alteration ofcolor, or pulse. 

The friendship between herself and monsieur, the doctor, so strengthenedthat the confidence between them was unlimited. She was only disobedientin one thing. She would not leave her place either for food or rest. Sheate her poor little dinners near her patient, and, if the truth had beenknown, scarcely slept at all for the first two or three days. 

"I could not sleep, you know, " she said to the doctor, her greatpathetic eyes filling with tears. "Please let me stay until LadyThrockmorton comes, at least. "

So she stayed, and watched, and waited, quite alone, for nearly a week. But it seemed a much longer time to her. The poor, handsome face changedso often in even those few days, and her passions of despair and hopewere so often changed with it. She never thought of Priscilla Gower. Herlove and fear were too strong to allow of her giving a thought toanything on earth but Denis Oglethorpe. Perhaps her only consolation hadsomething of guilt in it; but it was so poor and desperate a comfort, this wretched one of hearing him speak to and of her in his fever anddelirium. 

"My poor, handsome Theo, " he would say. "Why, my beauty, there are tearsin your eyes. What a scoundrel I am, if I have brought them there. What!the rose-colored satin again, my darling! Don't wear the rose-coloredsatin, Theo. It hurts my eyes. For God's sake, Priscilla, forgive me!"

And yet, even while they added to her terror, these poor ravings weresome vague comfort, since they told her that he loved her. More thanonce her friend the doctor entered the room, and found her kneeling bythe bedside, holding the unresponsive hand, with a white face and wide, tearless eyes; and seeing her thus, he read clearly that his pretty, inexperienced _protege_ had more at stake than he had even at firstfancied. 

It was about six days after Theodora North had arrived at St. Quentin, when, sitting at her post one morning, she heard the lumbering stagestop before the inn door. She rose and went to the window, halfmechanically, half anxiously. She had been expecting Lady Throckmorton, for so long a time, that it seemed almost impossible that it could beshe. But strangers had evidently alighted. There was a bustle ofservants below, and one of them was carrying a leathern trunk into thehouse immediately under her window. It was a leathern trunk, rathershabby than otherwise, and on its side was an old label, which, beingturned toward her, she could read plainly. She read it, and gave a faintstart. It bore, in dingy black letters, the word "Downport. "

She had hardly time to turn round, before there was a summons at thedoor, and without waiting to be answered, Splaighton entered, looking atonce decorous and injured. 

"There are two ladies in the parlor, mademoiselle, " she said (she alwayscalled Theo mademoiselle in these days), "two English ladies, who didnot give their names. They asked for Miss North. "

Theo looked at the woman, and turned pale. She did not know how or whyher mother and Pamela should come down to this place, but she felt sureit was they who were awaiting her; and for the first time since she hadreceived the telegram, a shock of something like misgiving rushed uponher. Suppose, after all, she had not done right. Suppose she had donewrong, and they had heard of it, and came to reproach her, or worsestill (poor child, it seemed worse still to her), to take her away--tomake her leave her love to strangers. She began to tremble, and as shewent out of the room, she looked back on the face upon the pillow, witha despairing fear that the look might be her last. 

She hardly knew how she got down the narrow stair-case. She only knewthat she went slowly, in a curious sort of hysterical excitement. 

Then she was standing upon the mat at the parlor-door; then she hadopened the door itself, and stood upon the threshold, looking in upontwo figures just revealed to her in the shadow. One figure--yes, it wasPamela's; the other not her mother's. No, the figure of Priscilla Gower. 

"Pamela!" she cried out. "Oh, Pam, don't blame me!"

She never knew how the sight of her standing before them, like a poorlittle ghost, with her white, appealing eyes, touched one of these twowomen to the heart. 

There was something pathetic in her very figure--something indescribablyso in her half-humble, half-fearing voice. 

Pamela rose up from the horse-hair sofa, and went to her. 

Each of the three faces was pale enough; but Pamela had the trouble ofthese two, as well as her own anxiousness in her eyes. 

"Theo, " she said to her, "what have you done? Don't you understand whata mad act you have been guilty of?"

