aty--that is, you know her pride--and can in part
understand how she would scorn a girl who, though born to better things,
was still found in the capacity of a waiting maid. I never saw her so
moved as she was for a time, after learning that her only living son,
from whom she expected so much, had thrown himself away, as she
expressed it. Sister Hatty, who loved Genevra, did all she could to heal
the growing difference between us, but I trusted mother most. I believed
that what she said was right, and so matters grew worse, until one
night, the last we spent in Rome, I missed Genevra from our rooms, and
starting in quest of her, found her in a little flower garden back of
our dwelling. There, under the deep shadow of a tree, and partly
concealed from view, she stood with her arm around the neck of the same
rough-looking man who had been there before. She did not see me as I
stood and watched her while she parted with him, suffering him to kiss
her hand and forehead as he said, 'Good-by, my darling.'

"In a tremor of anger and excitement I quitted the spot, my mind wholly
made up with regard to my future. That there was something wrong about
Genevra I did not doubt, and I would not give her a chance to explain by
telling her what I had seen, but sent her back to England, giving her
ample means for defraying the expenses of her journey and for living in
comfort after her arrival there. From Rome we went to Naples, and then
to Switzerland, where Hatty died, leaving us alone with little Jamie. It
was here at Berne that I received an anonymous letter from England, the
writer stating that Genevra was with her aunt, that the whole had ended
as he thought it would, that he could readily guess at the nature of the
trouble, and hinting that if a divorce was desirable on my return to
England, all necessary proof could be obtained by applying to such a
number in London, the writer announcing himself a brother of the man who
had once sought Genevra, and saying he had always opposed the match,
knowing Genevra's family.

"This was the first time the idea of a divorce had entered my mind.
Instead of that the hope that Genevra might in some way be restored to
me unspotted, had unconsciously been the daystar of my existence, and I
shrank from a final separation. But mother felt differently. It was not
a new thought to her, knowing as she did that the validity of a Scotch
marriage, such as ours, was frequently contested in the English cou