a man, there would have been hot, angry
words, perhaps blows; as it was, to a lady, and that lady his mother, he
could say nothing. He sunk back with a white face and clinched hands;
his mother resolutely stifled all pity, and went on, in her clear voice:

"The law has decided for us against you; you know now the truth. If you
have any respect for that unfortunate girl, you will not see her again;
she is not your wife, she is not married to you. I need not speak more
plainly; you know what relationship she will hold to you if you do not
leave her at once."

The handsome face had in these five minutes grown quite haggard and
worn.

"My God!" he cried; "I refuse to believe it, I refuse to believe one
word of it!"

With her clear, pitiless voice, she went on telling him what would
happen.

"You have one resource," she said, "and I tell you quite honestly about
it; when you are of age you can remarry this person if you wish."

He sprung from his seat with a cry of wounded pain and love.

"Mother, is it really true?" he asked. "I married that young girl before
Heaven, and you tell me that if I persist in returning to her she loses
her fair name! If it be so, you have done a very cruel thing."

"It is so," said my lady, coldly. "I grant that it seems cruel, but
better that than tarnish the name of a whole race."

"I shall remarry Leone, mother, the day after I am twenty-one," he said.

The countess raised her eyebrows.

"The same man does not often make a simpleton of himself in the same
fashion, but if you will do it, you will. For the present, if you have
any regard for the person who is not your wife, you will let her go home
again. I will return and talk over your journey with you."

So saying, the Countess of Lanswell quitted the room, leaving her son
overwhelmed with a sense of defeat.

CHAPTER XVI.

LEONE'S DETERMINATION.

Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, stood alone in the superb drawing-room at
Cawdor. It was evening, one of the warmest and brightest in September.
Nearly three months had passed since the fatal marriage which had
grieved and distressed her, and now she fondly hoped all her distress
was ended. The decree had gone forth that the marriage was null and
void; was, in fact, no marriage, Lord Chandos being under age when it
was contracted. She said to herself all was null now. True, her son was
in a most furious rage, and he had gone to consult half the lawyers in
London, but she did