But her voice was not as sharp as usual, and it even softened before shefinished speaking. She made Theo sit down, and gave her a glass of waterto steady her nervousness. She could not be angry even at suchindiscretion as this--in the face of the tremulous hands and pleadingeyes. 

"Where was Lady Throckmorton?" she said. "What was she doing, to let youcome alone?"

"She was away, " put in Theo, faintly. "And the telegram said he wasdying, Pam, and--I didn't come alone quite. I brought Splaighton withme. "

"You had no right to come at all, " said Pam, trying to speak withasperity, and failing miserably. "Mr. Oglethorpe is nothing to you. Theyshould have sent for Miss Gower at once. "

But the fact was the little doctor had searched in vain for the exactaddress of the lady whose letters he found in his patient's portmanteau, when examining his papers to find some clue to the whereabouts of hisfriends, and it was by the merest chance that he had discovered it inthe end from Theo's own lips, and so had secretly written to Broomestreet, in his great respect and admiration for this pretty young nurse, who was at once so youthful and indescribably innocent. In her troubleand anxious excitement, Theo had not once thought of doing so herself, until during the last two days, and now there was no necessity for theaction. 

"And Mr. Oglethorpe, " interposed Miss Gower. 

"He is up-stairs, " Theo answered. "The doctor thinks that perhaps he maybe saved by careful nursing. I did what I could, " and she stopped with acurious click in her throat. 

The simple sight of Priscilla Gower, with her calm, handsome face, andcalm, handsome presence, set her so far away from him and she had seemedso near to him during the few last days--she felt so poor and weakthrough the contrast. And Pamela was right. She was nothing to him--hewas nothing to her. This was his wife who had come to him now, andshe--what was she?

She led them up-stairs to the sick-room, silently, and there left them. It had actually never occurred to her to ask herself how it was that thetwo were together. She was thinking only about Denis. She went to herown little bedroom at the top of the house--such a poor, little bareplace as it was, as poor and bare as only a bedroom in a miserablelittle French road-side inn can be--only the low, white bed in it, achair or two, and a barren toilet-table standing near the deep window. This deep, square window was the only part of the room holding anyattraction for Theo. From it she could look out along the road, wherethe lumbering stages made their daily appearance, and could see miles offields behind the hedges, and watch the peasant women in their woodensabots journeying on to the market towns. She flung herself down on thebare floor, in the recess formed by the window, and folded her arms uponits broad ledge. She looked out for a minute at the road, and thefields, and the hedges, and then gave vent to a single, sudden desperatesob. Nobody knew her pain--nobody would ever know it. Perhaps everythingwould end, and pass, and die away forever, and it would be her own painto the end of her life. Even Denis himself would not know it. He hadnever asked her to tell him that she loved him, and if he died, he woulddie without having heard a word of love from her lips. What would theydo with her now--Priscilla and Pamela? Make her go back to Paris, andleave him to them; and if he got well they might never meet again, and, perhaps, he would never learn who had watched by his bedside, when noone else on earth was near to try to save him. 

She dropped her face upon her folded arms, sobbing in a great, uncontrollable burst of rebellion against her fate. 

"No one cares for us, my darling, my angel, my love!" she cried. "Theywould take me from you, if they could; but they shall not, my own. If itwas wrong, how can I help it? And, oh! what does it matter, if all theworld should be lost to me, if only you could be left? If I could onlysee your dear face once every day, and hear your voice, even if it wasever so far away, and you were not speaking to me at all. "

She was so wearied with her watching and excitement, that her grief woreitself away into silence and exhausted quiet. She did not raise herhead, but let it rest upon her arms as she knelt, and before manyminutes had passed, her eyes closed with utter weariness. 

She awoke with a start, half an hour later. Some one was standing nearher. It had been twilight when she fell asleep, and now the room was sogray, that she could barely distinguish who it was. A soft, thick shawlhad been dropped over her, evidently by the person in question. WhenTheo's eyes became accustomed to the shadows, she recognized the erect, slender figure and handsome head. It was Priscilla Gower, and PriscillaGower was leaning against the window, and looking down at her fixedly. 

