aved to her with genuine, true
nobility. As soon as she was alone and certain of her solitude, she
took out that letter from her pocket, and tearing it into very small
fragments, without reading it, threw the pieces on the fire. As she
did so, her mind seemed to be fixed, at any rate, to one thing,--that
she would think no more of Burgo Fitzgerald as her future master. I
think, however, that she had arrived at so much certainty as this,
at that moment in which she had been parting with Burgo Fitzgerald,
in Lady Monk's dining-room. She had had courage enough,--or shall we
rather say sin enough,--to think of going with him,--to tell herself
that she would do so; to put herself in the way of doing it; nay, she
had had enough of both to enable her to tell her husband that she had
resolved that it would be good for her to do so. But she was neither
bold enough nor wicked enough to do the thing. As she had said of her
own idea of destroying herself,--she did not dare to take the plunge.
Therefore, knowing now that it was so, she tore up the letter that
she had carried so long, and burnt it in the fire.

She had in truth told him everything, believing that in doing so she
was delivering her own death-warrant as regarded her future position
in his house. She had done this, not hoping thereby for any escape;
not with any purpose as regarded herself, but simply because deceit
had been grievous to her, and had become unendurable as soon as
his words and manner had in them any feeling of kindness. But her
confession had no sooner been made than her fault had been forgiven.
She had told him that she did not love him. She had told him, even,
that she had thought of leaving him. She had justified by her own
words any treatment of his, however harsh, which he might choose
to practise. But the result had been--the immediate result--that
he had been more tender to her than she had ever remembered him to
be before. She knew that he had conquered her. However cold and
heartless his home might be to her, it must be her home now. There
could be no further thought of leaving him. She had gone out into the
tiltyard and had tilted with him, and he had been the victor.

Mr Palliser himself had not time for much thought before he found
himself closeted with the Duke; but as he crossed the hall and went
up the stairs, a thought or two did pass quickly across his mind. She
had confessed to him, and he had forgiven her. He did not feel quite
sure