upon a most unpleasant commission; but for my
respect for your mother I would not have undertaken it, for really my
acquaintance with the other lady is but slight."

Mary looked a little surprised at this rigmarole, and said, "But this
commission, what is it?"

"Miss Bartley," said he, solemnly, yet gravely, "I have been requested to
warn you against a gentleman who is deceiving you."

"Who is that?" said Mary, on her guard directly.

"It is a Mr. Walter Clifford."

"Walter Clifford!" said Mary. "You are a slanderer; he is incapable
of deceit."

The rogue pretended to brighten up.

"Well, I hope so," said he, "and I told the lady as much; he comes from a
most honorable stock. So then he has _told_ you about Lucy Monckton?"

"Lucy Monckton!" cried Mary. "No; who is she?"

"Miss Bartley," said the villain, very gravely and solemnly, "she is
his wife."

"His wife, sir?" cried Mary, contemptuously--"his wife? You must be mad.
I'll hear no more against him behind his back." Then, threatening her
tormentor: "He will be home again this evening; he has only ridden to the
Lake Hotel; you shall repeat this to his face, if you dare."

"It will be my painful duty," said the serpent, meekly.

"His wife!" said Mary, scornfully, but her lips trembled.

"His wife," replied Monckton, calmly; "a respectable woman whom, it
seems, he has deserted these fourteen years. My acquaintance with her is
slight, but she is in a good position, and, indeed, wealthy, and has
never troubled him. However, she heard somehow he was courting you, and
as I often visit Derby upon business, she requested me to come over here
and warn you in time."

"And do you think," said Mary, scornfully, "I shall believe this from a
stranger?"

"Hardly," said Monckton, with every appearance of candor. "Mrs. Walter
Clifford directed me to show you his marriage certificate and hers."

"The marriage certificate!" cried Mary, turning pale.

"Yes," said Monckton; "they were married at the Registry Office on the
11th June, 1868," and he put his hand in his breast pocket to search for
the certificate. He took this opportunity to say, "You must not fancy
that there is any jealousy or ill feeling after fourteen years'
desertion, but she felt it her duty as a woman--"

"The certificate!" said Mary--"the certificate!"

He showed her the certificate; she read the fatal words, "Walter
Clifford." The rest swam before her eyes, and to her the world seemed at
an en