"You were cold when I found you, " were her first words, "and so I threwmy shawl around you. You ought not to have gone to sleep there. "

"I fell asleep before I knew that I was tired, " said Theo. "Thank you, Miss Gower. "

There was a pause of a moment, before she summoned courage to speakagain. 

"I have not had time yet, " she hesitated, at last, "to ask you how MissElizabeth is. I hope she is well?"

"I am sorry to say she is not, " Priscilla replied. "If she had beenwell, she would have accompanied me here. She has been very weak oflate. It was on that account that I applied to your sister when thedoctor's letter told me I was needed. "

"I have been expecting Lady Throckmorton for so long, that I am afraidsomething has gone wrong, " said Theo. 

To this remark, Priscilla made no reply. She was never prone to becommunicative regarding Lady Throckmorton. But she had come here to saysomething to Theodora North, and at last she said it. 

"You have been here--how long?" she asked, suddenly. 

"Nearly a week, " said Theo. 

"Is Mr. Oglethorpe better, or worse, than when you saw him first?"

"I do not know exactly, " answered the low, humble voice. "Sometimesbetter--though I do not think he is ever much worse. "

Another pause, and then:

"You were very brave to come so far alone. "

The beautiful, dark, inconsistently, un-English face was uplifted all atonce, but the next moment it dropped with a sob of actual anguish. 

"Oh, Miss Gower!" the girl cried. "Don't blame me; please don't blameme. There was no one else, and the telegram said he was dying. "

"Hush, " said Priscilla Gower, with an inexplicable softness in her tone. "I don't blame you; I should have done the same thing in your place. "

"But you--" began Theo, faintly. 

Priscilla stopped her before she had time to finish her sentence;stopped her with a cold, clear, steady voice. 

"No, " she said. "You are making a mistake. "

What this brief speech meant, she did not explain; but she evidently hadunderstood what Theodora was going to say, and had not wished to hearit. 

But brief speech as it was, its brevity held a swift pang of new fearfor Theo. She could not quite comprehend its exact meaning, but itstruck a fresh dread to her heart. Could it be that she knew the truth, and was going to punish him? Could she be cruel enough to think ofreproaching him at such an hour as this, when he lay at death's door?Some frantic idea of falling at her stern feet and pleading for himrushed into her mind. But the next moment, glancing up at the erect, motionless figure, she became dimly conscious of something that quietedher, she scarcely knew how. 

The dim room was so quiet, too; there was so deep a stillness upon thewhole place, it seemed that she gained a touch of courage for theinstant. Priscilla was not looking at her now; her statuesque face wasturned toward the wide expanse of landscape, fast dying out, as it were, in the twilight grayness. Theo's eyes rested on her for a few minutes ina remorseful pity for, and a mute yearning toward this woman whom shehad so bitterly, yet so unconsciously wronged. She would not wrong hermore deeply still; the wrong should end just as she had thought it hadended, when Denis dropped her hand and left her standing alone beforethe fire that last night in Paris. This resolve rose up in her mind witha power so overwhelming, that it carried before it all the past ofrebellion, and pain, and love. She would go away before he knew that shehad been with him at all. She would herself be the means of bringing topass the end she had only so short a time ago rebelled against sopassionately. He should think it was his promised wife who had been withhim from the first. She would make Priscilla promise that it should beso. Having resolved this, her new courage--courage, though it was sofull of desperate, heart-sick pain, helped her to ask a question bearingupon her thoughts. She touched the motionless figure with her hand. 

"Did Pamela come here to bring me away?" she asked. 

Priscilla Gower turned, half starting, as though from a reverie. 

"What did you say?" she said. 

"Did Pamela come to take me away from here?" Theo repeated. 

"No, " she said. "Do not be afraid of that. "

Theo looked out of the window, straight over her folded arms. The answerhad not been given unkindly, but she could not look at Priscilla Gower, in saying what she had to say. 

