hocked, my reader, Bellamy was _on
the bow_), "well, how shall we strike? Shall I go to the old man
to-morrow, and show him my certified copy? There is no time to lose.
He might die any day."

"No; we must act through Mrs. Philip."

"Why?"

"It is more scientific, and it will be more amusing."

"Poor thing! it will be a blow to her. Don't you like her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because she did not trust me, and because she eclipses me. Therefore
I am glad of an opportunity of destroying her."

"You are a very ruthless woman."

"When I have an end in view, I march straight to it; I do not
vacillate--that is all. But never mind me; here we are near home. Go
to town by the first train to-morrow morning and post another letter
announcing what has happened here. Then come back and wait."

"Ay," reflected George, "that is a wonderful woman--a woman it is good
to have some hold over."

We left Hilda stretched on her face sobbing. But the fit did not last
long. She rose, and flung open the window; she seemed stifled for want
of air. Then she sat down to think what she should do. Vanish and
leave no trace? No; not yet. Appear and claim her place? No; not yet.
The time was not ripe for choice between these two extremes. Upbraid
Philip with his faithlessness? No; not without proofs. What did that
hateful letter say? "Wait and watch;" yes, that was what she would do.
But she could not wait here; she felt as though she must go somewhere,
get some change of scene, or she should break down. She had heard Mrs.
Jacobs speak of a village not more than two hours from London that a
convalescent lodger of hers had visited and found charming. She would
go there for a week, and watch the spring cast her mantle over the
earth, and listen to the laughter of the brooks, and try to forget her
burning love and jealousy, and just for that one week be happy as she
was when, as a little girl, she roamed all day through the woods of
her native Germany. Alas! she forgot that it is the heart and not the
scene that makes happiness.

That evening she wrote a note to her husband, saying that she felt
that change of air was necessary for her, and that she was going out
of London for a few days, to some quiet place, from whence she would
write to him. He must not, however, expect many letters, as she wanted
complete rest.

On the following morning she went; and, if the sweet spring air did
not bring peace to her mind, at any rate, it to a v