whispering and suspicion himself, that another might be saved from disgrace and humiliation. Jenny would have honoured him for this had that other been the merest stranger; as the matter stood, how was it possible that she should not do more than honour him? How was it possible to withstand the love and gratitude, and pain that swept through her with such a sudden force?

The older, and, as it seemed to her now the deeper pain, came back, with all its small, yet hard and cruel details. The hundreds of miserable little disappointments that had gone to the making up of the bitter whole, the wild longings that had had to be crushed, and trodden underfoot; the ceaseless crying out of her loving, passionate nature against the calculated impassiveness of a nature that had yet a strange and strong fascination for her.

How was it possible to withstand?

Her

strength seemed to depart from her, and with

it her pride.

There was nothing left but

pallor, and trembling lips, and feeblest, most ineffectual utterance.

"I was wishing to see you before,” she said, turning a little, so that her face was slightly averted, and laying her hand upon the wooden railing-"before I knew anything of thisthis later trouble."

Then she stopped. No other words would

come.

And Fred could not help her. It was not for him to understand the hungry look; the sad, drooping attitude; the aching misery that was in every line and feature of her face.

Still silence-hard, unbearable silence, and that peculiar, indefinable vagueness on his face

that was worse to bear than an intelligible blow.

But Jenny had no strength left for further irritation. A few scalding tears came to her eyes; they did not fall, but the consciousness that her weakness was becoming visible increased that weakness. She tried to speak, but a sob burst forth, and her first words were like a low, quivering cry.

"Fred, Fred! What have I done? Why are you so strange?" She was looking full into his face now, and her eyes had in them a very agony of supplication and entreaty. "Why are you so strange? Why will you not say one single word that can either explain the past, or throw even a gleam of light upon the future? You know what I have endured-what I am enduring still-you cannot help knowing. If you cared for me in

the least, you couldn't bear the knowledge. But you cannot care for me. You have never cared. I have never been more to you than a toy is to a child-a thing to be played with, and broken, and thrown away."

"Jenny, you are mistaken," Fred replied, with heightened colour, and a certain vibration in his voice. "Let me tell you once for all, that you wrong me there. I have loved you; I love you still. And if the separation that circumstance has made inevitable is painful to you, it does not follow that for me it will be painless."

It was Jenny's turn to be silent now, to become still paler than before, to look at Fred with uncomprehending eyes.

Fred resumed, still speaking with emotion, and with something of tenderness and compassion in his tone:

"I cannot speak plainly-I should be a brute if I could; but I think if you will try to understand my position you will understand what plain speaking would come to. It is no light matter to me, I assure you. teach myself to forget so easily as you may think. But there is no alternative-you must see that there is no alternative."

I cannot

Still no audible answer. The muscles of Jenny's face tightened a little, the tears forgot to fall. Fred went on again :

"I think with you that it was fortunate we met to-day,—that it was better for us both to have a final understanding." Then he paused awhile "It is a hard moment too," he said, as if speaking to himself; and there was a quiver in his voice, and an ashy paleness on his lips, and his eyes were heavy with a misery altogether unfeigned." I wish

VOL. II.

2