"I am not afraid, " she said. "I think it would be best; I must go backto Paris or to--to Downport, before Mr. Oglethorpe knows I have beenhere at all. You can take care of him now--and there is no need that heshould know I ever came to St. Quentin. I dare say I was very unwise incoming as I did; but, I am afraid I would do the same thing again underthe same circumstances. If you will be so kind as to let him thinkthat--that it was you who came----"

Priscilla Gower interrupted her here, in the same manner, and with thesame words, as she had interrupted her before. 

"Hush!" she said. "You are making a mistake, again----"

She did not finish what she was saying. A hurried footstep upon thestairs stopped her; and as both turned toward the door, it was opened, and Pamela stood upon the threshold and faced them, looking at each inthe breathless pause that followed. 

"There has been a change, " she said. "A change for the worse. I havesent for the doctor. You had better come down-stairs at once, Theodora, you have been here long enough to understand him better than we can. "

And down together they went; and the first thing that met their eyes asthey entered the sick-room, was Oglethorpe, sitting up in bed, with wildeyes, haggard and fever-mad, struggling with his attendants, who weretrying to hold him down, and raving aloud in the old strain Theo hadheard so often. 

"Why, Theo, my beauty, there are tears in your eyes. Good-by! Yes!Forgive me! Forget me, and good-by! For God's sake, Priscilla, forgiveme!"

CHAPTER IX. 

WHAT COMES OF IT ALL. 

The hardest professional trouble the shrivelled little French doctorhad, perhaps, ever encountered, was the sight of the white, woe-strickenyoung face, turned up to his when Theodora North followed him out of thechamber upon the landing that night, and caught his arm in both herclinging hands. 

"He will die now, doctor, " she said, in an agonized whisper. "He willdie now; I saw it in your face when you let his hand drop. "

It would have been a hard-hearted individual who would have told theexact truth in the face of these beautiful, agonized eyes--and thelittle doctor was anything but hard of heart. 

He patted the clinging hands quite affectionately, feeling in secretgreat apprehension, yet hiding his feelings admirably. 

"My little mademoiselle, " he said (the tall young creature at his sidewas almost regal, head and shoulders above him in height). "My dearlittle Mademoiselle Theodora, this will not do. If you give way, I shallgive way too. You must help me--we must help each other, as we have beendoing. It is you only who can save him--it is you he calls for. You musthope with me until some day when he awakes to know us, and then I shallshow you to him, and say, 'here is the beautiful young mademoiselle whosaved you. ' And then we shall see, Miss Theodora--then we shall see whata charm those words will work. "

But she did not seem to be comforted, as he expected she would be. 

"No, " she said. "The time will never come when you can say that to him. If he is ever well enough to know me, I must go away, and no one musttell him I have been here. "

Monsieur, the doctor, looked at her over his spectacles, sharply. 

The pale face at once touched and suggested to him the outline of alittle romance--and he had all a Frenchman's sympathy forromance--monsieur, the doctor. It was _une grande passion_, was it, andthis tractable, beautiful young creature was going to make a sacrificeof all her hope of love, upon the altar of stern honor. But he made nocomment, only patted her hand again. 

"Well, well, " he said. "We shall see, mademoiselle, we shall see. Onlylet us hope. "

The days and nights of watching, in companionship with Priscilla Gower, were a heavy trial to Theo. Not that any unusual coldness in thehandsome face was added to her troubles as an extra burden. BothPriscilla and Pamela were very mindful of her comfort--so very mindfulthat their undemonstrative care for her cut her to the heart, sometimes. Yet, somehow, she felt herself as a stranger, without the right to watchwith them. It was so terrible a thing to stand near the woman she hadinnocently injured, and listen with her to the impassioned adjurationsof the lover who had been false, in spite of himself. It seemed his mindwas always upon the one theme, and in his delirium his ravings wanderedfrom Priscilla to Theo, and from Theo to Priscilla, in a misery that wasnot without its pathos. Sometimes it was that last night in Paris--andhe went over his farewell, word for word; sometimes it was his weddingday--and he was frantically appealing to Priscilla for forgiveness, andremorsefully anathematizing himself. 

