mourning; her
pale, delicate face was shaded by the blackest ringlets; her large, dark
eyes were fixed with the saddest interest upon the face of Hannah Worth.

Hannah arose in great surprise to meet her.

"You are Miss Worth, I suppose?" said the young stranger.

"Yes, miss; what is your will with me?"

"I am the Countess of Hurstmonceux. Will you let me rest here a little
while?" she asked, with a sweet smile.

Hannah gazed at the speaker in the utmost astonishment, forgetting to
answer her question, or offer a seat, or even to shut the door, through
which the wind was blowing fiercely.

What! was this beautiful pale young creature the Countess of
Hurstmonceux, the rival of Nora, the wife of Herman Brudenell, the "bad,
artful woman" who had entrapped the young Oxonian into a discreditable
marriage? Impossible!

While Hannah stood thus dumbfounded before the visitor, Reuben came
forward with rude courtesy, closed the door, placed a chair before the
fire, and invited the lady to be seated.

The countess, with a gentle bow of thanks, passed on, sank into a chair,
and let her sable furs slip from her shoulders in a drift around her
feet.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE FORSAKEN WIFE.

He prayeth best who loveth most
All things both great and small,
For the good God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

--_Coleridge_.

To account for the strange visit of the countess to Hannah Worth we must
change the scene to Brudenell Hall.

From the time of her sudden arrival at her husband's house, every hour
had been fraught with suffering to Berenice.

In the first instance, where she had expected to give a joyful surprise,
she had only given a painful shock; where she had looked for a cordial
welcome, she had received a cold repulse; finally, where she had hoped
her presence would confer happiness, it had brought misery!

On the very evening of her arrival her husband, after meeting her with
reproaches, had fled from the house, leaving no clew to his destination,
and giving no reason for his strange proceeding.

Berenice did not understand this. She cast her memory back through all
the days of her short married life spent with Herman Brudenell, and she
sought diligently for anything in her conduct that might have given him
offense. She could find nothing. Neither in all their intercourse had he
ever accused her of any wrong-doing. On the contrary, he had been
profuse in words of admiration, protesta