We owe Messrs. CASSELL, PETTER, & GALPIN, the eminent publishers, an apology for an unintentional infringement of their copyright. The bright little article entitled "Some Triumphs of Plain Women," which was inserted in our February number, originally appeared in CASSELL'S FAMILY MAGAZINE.

THE

LONDON MAGAZINE.

VOLUME I.-NO. VI.

APRIL, 1876.

MORE SECRETS THAN ONE.

BY EMMA WATTS PHILLIPS.

CHAPTER VI.

A CONFIDENCE AND A RECOGNITION.

O you really think she will come? The hour is growing late."

The speaker was Mrs. Vincent, who was seated in a window recess of one of Sir Joseph Kilraven's reception

rooms, which was beginning to fill with guests of the ordinary stamp of such gatherings; a fair display of silks, laces, flowers, and jewels, and an unfa display of shoulders. Over her chair leaned John Eskell, her recogned cavalier servant; his eyes, his heart absorbed by the widow's charms, et off to perfection by her rich ball dress.

Rarely on such occasions was one of Mrs. Vincent's admirers favoured thus with a public tête-à-tête. But this evening such an honour was John Eskell's, for reasons that may be well understood.

"Come? Decidedly! Whardale informed me so for certain only half-an-hour back."

"He is here, then? I have not seen him."

VOL. I.

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"Yes. He is hovering near the door of the ante-room, waiting his uncle's arrival. The spider expectant of the fly," laughed Eskell.

Mrs. Vincent laughed too, disclosing two rows of white teeth, and flirting her fan; an act in which she was as perfectly skilled as if she had been a pupil of the talented instructor in "that little modish machine" himself, the author of "The Passions of the Fan."

"So," she remarked, "it is yet his purpose to follow up that chase?” "As a sleuth-hound for, he declares every day the more confirms him in the assurance that the Earl intends to endow Lady Braisemere with a very large portion of, if not all, his wealth."

"Or," smiled the woman, with a quizzical expression, which concealed an eager inquiry, “marry this paragon himself?"

"It might be," rejoined Eskell, unaware of the stab he gave his fair companion by thus confirming the possibility of what she most dreaded. "It would not be the first time, by many, that a celibate of over fifty turned Benedict for the possession of a young and pretty face."

"You say it might be. Do you really conceive it probable?" "From what I know of the Earl, I confess I do not; hence Whardale has his chance."

"But his liaison; his rustic entanglement ?"

"He is determined to be rid of it. To turn over a new leaf-forswear sack-and settle down respectably."

"As," concluded Mrs. Vincent, "the husband of Lady Braisemere, n'estce pas ?"

"Exactly. Such is his prayer. If it be answered," laughed the speaker, passing his gloved hand over his dark moustache, "the lady is not to be envied."

"You think so?" inquired the widow, raising her eyes.

"Is my opinion a solitary one?" was the rejoinder. "I scarcely imagine your bovine Adonis will make a gentle, loving husband. But the valse is being formed, for which I have the pleasure of claiming your hand." "Do you mind foregoing it?" she asked, lowering her tone. "If not, I will in exchange make you a confidence."

Her companion regarded the handsome face with a little surprised perplexity. Its expression flattered him, and bending his head, he replied-"Is it not my pleasure ever to perform yours, dear Mrs. Vincent ?"

"I know it; I feel it. Thus why I trust you before all others," ejaculated the widow, with well-acted frankness, and a flash from her eyes, which made the receiver's blood leap quickly through his veins.

What did all this mean? Were his hopes this evening to be realized?

He made an attempt to secure the widow's hand, but, gently checking the advance, she remarked

"Pray, Mr. Eskell, do not let me regret the confession I have made." "Pardon me," he said, contritely. "Am I forgiven?"

"Who could long be offended with one so repentant?" she smiled; then added, her manner changing: "how quickly these rooms get warm. If you will lend me your arm, we will go to the conservatory."