They were both together in the room, one evening, when he was ravingthus, when he suddenly paused for an instant and began to count slowlyupon his fingers, "January, February, March, April, May, June, July. My pretty Theo, whata mistake it was--only seven months, and then to have lost you. GoodGod, my darling!" and his voice became a low, agonized cry. "Good God, my darling! and I cannot give you up!"

Theo glanced up at Priscilla Gower, mute with misery for a moment. Theerect, black-robed figure stood between herself and the fire, motionless, but the fixed face was so white that it forced a low cryfrom her. She could not bear it a second longer. She slipped upon herknees on the hearth rug, and caught the hem of the black dress in herhands, in a tumult of despair and remorse. 

"He does not know what he is saying, " she cried, breathlessly. "Oh, forgive him, forgive him! I will go away now, if you think I ought. Heknows that you are better than I am. I will go away, and you will makehim happy. Oh! I know you will make him happier than I ever could havedone, even if he had really loved me as--as he only thought he did. "

A moment before, Priscilla had been gazing into the fire in a deepreverie. But the passionate voice stirred her. She looked down into thegirl's imploring eyes, without a shadow of resentment. 

"Get up, " she said, a trifle huskily. "You have done no wrong to me. Getup, Theodora, and look at me. "

Unsteadily as she spoke, there was so strange a power in her voice thatTheo obeyed her. Wonderingly, sadly and humbly she rose to her feet, andstood before Priscilla as before a judge. 

"Will you believe what I say to you?" she asked. 

"Yes, " answered Theo, sorrowfully. 

"Well, then, I say this to you. You have not sacrificed me, you havesaved me!"

It was perhaps characteristic of her that she did not say anything more. The subject dropped here, and she did not renew it. 

It was a hard battle which Denis Oglethorpe fought during the nextfortnight, in that small chamber of the wayside inn at St. Quentin; andit was a stern antagonist he waged war against--that grim old enemy, Death. 

But, with the help of the little doctor, the _vis medicatrix natural_, and his three nurses, he gained the victory at length, and conquered, only by a hair's breadth. The fierce fire of the brain wearing itselfout, left him as weak as a child, and for days after he returned toconsciousness, he had scarcely power to move a limb or utter a word. 

When first he opened his eyes upon life again, no one was in the roombut Priscilla Gower; and so it was upon Priscilla Gower that his firstconscious glance fell. 

He looked at her for a minute, before he found strength to speak. But atlast his faltering voice came back to him. 

"Priscilla, " he whispered weakly. "Is it you? Poor girl!"

She bent over him with a calm face, but she did not attempt to caresshim. 

"Yes, " she said. "Don't try your strength too much yet, Denis. It is I. "

His heavy wearied eyes searched hers for an instant. 

"And no one else?" he whispered again. "Is no one else here, Priscilla?"

"There is no one else in the room with me, " she answered, quietly. "Therest are up-stairs. You must not talk, Denis. Try to be quiet. "

There was hardly any need for the caution, for his eyes were closingagain, even then, through sheer exhaustion. 

Theo was in her room lying down and trying to rest. But half an hourlater, when Pamela came up to her bedside, the dark eyes flew wide openin an instant. 

"What is it, Pam?" she asked. "Is he worse again?"

Pam sat down on the bedside, and looked at her with a sort of pity forthe almost haggard young face drooping against the white pillow. 

"No, " she said. "He is better. The doctor said he would be, and he is. Theo, he has spoken to Priscilla Gower, and knows her. "

Theo sat up in bed, white and still--all white, it seemed, but her largehollow eyes. 

"Pamela, " she said. "I must go home. "

"Where?" said Pam. 

The white face turned toward her pitifully. 

"I don't know, " the girl answered, her voice fluttering almost as weaklyas Denis' had done. "I don't know--somewhere, though. To Paris again--orto Downport, " with a faint shudder. And then, all at once she flung upher arms wildly, and dropped upon them, face downward. 

"Oh, Pam, " she cried out, "take me back to Downport, and let me die. Ihave no right here, and I had better go away. Oh, why did I ever come?Why did I ever come?"

