"My poor Walter, you are a bundle of old-fashioned prejudices."

Arden dined and spent the evening at his Club, where he was fortunate in meeting the man he considered most likely to give him the information he wanted.

Mr. de Courcy Smythe had begun life in the diplomatic service, with assured means and brilliant prospects, but had never risen higher than Secretary of Legation, and on reaching the very mature age of fifty-five had exchanged the cares of diplomacy for the pleasures of idleness, a wanderer in sunny lands, or a lounger in London, as whim dictated. He was a man who had been everywhere, had seen everything, and was reputed to know all about everybody.

"Konstantin Manville? Yes, of course. I saw something of him in Paris three winters ago. He had an apartment near the Madeleine, and gave card suppers. His food and wine were unsurpassable, but the play was too high for me. One met all the cleverest and wickedest people in Paris."

"Ladies among them, perhaps?"

"The feminine element was not wanting."

"What kind of man is he?"

"A giant in brain and body. A giant with a magnetic power, which makes all other men seem pigmies. A modern Mirabeau, with the advantage of being handsome instead of ugly."

"A dangerous man where women are concerned," suggested Arden.

Smythe looked at him curiously. "My dear fellow," he said hastily, "if you have heard any ill-natured gossip about

He was going to say about Lady Mary Selby, when Arden interrupted him.

"There is a girl-a simple inexperienced girl of the humble classes, whom this man is pursuing

"Oh!" said Smythe, very glad he had not gone farther. "That kind of girl would have a very poor chance with Manville."

"I mean to save her."

"Then you'd better get her on board an Australian steamer to-morrow, and despatch her to the Antipodes.

She may be safe from him there, since it wouldn't be worth his while to follow her."

"Is he married?"

"No; never married-a colossal butterfly, flitting from flower to flower."

"Was he brought up in Russia ?”

"No; he was born and raised here was at Eton as a small boy; went to Petersburg in his teens, and was given a commission in the Imperial Guard, served in the Army for nine or ten years, rose to the rank of major, and then came to grief-an intrigue with the colonel's wife; the colonel disappeared one snowy night, and was found a month later in the Neva. It was an ugly business; and though nobody went so far as to suspect murder, Major Manville had to leave the Russian Army, and very soon found it convenient to leave Russia. I don't think he has ever re-crossed the frontier."

"How does he come by the rank of Colonel ?"

"He commanded a yeomanry regiment in Berkshire, where his father has a good deal of property."

"What manner of man is the father?"

"A man without conscience or creed-engrained with sin. But he has thriven upon iniquity. He is past ninety, and looks good for another decade. He shows himself in London once or twice a year at some famous book sale, buying rare books of the kind they call 'curious;' a wonderful example of longevity, full of energy, with the eyes of an eagle, and a frame of iron. These Manvilles are a longlived race. Konstantin boasts of his descent from a line of centenarians."

"Is the old man like him?”

"Yes; it is the same face-the same colossal frame. Konstantin senior has lived as adventurous a life as Konstantin junior. He inherited a business worth a million, and his mercantile career was finished before middle age. He exchanged the counting-house for a life of profligate indulgence that spread itself over civilized Europe, from the Seine to the Golden Horn. He was past fifty before he met the woman he married."

"Was she a Russian?"

"She was the star of a café concert on the Paris boulevard."

"A fallen star?"

"One naturally supposes so. She lived with her husband a year and a half, presented him with a son, and eloped with a Wallachian prince while the infant was cutting his teeth. She was a Provençale, a magnificent creature, with an alabaster skin and eyes of fire. All Paris had gone mad about her before Manville succumbed to her charm."

"And for character?"

"A wicked witch. They were a well-matched couplewitch and devil."

Arden was startled by words that so strangely recalled his dream of the previous night-"Witch and devil!"

Again he saw the Scythian desert, the women with wild hair and burning eyes, the yawning pit of hell.

IV.

MRS. BERRY did not lose an hour before acting upon Arden's advice. The peril of an idolized daughter gave the mother unwonted energy and decision. The marauding wolf was on the path of the lamb, and the rescue must needs be prompt and speedy. Mrs. Berry left her house and her lodgers to the care of her two servants for a whole day, an almost unexampled proceeding on her part, and took Lisbeth to her aunt's cottage on the outskirts of a village near Woking, a rustic spot, where the air was healthgiving and the solitude unbroken. She carried her daughter off in this sudden manner on the pretence of anxiety about her health, and gave Lisbeth no hint of Arden's communication; but the girl had no doubt that her mother had been told of all that occurred at the theatre and after, and she submitted to the inevitable with a sullen acquiescence which was new to her character. Between the indulgent mother. and the loving daughter there had opened an abyss which made them seem as strangers. The mother's heart ached: with pity; the daughter seemed indifferent, coldly repulsing every expression of tenderness, averting her eyes from the eyes that sought hers with anxious love, shrinking into her corner of the railway carriage, and turning all her thoughts inward, to brood upon the image of the man whose name she knew not, but whose influence had changed her life from humdrum reality to a romantic dream.

"How long am I to stop with Aunt Tabitha?" she asked, as the train drew near Woking.

"Only till you have got back your health, dear. It is only for your health I am parting with you."

"That's nonsense, mother. There is nothing the matter with me."

“Oh, Lisbeth, how can you say that, when you have such restless nights, and look so white and wretched, and seem so low-spirited?"

"I can't help being miserable sometimes; and I shall be much more miserable in the country than in London.”

"No, no, you won't, darling. There'll be nothing to upset you, or to make you unhappy in Tabitha's pretty home. You'll soon get back your good health in the fine country air. I know your aunt will be very kind to you."

"I don't care whether she's kind or unkind. I shall be miserable till you let me go home again."

Tabitha Berry was at the station with a fly, and she gave mother and daughter an affectionate welcome. Mrs. Berry's letter of the previous night had acquainted her with her niece's peril, and the girl came to her as a kind of state prisoner. She was by no means a sour or pedantic spinster, but a genial, comfortable person, carrying about her the large and liberal ideas of the noble household in which she had served for the greater part of her life, and where all the machinery of existence was worked upon generous lines. She was proud of her cottage, which she had made a cosy nest for her declining years, prouder of her garden, and proudest of her poultry-yard, where she reared specimens of the superior breeds which obtained on her late mistress's estate, forty miles away, in North Hampshire, whence, under Providence, all Tabitha's blessings were derived, even her little maid-of-all-work, who was the daughter of an undergardener at the great house.

In a confidential talk with the anxious mother, Tabitha promised to keep watch and ward over her niece. They would take their walks together on the common, and she would hardly let Lisbeth out of her sight.

"You'll find she'll soon get over her foolish fancy when she doesn't see the fellow," Tabitha opined, not having a high estimate of the influence or attractiveness of the superior sex. "She'll get her health back with country air and country living, and she'll come round, and begin to wonder how she ever cared for him."

Solaced in some small measure by these cheering prognostications, Mrs. Berry went back to the lodging-house, and the daily cares and toils that made the hours seem