He thought she was vexed, and this irritated him.

"You see, the great fault of your character is self-will; you will only act by your own judgment. Now, I dare say in your heart you consider you have not been kindly treated: if you do think this, it is a most complete mistake -it would have been far pleasanter to me to have gone on as we were; butto begin with-you neglected every sort of domestic duty; and then you were very perverse about marrying. I consider whatever happened afterwards was entirely your doing. Yes, Nuna, the chief unhappiness that has come into my life has been of your making."

Nuna had sat listening, her eyes intently fixed on her father. She could not see much of him, but she could feel that there was a change. There was a reality too in his voice, which gave a weight to the old fretfulness it had never had before.

Was he unhappy with Elizabeth? Yes, she felt sure he was; and he meant that Nuna had been the cause of his marriage.

Self-defence was always deficient in Nuna's nature; the feelings which had been struggling to be understood swept upwards, overbearing any attempt at self-excuse, into an agony of remorse.

She threw herself on her knees, and clasped her arms round her father; but no words would come to help her. Mr. Beaufort was shocked and distressed.

"Oh, my dear-there-there-pray don't-don't agitate yourself, and me too, by giving way; just now, too, when we all have need of extra strength. Oh, my dear, you'll unnerve yourself, and make yourself useless-quite."

But the words were not the styptic to her agonized flow of feeling that they would have proved a year ago. For weeks, Nuna had been keeping back the outward expression of her sorrow; and now it had found vent, it carried her along with the power of sudden freedom.

"Only say you forgive me, father," she said, passionately. There was none

of the old timidity; she was not even crying. Mr. Beaufort was fairly borne along by the strength and genuineness of her appeal.

He stooped down and kissed her; and then tried to raise her.

"There, there-yes, darling; God bless you; I knew you would come right;" and then he hid his own face in his pocket-handkerchief, under cover of blowing his nose.

Nuna rose up, still and calm; a great load seemed lifted off her heart, but it was scarcely lighter: so new a self had been roused into life by her father's words, that she longed to be alone to sift them, and prove their meaning.

Mr. Beaufort rang the bell.

"I had ordered the spare room got ready; but cook and Jane said you would be sure to like your own room best. I dare say you're tired."

Nuna was thankful to say, Yes, and to find herself lighted by Jane up the old staircase.

Jane went away; and Nuna stood looking round her, trying to cast herself back into the state of mind she had lived in with those surroundings.

Little change had been made in the arrangement of the room; it almost seemed to her that some one had tried to replace everything in its accustomed position.

And, while she stood gazing, it came to her suddenly that it was here that the old life had seemed most distasteful as she mused over it; it was here that she had thought of life alone with Paul as a state too full of bliss for earth.

Had she been happy? had she made Paul happy?

"Yes, I have been wildly happy sometimes; and did I not say, myself, I preferied that sort of changeful life to a monotonous existence of tepid content?

I thought love would be very different -more the mingling of one heart with another, than this. I thought Paul and I would have known each other's thoughts and wishes before they were spoken."

She sighed; looking back at the old life, she felt herself discontentedwicked, even, at the contrast its dreariness offered beside her new state and yet she could not, even though she summoned unreal strength-that strength with which a woman often makes herself a temporary heroine to sink beneath her real self when the effort is pastNuna could not force herself to be resigned; she could not give up the hope of winning her husband to love her more entirely as she wished: and then came back her father's reproaches-had she really power to judge herself rightly at all?

There was a tap at the door, and when she opened it she saw her father, pale, and much agitated.

"I don't know what to do," he said, in a low voice. "Hush! don't speak, or you may make her worse. She keeps on fainting; and I don't know really what to do. Dennis is very unwell, so I can't send for Mrs. Fagg; and Elizabeth does not like me in her room, I know she does not."

"Let me go," said Nuna, eagerly.

"You!" He looked at her, and shook his head. "I don't want to vex you, my dear, but I really think you would do more harm than good. Nursing requires such unwearied attention and carefulness."

"Yes, I know-I mean, I don't wonder at your distrust, dear, dear papa." She had got his hand in hers, and she kissed it with a fervour that startled him. "You have made me begin to see, to-night, how little I have lived for others. Won't you give me this chance of beginning fresh? me only try to do something really to make you happy. If nursing and care can bring Elizabeth back to you, then indeed I will try to save her."

Let

As she spoke, her words grew calmer and sweeter; even her father saw that No. 144.-VOL. XXIV.

their first impetuosity had been caused more by the effort at uttering them than because she was unreal. She stood with clasped hands; her eyes liquid with intense but restrained feeling, gazing into her father's face.

He struggled a few moments, and then nature rose up against prejudice, and all the petty hindrances that so often sever loving hearts.

He bent his head to Nuna's; he meant to kiss her forehead; but with her clinging arms round his neck, the poor lonely man's soul found voice at last.

"My darling," he whispered,-and sobs came between his words," why did I never find you out before?"

CHAPTER LV.

CALLED TO ACCOUNT.

