her father's request, to examine the parish registers in reply to some correspondent; and no doubt, thought the sexton to himself, she had now come on a similar errand.

'Passon's a-getting his fees in,' was his inward reflection as he placed the great key in her hand, with which was a smaller one that opened the vestry door.

Without one glance at the humble memorials of the departed to right or left of her path, nor even at the fine old church itself, yellow with lichen where it was not green with ivy, and hallowed with the prayers of a score of generations, Clara moved swiftly on. Her thoughts, though 'of the earth earthy,' were not concerned with the dead, and still less with the Heaven which, let us hope, had received them. But in the porch she paused a moment ere she put the key in the door, and placed her hand upon her bosom-not that she needed breath, for her splendid vital powers would have known no loss of it had she walked twice as fast and far-but to still the emotions that were agitating it.

It must be as I suspect,' she murmured, like one who would reassure herself before convincement; 'my memory in such a matter could never have played me false. If it be so, my lady, you shall repent to your dying day having put your foot upon my neck this morning. "To-day for me, to-morrow for thee," says old Sir Marmaduke's gravestone, a motto that holds no less good for the dead than for the living.'

Then she opened the great door, locked it carefully behind her, and entered the vestry, where she took the same precaution; she even pulled down the blind over its little window, which was on a level with the ground, and therefore liable to possible scrutiny. On a shelf stood the registers, in volumes, with their proper dates, and selecting one of them without hesitation, she placed it on the little table, at which so many hands, trembling with love and joy, had witnessed to their marriage morn. Her own hand trembled with excitement as she rapidly turned over the leaves; she stopped at a certain baptismal record of threeand-forty years ago; an entry which, according to old fashion, also indicated the day of birth-When and where born. Twenty-sixth of July, Mirbridge. Name, Letitia Beeton.'

Her eyes drank in the words as thirsty lips some longed-for and delicious draught. With the first two columns only, as it seemed, she had to do, for she read no further, but perused them again and again, as if to make certainty doubly sure. Then she took from her pocket Mrs. Westrop's pencilled scrawl, and flattened it out upon the book, as though to compare line with line. 'You have lost your gloves,' it ran; I found Lady Trevor's age recorded in a locket given to her by Sir Richard on her birthday. She was forty-three on the 26th of last July.'

CHAPTER XLIII.

CLARA SPEAKS OUT.

WHETHER dark hair has ever turned to white in a single night from passing it with a ghost, or other exciting or depressing cause, is a moot point; but that much more complete changes have taken place in the heart of man is certain. The Salvationist will tell you that conversion has happened to him in a flash between one drum-beat and another; the lover that a single monosyllable has made the whole world rose-colour for him ; and the debtor, who hears tidings of an unexpected fortune, that he feels 'another man.'

No more complete transformation ever happened to any one of these than had occurred to Clara Thorne in the single hour that had intervened between her reception of Mrs. Westrop's note and her comparison of its contents with that entry in the parish register. Humiliation was exchanged for triumph; disappointment for success; and assured prosperity for what, in truth, had seemed to her very ruin. Her look, indeed, as she stepped out of the church porch was none the prouder, because it was always proud, and had never been more so than on that terrible morning when she had been dismissed from Mirbridge Court with a pity more insulting than contempt by the woman whose fate she now held in her hand. But the courage that had sustained her to the eye of others had, as she herself well knew, been the courage of despair. Her sister-simple girl!—had spoken to her of the advantage of having been warned in time.' But what is time worth if it is not coupled with opportunity? And what opportunity, having lost the chance for which she had been scheming (in her proud, high-handed way) to 'place' herself for many a weary month, was likely to occur to her again? The very depth of the discouragement into which she had been plunged made the compensating wave which was now bearing her on to fortune seem the bigher. She had no doubt that to fortune it was tending. If, with her slender means, and under such adverse circumstances, she had contrived almost to win the prize that had been so unexpectedly denied her, was it likely, with the lever she had now to work with against the chief obstacle to her designs, that she should fail in them? It was not likely-nay, she felt, knowing her own powers, that it was not probable; while the having so nearly missed her object made her tenfold more resolute to obtain it. For the moment, when Lady Trevor had convinced her of Hugh's infidelity, she had been ready to cast him off for ever, as if she had loved him more she would most certainly have done; but, though she had suffered his mother to take it for granted that all must be over

between them, she would have by no means subscribed to that arrangement but for the thought of her successful rival being located in the village. That, indeed, was a circumstance which would have been utterly intolerable to her, as Lady Trevor had foreseen, and had laid her plans accordingly. If she had said, 'I have sent the girl away to be married to her betrothed,' she would never have obtained from Clara what had been a virtual abandonment of her claim on Hugh; and the knowledge that she had been overreached in this matter made her very bitter against her enemy.

Instead of looking upon Lady Trevor as a Machiavelli, she only saw in her a Sapphira. That lady's whole life, indeed, at Mirbridge seemed to her a long chain of lies, instead of the natural and necessary consequence of her false position. Of her identity with Letty Beeton she had not the shadow of a doubt, and even despised her own intelligence for not having discovered it for herself without the key. The birthday of the two women being on the same date could hardly be a mere coincidence; it was itself almost a proof positive of Lady Trevor's being one with Letty Beeton; but a score of circumstances now recurred to her recollection, the cumulative force of which ought, she felt, to have long ago aroused her suspicions. Her ladyship's ill-concealed knowledge of local matters, her intermittent use of a French accent, her reserve with those who had known her in former position, contrasted with her frankness to others; above all, the disinclination her haughty spirit had shown to quarrel with those of whom-being what she was-she would naturally stand in fear, such as Mr. Morris. When everyone knew that the land-agent was dishonest, was it likely that so sharp-witted a woman should be deceived in him? There was something that had held the hand which would have otherwise been swift enough to mete out his punishment. Mr. Gurdon, indeed, had almost said as much when he had admitted that Lady Trevor had bade him be silent about that copy of the Romney. Did Mr. Morris know?

