ny."

"Oh--that would not suit me! Mr. Ringfield--of course, that could not
be. We must leave as soon as possible, that is all, and as this is the
nineteenth, and we have arranged for the twenty-fourth, that is only
four days to wait."

"Four days! I'll keep straight, I promise you, Pauline."

"And was he--was Mr. Ringfield with you much at the Hotel Champlain?
What did he do there? Why did he go?"

Crabbe, to tell the truth, was asking that same question of his brain,
as he made heroic endeavours to recollect the details of his last
debauch. He paused, and, with a trick characteristic of him, pushed
away his plate and cup, although he had only begun his meal.

"That's what I'd like to know myself, Pauline. I was sitting at the
table, smoking, and reading over some of my stuff--poor stuff it seems
to me at times; however let that pass--when a knock came to the door,
and I opened to our clerical friend! That's all I can remember."

"How did he look? How long did he stay? Do try and recollect. Try
and answer."

Crabbe did try, but without avail.

"That's all I know, my dear girl. I must have been pretty bad."

"You must, indeed," said Miss Clairville, rising. A little of the
hauteur Ringfield associated with her showed in her bearing, and as the
guide drew his food again towards him, she eyed him almost with
disfavour. "Then you do not know where he is, or what he went for, or
how long he stayed."

"I do not, lady dear--I do not."

Pauline was deeply mystified, and perhaps her vanity was also touched;
the mental spectacle of the two men fighting each other for possession
of her had faded and a certain picturesqueness had gone from life.
However, her marriage remained; she had four days, but only four, to
make ready in anticipation of the great event which was to remove her
at once and for ever from St. Ignace and Clairville, and in the light
of which even Crabbe's backsliding seemed a trivial matter. She
therefore returned to Sadie Cordova with restored equanimity, and
Ringfield--his avowal and his present whereabouts and condition yielded
to those prenuptial dreams and imaginings which pursued even so
practised a coquette and talented woman of the world as the once
brilliant Camille and Duchess of Gerolstein. Nevertheless, agitation
was in the air. Poussette went to and fro in much and very voluble
distress. The night closed in and brought no letter, no telegram from
Ringfield; how then--wh