men have found
gold, lucky men have found diamonds. Why should I not be one of them?
My sweet, let us suppose two possible things; my own elastic
convictions would call them two likely things, but never mind that.
Say, I come back a reformed character; there is your only objection to
me, at once removed! And take it for granted that I return with a
fortune of my own finding. In that case, what becomes of Mr. Henley's
objection to me? It melts (as Shakespeare says somewhere) into thin
air. Now do take my advice, for once. Show this part of my letter to
your excellent father, with my love. I answer beforehand for the
consequences. Be happy, my Lady Harry--as happy as I am--and look for
my return on an earlier day than you may anticipate. Yours till death,
and after.

"HARRY."

Like the Irish lord, Miss Henley was "in two minds," while she rose,
and dressed herself. There were parts of the letter for which she loved
the writer, and parts of it for which she hated him.

What a prospect was before that reckless man--what misery, what horror,
might not be lying in wait in the dreadful future! If he failed in the
act of vengeance, that violent death of which he had written so
heedlessly might overtake him from another hand. If he succeeded, the
law might discover his crime, and the infamy of expiation on the
scaffold might be his dreadful end. She turned, shuddering, from the
contemplation of those hideous possibilities, and took refuge in the
hope of his safe, his guiltless return. Even if his visions of success,
even if his purposes of reform (how hopeless at his age!) were actually
realised, could she consent to marry the man who had led his life, had
written this letter, had contemplated (and still cherished) his
merciless resolution of revenge? No woman in her senses could let the
bare idea of being his wife enter her mind. Iris opened her
writing-desk, to hide the letter from all eyes but her own. As she
secured it with the key, her heart sank under the return of a terror
remembered but too well. Once more, the superstitious belief in a
destiny that was urging Lord Harry and herself nearer and nearer to
each other, even when they seemed to be most widely and most surely
separated, thrilled her under the chilling mystery of its presence. She
dropped helplessly into a chair. Oh, for a friend who could feel for
her, who could strengthen her, whose wise words could restore her to
her better and calmer self! Hugh was fa