She was standing in the church porch, carefully considering the whole situation, when this question occurred to her, and its effect was overwhelming; her limbs trembled beneath her as it came into her thoughts, and she dropped upon the stone seat that ran along the side of it like one exhausted by physical fatigue.

'Did Mr. Morris know? Did Mr. Gurdon know? Did anybody know besides herself,' she wondered with sinking heart; for if there was anyone else in possession of Lady Trevor's secret, it would lose half, nay, perhaps, all its value to her. She might ruin her, of course, by revealing what she knew, but revenge was after all a very secondary object with her. What

she wanted was to marry Hugh Trevor with the consent and apparent approbation of his mother. Other joys were but toys in comparison with the accomplishment of that long-looked-for end. And why should Lady Trevor grant so much to one who could, after all, only harm her as others could, not secure her from harm?

Upon the whole, however, though her late triumphant mood was greatly abated, Clara came to the conclusion that she was, at present at all events-the sole depository of Lady Trevor's secret; had it been otherwise, some bribe must surely have been given elsewhere, too large to have escaped public attention. At the same time, the possibility of the contrary sobered her views and rendered her more cautious and capable for the interview that lay before her; for to see Lady Trevor at once she had quite made up her mind. The time was short for any action, since she knew not what might be the next move of her astute adversary; her very proposal to Miss Mumchance to become her guest might be only a blind-and indeed there was something not a little suspicious in the openness of the invitation-and the will that had exiled Jenny Beeton from Mirbridge at so short a notice might banish Hugh himself from the same dangerous neighbourhood. Perhaps, too, strong and confident as Clara felt herself to be, she was unequal to the strain of having a matter so weighty, and fraught with such important consequences to her future, upon her mind. The spirit that shrinks not from the battle often bears with difficulty the suspense that precedes it.

Without returning home, she therefore turned her steps to the Court. As she entered the avenue she perceived Hugh himself coming down it, and would have given much, if unobserved, she could have retraced her steps. Whatever might pass between them she resolved should make no difference as regarded the end she had in view; but it was a moment of intense embarrassment. She was far from having forgiven him for his impudent and faithless behaviour; and if, as was probable, he knew that she was aware of it, he might attempt some sort of apology which would try her self-control to the uttermost. His nature was not only averse to any confession of wrongdoing; but when its obstinacy was overcome a certain surly awkwardness took the place of resentment, and made the exercise of any diplomacy on the part of the aggrieved party very difficult. That Hugh had caught sight of her was certain, though he was coming on with gaze studiously fixed upon the ground, as though he had not done so; they were not thirty paces apart when he suddenly struck off into a path that led to the walled garden, the door of which he opened with a savage jerk, and then slammed behind him. A more complete example of the cut direct' it was impossible to imagine.

6

Clara stopped for a moment mechanically; that slam of the door, though it had extricated her from a most disagreeable dilemma, gave her a certain shock-for she had never been cut, at all events by a male, in all her life. The snubbing had been hitherto entirely the other way. On reflection, however, that amour propre of which she had always so large a stock in hand asserted itself; and from what some members of her sex would have deemed an insult she even derived a positive satisfaction. It became plain to her that Hugh was ashamed of himself, and, what was still more satisfactory, afraid to meet her. In the taming of wild animals, whatever their masters may tell us to the contrary, it is fear that accomplishes their subjugation; love of a certain sort may mingle with it, but love alone can never teach them to close the lip and sheathe the claw. Clara's diagnosis of Hugh's nature was a correct one up to a certain point. But in her egotism and sense of power she imagined that she should have the same influence over him when she had become his wife that she exercised when he had yet to win hera mistake which many a woman finds out to her cost. Moreover, notwithstanding what had recently occurred, she overrated the strength of his affection, and, even for his shameful avoidance of her, was inclined to blame his mother more than himself. What influence had been brought to bear upon him she could not guess, but she flattered herself that it must have been a very powerful one which, notwithstanding all that had come and gone, had prevented his throwing himself at her feet and asking pardon. This reflection helped to strengthen her for the errand on which she was bound, by giving her new cause for indignation.

Astonishment was an emotion that Mr. Cadman seldom permitted himself to exhibit, but a wild surprise overspread his ecclesiastical features when admitting Miss Thorne for the second time, and positively led him into an indiscretion.

'Mr. Hugh has just gone out, miss. I wonder you did not meet him in the avenue.'

'I do not wish to see Mr. Hugh. I wish to see Lady Trevor alone-tell her, upon very particular business. Be so good as to do so at once.'

There was more than reproof in her tone, though she uttered none; there was castigation. In the case of almost anyone else, the trusty retainer would have opposed to such a demand a stolid but bland resistance; but Mr. Cadman was far-seeing, and he felt that there was a possible chance, and at a date perhaps not remote, of the young lady obtaining a legitimate authority over

him.

Certainly, miss;' he piqued himself on never saying 'ma'am' except to married ladies, and was of opinion that the older they