He readily complied, and as they proceeded thither, John Eskell felt it was not the atmosphere which was the cause of the alteration. No, the widow really had a confidence to make, and was as anxious to tell as he to hear.

Reaching a group of high orange trees and palms, which concealed them from the view of any in the ball-room, Mrs. Vincent stopped and laid her hand on her companion's arm.

"Mr. Eskell," she said, leaning towards him, and speaking in so serious a tone that he was startled, "I said I would make you a confidence. Can I trust you? May I?"

"Can you, dearest Mrs. Vincent? Assuredly," he rejoined. "I would protect such a trust with my life. Whether you may, your own knowledge of me must decide."

"It does decide, and in your favour," she answered, her small hand slightly pressing his arm. "Mr. Eskell," she proceeded, "do not startdo not turn from me in horror-but-I am a revengeful woman."

"You are a beautiful one," he interpolated, admiringly, contemplating her under this new phase.

"Pray do not compliment," she exclaimed, with some irritation. "The valse will soon be over, then the privacy of this conservatory will no longer be ours. I am a woman who can love intensely where I can trust," and, perhaps, intentionally, her eyes for a second met her companion's. "But, on the other hand-and I believe these opposites generally go together I can as intensely hate where I have been wronged." She paused, then asked, with an effort at gaiety, "What do you think of me? Arc you horrified?"

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"How can that horrify me which resembles my own feelings?" he answered. "I fancy it is with some men, what Publius Syrus says of all women, Aut amat aut odit mulier; nihil tertium.'

"You must translate it for me," she smiled.

Jane Grey."

"I am no studious Lady

"A woman loves or hates-there is no medium."

"True. Especially when the object is a woman. Listen, Mr. Eskell.

I hate Lady Braisemere. There is my confidence."

It was one so unexpected that her companion could not conceal his astonishment.

"Hate!" he repeated.

"I thought you did not know her!"

"Neither do I. Until her arrival at Heath Hill, I was not even aware of her existence. You look surprised, and, by your expression, confirm the saying that woman is an enigma."

"I confess it. She is to all, except herself, an enigma," he replied, bowing, "which I will not attempt to read unless you desire."

"Thank you," she exclaimed, putting her hand in his. "I knew I had not misplaced my trust. Though I may not at present tell you why I hate Lady Braisemere, probably I shall soon, and may even now own this much, that the real cause lies in her mother, Mrs. Midhurst."

"I fancied, the other morning, her family were not strangers to you," said Eskell.

"Yes. I could not quite control my surprise to find Caroline Midhurst's daughter in such a position," remarked the widow. "I thought at first to keep to myself my previous knowledge of her, but can man or woman exist without a confidant in whom they can trust?"

Once more John Eskell lifted the little hand to his lips. His brain was dizzy; his heart beat fast. Could he, had he a right to mistake the widow's manner, this secret confidence she placed in him alone? He felt, indeed, that the sole hope of his life was about to be fulfilled.

"Dear Mrs. Vincent," he murmured, "pardon me if I jump too hastily at conclusions; yet it seems to me that you have more than a confidence to place, you have a service to ask. If so, tell me its nature, and if I can perform it I will. No devotee shall be more devoted-no harem eunuch more mute."

'Thanks, a thousand thanks," exclaimed the widow, with real fervour. "Yes-I have a service-or rather a desire. I would have Lady Braisemere wed Randal Whardale."

John Eskell again started, so great was his surprise, and involuntarily the interrogative monosyllable escaped him, "Why?"

"Because no woman could be destined to a worse fate. Because I would humiliate and render miserable this woman to whom all Heath Hill appear ready to bow the knee and stoop the neck," proceeded Mrs. Vincent, her passion, for a moment, breaking beyond her control, and her eyes shining with that peculiar feline light. "John Eskell," she added, with earnest intensity, "the man who could aid me to do this, I should hold to be my dearest friend-my eternal friend."

She had drawn slightly away from him in her anger, and her companion regarded her in silent admiration. She was assuredly very handsome at