I wonder at that, if it be
true, as I have been told by people who seem to know very little of the
particulars, that, while yet scarcely out of the nursery, she fled from
his house with some low adventurer--a Mr. Hammond--died abroad the first
year of that unhappy marriage."

"Yes, that is the correct outline of the story; and, as you guess, it
explains why Mr. Darrell avoids mention of one, whom he associates
with his daughter's name; though, if you desire a theme dear to Lady
Montfort, you can select none that more interests her grateful heart
than praise of the man who saved her mother from penury, and secured to
herself the accomplishments and instruction which have been her chief
solace."

"Chief solace! Was she not happy with Lord Montfort? What sort of man
was he?"

"I owe to Lord Montfort the living I hold, and I can remember the good
qualities alone of a benefactor. If Lady Montfort was not happy with
him, it is just to both to say that she never complained. But there is
much in Lady Montfort's character which the Marquess apparently failed
to appreciate; at all events, they had little in common, and what was
called Lady Montfort's haughtiness was perhaps but the dignity with
which a woman of grand nature checks the pity that would debase her--the
admiration that would sully--guards her own beauty, and protects her
husband's name. Here we are. Will you stay for a few minutes in the
boat, while I go to prepare Lady Montfort for your visit?"

George leapt ashore, and Lionel remained under the covert of mighty
willows that dipped their leaves into the wave. Looking through the
green interstices of the foliage, he saw at the far end of the lawn,
on a curving bank by which the glittering tide shot oblique, a simple
arbour--an arbour like that from which he had looked upon summer stars
five years ago--not so densely covered with the honeysuckle; still the
honeysuckle, recently trained there, was fast creeping up the sides;
and through the trellis of the woodwork and the leaves of the flowering
shrub, he just caught a glimpse of some form within--the white robe of
a female form in a slow gentle movement-tending perhaps the flowers that
wreathed the arbour. Now it was still, now it stirred again; now it was
suddenly lost to view. Had the inmate left the arbour? Was the inmate
Lady Montfort? George Morley's step had not passed in that direction.

CHAPTER XXII.

A QUIET SCENE-AN UNQUIET HEART.

Meanwhi