tions on the part of her correspondent. She knew that Alice
was true. And, moreover, much as she loved her brother,--willing as
she had been and would still be to risk all that she possessed, and
herself also, on his behalf,--she knew that it would be risking and
not trusting. She loved her brother, such love having come to her
by nature, and having remained with her from of old; and in his
intellect she still believed. But she had ceased to have belief in
his conduct. She feared everything that he might do, and lived with
a consciousness that though she was willing to connect all her own
fortunes with his, she had much reason to expect that she might
encounter ruin in doing so. Her sin had been in this,--that she had
been anxious to subject Alice to the same danger,--that she had
intrigued, sometimes very meanly, to bring about the object which
she had at heart,--that she had used all her craft to separate Alice
from Mr Grey. Perhaps it may be alleged in her excuse that she had
thought,--had hoped rather than thought,--that the marriage which she
contemplated would change much in her brother that was wrong, and
bring him into a mode of life that would not be dangerous. Might not
she and Alice together so work upon him, that he should cease to
stand ever on the brink of some half-seen precipice? To risk herself
for her brother was noble. But when she used her cunning in inducing
her cousin to share that risk she was ignoble. Of this she had
herself some consciousness, as she walked up and down the old
dining-room at midnight, holding her cousin's letter in her hand.

Her cheeks became tinged with shame as she thought of the scene
which Alice had described,--the toy thrown beneath the grate, the
loud curses, the whispered threats, which had been more terrible
than curses, the demand for money, made with something worse than a
cut-throat's violence, the strong man's hand placed upon the woman's
arm in anger and in rage, those eyes glaring, and the gaping horror
of that still raw cicatrice, as he pressed his face close to that
of his victim! Not for a moment did she think of defending him. She
accused him to herself vehemently of a sin over and above those
sins which had filled Alice with dismay. He had demanded money
from the girl whom he intended to marry! According to Kate's idea,
nothing could excuse or palliate this sin. Alice had accounted
it as nothing,--had expressed her opinion that the demand was
reasonable;--ev