MRS. DOWNES stopped and looked round, to be quite sure her black silk flounces were clear of the dirty gate. "I had made up my mind not to come to Bellamount Terrace till just before we go away, and yet here I am on this muddy day, too, and all because that foolish doll of a woman chose to interfere between me and my father. I shan't forget her manner when she went away. I don't think I've felt so out of temper for months; and I don't forgive people who put me out of temper; it wrinkles my forehead and heats my complexion." Patty's bewitching smile came here; it was too amusing to think that any falling off could come to her beauty.

Her smile seemed to irritate Roger. He had opened the door noiselessly, and anyone less quick of observation would have been taken by surprise; but, as a girl, Patty's motto had been "never to be caught napping," and her observing powers had not grown dulled by luxury.

Roger frowned; and his mouth was so firmly shut, that a series of hard semicircles showed at each corner of it. "How are you?" said Patty. She

FF

made no effort to kiss him; she shook hands instead. "I am afraid you have been ill again."

"Are you?" He led the way into the parlour. "I've been expecting you, Madam Downes."

Patty did not seat herself. She walked up to the little picture on the mantel-shelf, and looked first at it, then at herself in the misty looking-glass. Roger watched her; and his anger suddenly burst bounds.

"You're a vain hussy, that you are, and always were. If your husband's fool enough to stand it, well and good. I wish him joy; he'd do well to remember that it's the vain women as brings shame and disgrace to a husband's home far more than the froward or the sour ones.'

Patty had flushed angrily at his words, but their stern sound frightened her, shocked the soft pleasure-seeking soul by the glimpse of broad daylight it seemed to let in. Roger checked himself; he seldom uttered long sentences, and felt half ashamed of having, as he thought, "jawed like any woman:" but he had more to say yet that he meant Patty to listen to.

"Is this what you sent for me to hear?" she said, with the old defiant movement of her head.

"No; I've wasted words, and them's things as I don't often throw away."

Patty gave a little shudder of disgust -he spoke so broadly. Roger saw it.

"Ay, ay, I know all about it; you'd give your right hand, Madam Downes, if ye could put a wide sea atwixt us; an' I don't blame ye, not I."

Father, how can you?" she began, but he interrupted her.

"Now you just listen, here." He pointed his bony forefinger towards her, a finger which seemed to have more knuckles than of right belonged to it. "So long as you keep straight, I'm content to let ye bide; but don't you go stirring up unhappiness atwixt man and wife, or I'm down on ye. Maybe I know more than you think for, and if Whitmore's fool enough to fret his wife's heart for the likes of

you, why "-he scowled at her as he paused for breath-" it's just this: if you don't shut your doors agin him, you won't shut 'em agin me neither. I'll see this smart husband of yourn, and tell him more about you than you mean him to know."

He stopped; but he bent his eyes on her. It seemed as if he expected her to spring at him, or fly off into vehement anger. He had not, in any way, realized the steady hold which daily practice had given Patty over any show of feeling.

She stood a minute, with downcast eyes, choosing her line of conduct. All she cared to do just then was to pacify Roger; and the best way seemed to follow out the lead her feelings had taken at his words.

She pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and wiped her eyes: there were really some tears there; smarting, vexed drops that seemed to sting with sudden pain.

"I know I've not been always what I ought towards you, father; but I thought you didn't care, as some do, for outside show." A little sob here. "I thought, so long as you had the substance, I was of too little consequence to you for you to heed my goings and comings as some might;" then with a sudden change of voice, "I've doubled your allowance," she said reproachfully. "I should have thought that more to your taste than any make-up of dutifulness; and, I must say, it's hard you should listen to that woman against your own child.”

Roger's face cleared; his mouth relaxed till his lips parted in surprise, and then a look of doubt came into his restless eyes.

"Thank you," he said; "tho' as I've told you before now, by rights, it ud been me as should have gived the allowance; not you, Patty. You're wrong about Miss Nuna, she told no tales agin you; but if you have done as you say about the money"-he said each word deliberately, while he looked at her keenly-"why, I say again, thank you."

Patty looked away; as yet she had

not made the promised alteration. "But I mean to do it," she thought, "and that's all the same." She went to the mantelpiece and took up the little picture. "You don't mind letting me have this? I'll give it back some day. I want to get it copied."

"Take it." Roger was thinking whether he had said enough in the way of warning. At another time he might have suspected Patty's motive for removing the only link which could prove her connection with Bellamount Terrace; but he was far more intent on the remembrance of Nuna's sorrowful face than on his beautiful daughter.

"You'll not forget what I said a while ago." Patty was putting the picture in her pocket: he could not see the frown his words called up.

66 Mind you, Miss Nuna made no complaint; and don't go setting yourself agin her; but it stands to reason it ain't happy for a wife to see her husband going after one as he fancied afore he saw her."

Patty's

"You're mistaken there." eyes sparkled with triumph. "Mr. Whitmore saw Nuna Beaufort before ever he set eyes on me; and she knows it. Do you suppose I care about a poor artist

like that? not I. If she chooses to be a jealous idiot, it's no fault of mine. Mr. Whitmore came to paint my picture; well, it's finished, and sent home; and I dare say he has got the money for painting it; and I don't suppose he and I are likely to meet again: but I do think it is very hard that you should judge your own daughter to be all wrong, and Nuna Beaufort to be all right;" and Patty swallowed a little indignant sob.

