the Baronet to part with him.  He at first evaded and resisted quietly.  But, urged with a perseverance to which he was unused, he at last broke into fury that appalled her, and swore that if he was worried more upon the subject, he would leave her and the country, and see neither again.  This exhibition of violence affrighted her all the more by reason of the contrast; for up to this he had been an uxorious husband.  Lady Mardykes was in hysterics, and thoroughly frightened, and remained in her room for two or three days.  Sir Bale went up to London about business, and was not home for more than a week.  This was the first little squall that disturbed the serenity of their sky.

This point, therefore, was settled; but soon there came other things to sadden Lady Mardykes.  There occurred a little incident, soon after Sir Bale’s return from London, which recalled the topic on which they had so nearly quarrelled.

Sir Bale had a dressing-room, remote from the bedrooms, in which he sat and read and sometimes smoked.  One night, after the house was all quiet, the Baronet being still up, the bell of this dressing-room rang long and furiously.  It was such a peal as a person in extreme terror might ring.  Lady Mardykes, with her maid in her room, heard it; and in great alarm she ran in her dressing-gown down the gallery to Sir Bale’s room.  Mallard the butler had already arrived, and was striving to force the door, which was secured.  It gave way just as she reached it, and she rushed through.

Sir Bale was standing with the bell-rope in his hand, in the extremest agitation, looking like a ghost; and Philip Feltram was sitting in his chair, with a dark smile fixed upon him.  For a minute she thought he had attempted to assassinate his master.  She could not otherwise account for the scene.

There had been nothing of the kind, however; as her husband assured her again and again, as she lay sobbing on his breast, with her arms about his neck.

“To her dying hour,” she afterwards said to her cousin, “she never could forget the dreadful look in Feltram’s face.”

No explanation of that scene did she ever obtain from Sir Bale, nor any clue to the cause of the agony that was so powerfully expressed in his countenance.  Thus much only she learned from him, that Feltram had sought that interview for the purpose of announcing his departure, which was to take place within the year.

“You are not sorry to hear that.  But if you knew all, you might.  Let the curse fly where it may, it will come back to roost.  So, darling, let us discuss him no more.  Your wish is granted, dis iratis.”

Some crisis, during this interview, seemed to have occurred in the relations between Sir Bale and Feltram.  Henceforward they seldom exchanged a word; and when they did speak, it was coldly and shortly, like men who were nearly strangers.

One day in the courtyard, Sir Bale seeing Feltram leaning upon the parapet that overlooks the lake, approached him, and said in a low tone,