nch. Now,
there!'

All had listened to Mr. George attentively, and he had slurred the
apologetic passages, and emphasized the propitiatory 'before ladies' in a
way to make himself well understood a generation back.

'Bravo, old Mel!' rang the voice of Lady Jocelyn, and a murmur ensued, in
the midst of which Rose stood up and hurried round the table to Mrs.
Strike, who was seen to rise from her chair; and as she did so, the
ill-arranged locks fell from their unnatural restraint down over her
shoulders; one great curl half forward to the bosom, and one behind her
right ear. Her eyes were wide, her whole face, neck, and fingers, white
as marble. The faintest tremor of a frown on her brows, and her shut
lips, marked the continuation of some internal struggle, as if with her
last conscious force she kept down a flood of tears and a wild outcry
which it was death to hold. Sir Franks felt his arm touched, and looked
up, and caught her, as Rose approached. The Duke and other gentlemen went
to his aid, and as the beautiful woman was borne out white and still as a
corpse, the Countess had this dagger plunged in her heart from the mouth
of Mr. George, addressing Miss Carrington:

'I swear I didn't do it on purpose. She 's Carry Harrington, old Mel's
daughter, as sure as she 's flesh and blood!'

CHAPTER XXIII

TREATS OF A HANDKERCHIEF

Running through Beckley Park, clear from the chalk, a little stream gave
light and freshness to its pasturage. Near where it entered, a
bathing-house of white marble had been built, under which the water
flowed, and the dive could be taken to a paved depth, and you swam out
over a pebbly bottom into sun-light, screened by the thick-weeded banks,
loose-strife and willow-herb, and mint, nodding over you, and in the
later season long-plumed yellow grasses. Here at sunrise the young men
washed their limbs, and here since her return home English Rose loved to
walk by night. She had often spoken of the little happy stream to Evan in
Portugal, and when he came to Beckley Court, she arranged that he should
sleep in a bed-room overlooking it. The view was sweet and pleasant to
him, for all the babbling of the water was of Rose, and winding in and
out, to East, to North, it wound to embowered hopes in the lover's mind,
to tender dreams; and often at dawn, when dressing, his restless heart
embarked on it, and sailed into havens, the phantom joys of which
coloured his life for him all the day. But