of the friend
whom he loved. "I'm afraid there's trouble coming to you, my son, from
that quarter." With those warning words, he described all that had
passed between Regina and himself. "Some unknown enemy of yours has
spoken against you to her uncle," he concluded. "I suppose you have made
enemies, my poor old boy, since you have been in London?"

"I know the man," Amelius answered. "He wanted to marry Regina before I
met with her. His name is Melton."

Rufus started. "I heard only yesterday, he was in Paris with Farnaby.
And that's not the worst of it, Amelius. There's another of them making
mischief--a good friend of mine who has shown a twist in her temper,
that has taken me by surprise after twenty years' experience of her.
I reckon there's a drop of malice in the composition of the best woman
that ever lived--and the men only discover it when another woman steps
in, and stirs it up. Wait a bit!" he went on, when he had related the
result of his visit to Mrs. Payson. "I have telegraphed to Miss Regina
to be patient, and to trust you. Don't you write to defend yourself,
till you hear how you stand in her estimation, after my message.
Tomorrow's post may tell."

Tomorrow's post did tell.

Two letters reached Amelius from Paris. One from Mr. Farnaby, curt and
insolent, breaking off the marriage-engagement. The other, from Regina,
expressed with great severity of language. Her weak nature, like all
weak natures, ran easily into extremes, and, once roused into asserting
itself, took refuge in violence as a shy person takes refuge in
audacity. Only a woman of larger and firmer mind would have written of
her wrongs in a more just and more moderate tone.

Regina began without any preliminary form of address. She had no heart
to upbraid Amelius, and no wish to speak of what she was suffering, to
a man who had but too plainly shown that he had no respect for himself,
and neither love, nor pity even, for her. In justice to herself,
she released him from his promise, and returned his letters and his
presents. Her own letters might be sent in a sealed packet, addressed to
her at her uncle's place of business in London. She would pray that he
might be brought to a sense of the sin that he had committed, and that
he might yet live to be a worthy and a happy man. For the rest, her
decision was irrevocable. His own letter to Mrs. Payson condemned
him--and the testimony of an old and honoured friend of her uncle proved
that