She was sobbing in a hysterical, strained way, that was fairly terrible. Pamela bent over her, and touched her disordered hair with a singularlylight touch. The tears welled up into her faded eyes. Just at the momentshe could think of nothing but the day, so far away now, when her ownheart had been torn up by the roots by one fierce grasp of the hand ofrelentless fate--the day when Arthur had died. 

"Hush, Theo, " she said to her, "don't cry, child. "

But the feverish, excited sobs only came the faster, and more wildly. 

"Why did I ever come?" Theo gasped. "It would have been better to havelived and died in Downport--far better, I can tell you now, Pam, nowthat it is all over. I loved him, and he loved me, too; he loved mealways from the first, though we both tried so hard, so hard; yes, wedid, Pamela, to help it. And now it is all ended, and I must never seehim again. I must live and die, grow old--old, and never see him again. "

There was no comfort for her. Her burst of grief and despair wore itselfaway into a strained quiet, and she lay at length in silence, Pamela ather side. But she was suffering fearfully in her intense girlish way. 

She did not say much more to Pamela, but she had made up her mind, before many hours had passed, to return to Paris. She even got up in themiddle of the night, in her feverish hurry to make her slightpreparations for the journey. She could go to Paris and wait till LadyThrockmorton came back, if she had not got back already, and then shecould do as she was told as to the rest. She would either stay there orgo to Downport with Pamela. 

Fortune, however, interposed. A carriage made its appearance, in themorning, with a new arrival--an arrival no less than Lady Throckmortonherself, bearing down upon them in actual excitement. 

An untoward accident had called her friend from home, and taken her toCaen, and there, at her earnest request, her ladyship had accompaniedher. The blunder of an awkward servant had prevented her receiving theletters from St. Quentin, and it was only on her return to Paris thatshe had learned the truth. 

Intense as was her bewilderment at her protege's indiscretion, she felta touch of admiration, at the simple, faithful daring of the girl'scourse. 

"It is sufficiently out of the way for Priscilla Gower to be here, andshe is his promised wife; and Pamela is nearly thirty-two years old andlooks forty; but you, Theodora--you to run away from Paris, with no onebut a maid; to run away to nurse a man like Denis Oglethorpe. Itactually takes away my breath. My dear, innocent little simpleton, whatwere you thinking about?"

It would be futile to attempt to describe her state of mind when shediscovered that Denis had not learned of Theo's presence in the house. 

But, being quick-sighted, and keen of sense, she began to comprehend atlast, and it was Priscilla Gower who assisted her to a clearer state ofmind. 

Two days later, when, after a visit to his patient, the little doctorwas preparing to take his departure, Priscilla Gower addressed himsuddenly, as it seemed, without the slightest regard to her ladyship'spresence. 

"You think your patient improves rapidly, " she said. 

"Very rapidly, " was the answer. "Men like him always do, mademoiselle. "

She bent her head in acquiescence. 

"I have a reason for asking this, " she said. "Do you think he is strongenough to bear a shock?"

"Of what description, mademoiselle? Of grief, or--or of joy?"

"Of joy, monsieur, " she answered, distinctly. 

"Mademoiselle, " said the doctor, "joy rarely kills. "

She bent her erect head again. 

She had not regarded the fact of her old enemy's presence ever soslightly while she spoke, but when the doctor was gone she addressedher. 

"I have been thinking of returning to London at once, if possible, " shesaid. "Miss Gower's ill-health renders any further absence a neglect. IfI go, would it be possible for you to remain here, with Miss North?"

"Pamela?" suggested Lady Throckmorton. 

"Theodora, " was the calm reply. 

An odd silence of a moment, and then the eyes of the two women met eachother, in one long, steady look; Lady Throckmorton's profoundlysearching, wonderingly questioning; Priscilla Gower's steadfast, calm, almost defiant. 

Then Lady Throckmorton spoke. 

"I will stay, " she said, "and she shall stay with me. "

"Thank you, " with another slight bend of the handsome head. "I am goingnow to speak to Mr. Oglethorpe. When I open the door will you send MissNorth, Theodora, to me?"