"Well, well; if it's as you say, it's well ended." Even Roger was touched. "But don't think me hard neither; as you brew so you bake; and you know, you was always for getting all the menfolk to yourself and robbing others. You keep your door shut agin Miss Nuna's gentleman, and I'll keep my own counsel."

Patty did not utter a word when she rejoined her companion at the railway station; and Patience had grown so

accustomed to her moods that she was aware this was not one to be rashly broken in on.

Passion with Patty was not lasting; but it never passed away without leaving the fruit of a settled purpose. She had rarely been so moved out of herself, as by this discovery of Roger's motive in summoning her to Bellamount Terrace.

The resentment roused by Nuna's lofty coldness had been smouldering— not forgotten; and now, as Mrs. Downes realized that this girl, whom she had hated all her life, who had robbed her→ this was Patty's view-of the only man she ever could have loved, had been at the pains to stir up her own father against her, the old hatred flamed out again. Patty reminded herself that one of the first joys of her inheritance had been the consciousness that, one day, she would have power to humble Nuna Beaufort.

"She shall be humbled, too. She has brought it on herself. I'll teach her the difference between us ;" and she lay back in the carriage, thinking.

Patty had not owned it to herself distinctly; her conscience had grown. tough, but still she had a consciousness of deep mortification. Paul had not called once since the last sitting; and a faint blush tinged the beautiful face as she remembered her efforts, that day, to fascinate him. She did not enter personally into this question; but in summing up Nuna's offences her foolish jealousy headed the list. No doubt Mrs. Whitmore had made the poor man's life miserable when she found out he had been painting her portrait, and he kept away from Park "He Lane just for the sake of peace. shall come, though," she said, "even if I ask her to come with him."

Mrs. Downes turned suddenly to Patience.

"Tell Newton to drive to St. John Street; I want some alterations made to that picture; and I may as well return Mrs. Whitmore's visit."

Patience began a remonstrance; but the words died away, there was so determined a look in the blue eyes.

Mrs. Whitmore was not at home. "Mrs. Whitmore's gone into the country for some days."

"Where to, ma'am?" The powdered giant touched his hat.

Patty sat thinking; a plan had been growing in her scheming brain. Lord Charles Seton had told her of his meeting with Paul Whitmore, and he had also expressed a wish to have the artist's companionship in an excursion he had planned for the coming

autumn.

It

At the time, Mrs. Downes had paid little heed to the proposal. She had looked at Lord Charles's sketches, and praised them; and felt rather bored at having to talk to him about anything except herself; but now this remembrance came back vividly. was just the clue she wanted; she could amuse herself, and punish Nuna by the same stroke; and Mrs. Whitmore's absence from St. John Street placed her completely at Patty's mercy. "There is no prestige in being admired by Paul; but I like it his appreciation of beauty is quite of another order to Lord Charles's; he shall come to Park Lane while she is away, and I'll take care she knows of his coming; and Paul shall go abroad with Lord Charles, too. Why should we not all go together?"

She ordered to be driven to Queen's Gate; and then she went on planning. It seemed to her that she must not trust Patience. It must have been from her companion, that her father knew so much of her proceedings.

"Miss Coppock," Patty looked grave; she began to be aware that Patience suspected her smile, — “I must call on Mrs. Winchester, and I promised Mr. Downes I would drive out with him at six o'clock. I would not keep him waiting on any account, so you had better take a cab and go home with my message."

It would have been simpler to leave Patience in the carriage; but Patty's nature was incapable of simplicity, either in thought or action.

CHAPTER LVI.

COUSINLY.

MRS. WINCHESTER sat in state in her vast drawing-room, at the opposite end to that by which Patty came in.

Some people of timid nature and excitable nerves, feel dismayed when they have to make these solitary pilgrimages to the point where the mistress of all the state and splendour they traverse awaits them.

Even for her cousin's wife, Mrs. Winchester made no forward movement; but, as Patty approached, she rose from her lounging attitude, rustled out her ample skirts, and gave a little nod of welcome.

Mrs. Winchester was proud of her rooms. She considered decorations of walls and ceilings in any purely artistic fashion simple waste; her rooms ought to be as much like everybody else's rooms as possible; and everybody sat and walked upon representations of birds, and flowers, and Cupids, and even birds' nests full of eggs. Therefore, it was the right thing to do.

"If you only trust all to a good upholsterer," said the faded Juno, “you are sure to be fashionable, and have things as they should be. Why, I left even my mantelpiece, and the hanging of my pictures, and the arrangement of the old china, to the upholsterer."

She said this to her cousin's wife, by way of suggestion; for she considered Maurice Downes far too much inclined to take up with eccentric ideas of taste.

"Yes," said Patty, sweetly, "I see what you mean: everything in your room looks as if it had been done for you right off, it all looks so new and nice. What does your protégé Mr. Whitmore say to it all?”

"My protégé! He would not like you to say that; he is a very rising artist indeed people tell me I am very fortunate to have been painted by him.”

"I think you are." Patty spoke quietly; but Mrs. Winchester looked

affronted.