o-morrow, and I ask you to accompany me. To be
distant now would be like disinterring old griefs and sorrows that
should before this have been forgotten. Let the past be buried in the
past, and let us be, with these our nearest neighbours, upon intimate
terms. You do not know Philip and Ada as I know them; and I love them
both too dearly to slight them even in thought."

"As you will," he said, with a shrug of the shoulders.

"And besides," she continued, "your wish is almost an insult to your
wife, Murray; it is cruel in tone, cruel in wording--harsh as it is
unjust--unfair."

"Do I not say," he exclaimed, angrily, "do as you will? I gave you my
opinion as to what I thought would be best, and you differ. Very well;
one of us must give way, and I have yielded. What more would you have?
Do I ever play the domestic tyrant? Am I ever unreasonable?"

Lady Gernon was silent, and stood pale and motionless, looking at the
table upon which she rested her hand. She was still very beautiful; but
there was a sharpness about her features that told of suffering, and the
workings of a troubled heart. It was evident that she wished to speak,
but the words would not come, and at last, fearing to display her
agitation, she glided back to her seat.

But she had gained her end: there was to be reconciliation, and a
friendly feeling preserved between the two families. And why not? she
asked herself. Were they to be always enemies on account of the past?

Sinking thoughtfully back in her chair, she rested her forehead upon her
hand, dreaming over the incidents of the past few years, and even while
feeling a dread of the impending meeting, she felt a longing desire to
look once more upon her old lover--upon the man who, upon her
wedding-day, had seemed, as it were, to cast a blight upon her future
life, as he appeared like one rising from the dead to upbraid her with
her falling away.

Lady Gernon did not see the curious way in which her husband sat and
watched her, marking every change in her countenance, noting every sign.
He had been startled by the earnestness with which she had combated his
wishes. Her manner had been so new, her eager words so unusual; for
during their married life her actions had been of the most subdued
nature, and, as if resigning herself to her fate, she had been the
quiet, uncomplaining wife, to whom his word had been law, while, proud
of her beauty and accomplishments, he had been content.

B