ope that he should see her often at
the Castle.

"Will you take me into the garden, Captain Norton?" said Lady Gernon, in
a low tone. "I have something to say to you." Then aloud: "Do you not
find the weather very oppressive? I am always longing for the fresh
air."

The remark was too pointed to escape observation, for Lady Gernon was no
way skilled in subterfuge, while Norton hesitated for an instant, and
there was a slight change in his countenance as he rose, saying:

"You have probably not seen our poor place, Lady Gernon; will you walk
round?" She rose on the instant and took his arm, and they passed
through the French window on to the lawn, while, half rising, Ada Norton
looked anxiously in Sir Murray's face.

"No," he replied calmly, as, with a bitter smile on his lip, he read off
her unspoken words. "I think we will stay. They will probably return
directly;" and then he started, in a cool and indolent way, a fresh
topic of conversation, to which, in the agitation she could not conceal,
Ada could but reply in monosyllables.

"Well, Marion," said Norton, calmly, as they stood amidst the
flower-beds of the little parterre, "you wish to speak to me?"

"Yes, yes," she said, eagerly. "I know that it may seem strange, but,
Philip, I could not rest till I had spoken to you. Heaven willed that
we should not be one, and I am now another's. You loved me once; will
you, for the sake of that old love, make me a promise?"

"Loved you once--promise!" said Norton, bitterly.

"Yes," she cried, eagerly; "promise me, and then let the past be dead."

"What would you have me promise?" he said. "Though you fail with
yours."

"Hush!" she said, imploringly; "do not be cruel. Now, at once, promise
for the sake of our old dead love, that the past shall all be forgotten,
and that you will treat my husband as a friend."

"The man who robbed me of all my hopes!"

"Oh, hush! Do not speak so, Philip. There was some talk, before we
left England, of a meeting--of angry words between you, and it was for
this that I fostered Sir Murray's desire to live abroad. But you will
promise me, will you not--on your word--yours, Philip--that there shall
never be a quarrel between you?"

"Lady Gernon," said Philip, coldly, "your husband is safe from me. My
madness is at an end, and I am now your cousin's husband. There, for
Heaven's sake!" he cried, a change coming over him, "never let us refer
to the past, and let us meet bu