o hideously guilty in fact, and yet that thought of hers, if
unreal and insane, that had not been a sin.

But she must wake to the reality of the present, not sit here dreaming
over the past and its mystery of loving crime. She must go on as if
life were a mere holiday-time of peace with her, where no avenging
Furies followed her, lurking in the shadows, no sorrows threatened
her, looking out with scared, scarred faces from the distance. She
must carry her burden to the end, remembering that it was one of her
own making, and for self-respect must be borne with that courage of
despair which lets no one see what is suffered. Of what good to dream,
to lament? She must live with dignity while she chose to live. When
her grief had grown too great for her strength, then she could take
counsel with herself whether the fire of life was worth the trouble of
keeping alight, or might not rather be put out without more ado.

CHAPTER XXX.

MAYA--DELUSION.

Leam was not dedicated to peace to-day. As she turned out of the road
she came upon the rectory pony-carriage--Adelaide driving Josephine
and little Fina--just as it had halted in the highway for Josephine to
speak to her brother.

Adelaide was looking very pretty. Her delicate pink cheeks were rather
more flushed and her blue eyes darker and fuller of expression than
usual. Change of air had done her good, and Edgar's evident admiration
was even a better stimulant. She and her mother had ended their
absence from North Aston by a visit to the lord lieutenant of the
county, and she was not sorry to be able to speak familiarly of
certain great personages met there as her co-guests--the prime
minister for one and an archbishop for another. And as Edgar was, she
knew, influenced by the philosophy of fitness more than most men, she
thought the prime minister and the archbishop good cards to play at
this moment.

Edgar was listening to her, pleased, smiling, thinking how pretty
she looked, and taking her social well-being and roll-call of grand
friendships as gems that enriched him too--flowers in his path as well
as roses in her hand, and as a sunny sky overarching both alike. She
really was a very charming girl--just the wife for an English country
gentleman--just the mistress for a place like the Hill, the heart of
the man owning the Hill not counting.

But when Leam turned from the wood-path into the road, Edgar felt
like a man who has allowed himself to be made ent