"Yes, " answered her ladyship. 

So Priscilla Gower crossed the narrow landing, and went into thesick-room, and her ladyship summoned Theodora North, and bade her wait, not telling her why. What passed behind the closed doors only threepeople can tell, and those three people are Denis Oglethorpe, his wife, and the woman who, in spite of her coldness, was truer to him than hedared be to himself. There was no sound of raised or agitated voices, all was calm and seemingly silent. Fifteen minutes passed--half an hour;nearly an hour, and then Priscilla Gower stepped out upon the landing, and Lady Throckmorton spoke to Theo. 

"Go to her, " was her command. "She wants you. "

The poor child arose mechanically and went out. She did not understandwhy she was wanted--she scarcely cared. She merely went because she wastold. But when she looked up at Priscilla Gower, she caught her breathand drew back. But Priscilla held out her hand to her. 

"Come, " she commanded. And before Theo had time to utter a word, she wasdrawn into the chamber, and the door closed. 

Denis was lying upon a pile of pillows, and pale as he was, she saw, inone instant, that something had happened, and that he was not unhappy, whatever his fate was to be. 

"I have been telling Mr. Oglethorpe, " Priscilla said to her, "all thatyou have done, Theodora. I have been telling him how you forgot theworld, and came to him when he was at the world's mercy. I have toldhim, too, that five years ago he made a great mistake which I sharedwith him. It was a great mistake, and it had better be wiped out anddone away with, and we have agreed what it shall be. So I have broughtyou here--"

All the blood in Theodora North's heart surged into her face, in a greatrush of anguish and bewilderment. 

"No! no!" she cried out. "No! no! only forgive him, and let me go. Onlyforgive him, and let him begin again. He must love you--he does loveyou. It was my fault--not his. Oh--"

Priscilla stopped her, smiling, in a half-sad way. 

"Hush!" she said, quietly. "You don't understand me. The fault was onlythe fault of the old blunder. Don't try to throw your happiness away, Theodora. You were not made to miss it. I have not been blind all thesemonths. How could I be? I only wanted to wait and make sure that thiswas not a blunder, too. I have known it from the first. Theo, I havedone now--the old tangle is unravelled. Go to him, Theo, he wants you. "

The next instant the door closed upon Priscilla, as she went out, andTheodora North understood clearly what she had before never dared todream of. 

There was one brief, breathless pause, and then Denis Oglethorpe heldout his arms. 

"My darling, " he said. "Mine, my own. "

She slipped down by his side, beautiful, tremulous, with glowing cheeksand tear-wet eyes. She remembered Priscilla Gower then. 

"Oh, my love!" she cried. "She is better than I am, braver and morenoble; but she can never love you better, or be more faithful and truethan I will be. Only try me; only try me, my darling. "

 * * * * *

Three months subsequently, when Pamela and Priscilla had settled downagain to the routine of their old lives, there was a quiet weddingcelebrated at Paris--a quiet wedding, though it was under LadyThrockmorton's patronage. 

In their tender remembrance of Priscilla Gower, it was made a quietwedding--so quiet, indeed, that the people who made the young Englishbeauty's romance a topic of conversation and nine days' wonder, scarcelyknew it had ended. 

And in Broome street, Priscilla Gower read the announcement in thepaper, with only the ghost of a faint pang. 

"I suppose I am naturally a cold woman, " she wrote to Pamela North, withwhom she sustained a faithful correspondence. "I will acknowledge, atleast, to a certain lack of enthusiasm. I can be faithful, but I cannotbe impassioned. It is impossible for me to suffer as your pretty Theocould, as it is equally impossible for me to love as she did. I havelost something, of course, but I have not lost all. "

Between these two women there arose a friendship which was neverdissolved. Perhaps the one thing they had in common, drew them towardeach other; at any rate, they were faithful; and even when, three yearslater, Priscilla Gower married a man who loved her, and having marriedhim, was a calmly happy woman, they were faithful to each other still. 

THE END. 

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