"Oh, no! I can be happy anywhere with you--and especially at

Vange. You don't how this noble old house interests me, and how I
admire the glorious country all round it."

He was not convinced. "Vange is very dull," he said, obstinately;
"and your friends will be wanting to see you. Have you heard from

your mother lately?"
"No. I am surprised she has not written."

"She has not forgiven us for getting married so quietly," he went
on. "We had better go back to London and make our peace with her.

Don't you want to see the house my aunt left me at Highgate?"
Stella sighed. The society of the man she loved was society

enough for her. Was he getting tired of his wife already? "I will
go with you wherever you like." She said those words in tones of

sad submission, and gently got up from his knee.
He rose also, and took from the sofa the letter which he had

thrown on it. "Let us see what our friends say," he resumed. "The
address is in Loring's handwriting."

As he approached the table on which the lamp was burning, she
noticed that he moved with a languor that was new in her

experience of him. He sat down and opened the letter. She watched
him with an anxiety which had now become intensified to

suspicion. The shade of the lamp still prevented her from seeing
his face plainly. "Just what I told you," he said; "the Lorings

want to know when they are to see us in London; and your mother
says she 'feels like that character in Shakespeare who was cut by

his own daughters.' Read it."
He handed her the letter. In taking it, she contrived to touch

the lamp shade, as if by accident, and tilted it so that the full
flow of the light fell on him. He started back--but not before

she had seen the ghastly pallor on his face. She had not only
heard it from Lady Loring, she knew from his own unreserved

confession to her what that startling change really meant. In an
instant she was on her knees at his feet. "Oh, my darling," she

cried, "it was cruel to keep _that_ secret from your wife! You
have heard it again!"

She was too irresistibly beautiful, at that moment, to be
reproved. He gently raised her from the floor--and owned the

truth.
"Yes," he said; "I heard it after you left me on the

Belvidere--just as I heard it on another moonlight night, when
Major Hynd was here with me. Our return to this house is perhaps

the cause. I don't complain; I have had a long release."
She threw her arms round his neck. "We will leave Vange

to-morrow," she said.
It was firmlyspoken. But her heart sank as the words passed her

lips. Vange Abbey had been the scene of the most unalloyed
happiness in her life. What destiny was waiting for her when she

returned to London?
CHAPTER II.

EVENTS AT TEN ACRES.
THERE was no obstacle to the speedydeparture of Romayne and his

wife from Vange Abbey. The villa at Highgate--called Ten Acres
Lodge, in allusion to the measurement of the grounds surrounding

the house--had been kept in perfect order by the servants of the
late Lady Berrick, now in the employment of her nephew.

On the morning after their arrival at the villa, Stella sent a
note to her mother. The same afternoon, Mrs. Eyrecourt arrived at

Ten Acres--on her way to a garden-party. Finding the house, to
her great relief, a modern building, supplied with all the newest

comforts and luxuries, she at once began to plan a grand party,
in celebration of the return of the bride and bridegroom.

"I don't wish to praise myself," Mrs. Eyrecourt said; "but if
ever there was a forgiving woman, I am that person. We will say

no more, Stella, about your truly contemptible wedding--five
people altogether, including ourselves and the Lorings. A grand

ball will set you right with society, and that is the one thing
needful. Tea and coffee, my dear Romayne, in your study; Coote's

quadrille band; the supper from Gunter's, the grounds illuminated
with colored lamps; Tyrolese singers among the trees, relieved by

military music--and, if there _are_ any African or other savages
now in London, there is room enough in these charming grounds for

encampments, dances, squaws, scalps, and all the rest of it, to
end in a blaze of fireworks."

A sudden fit of coughing seized her, and stopped the further
enumeration of attractions at the contemplated ball. Stella had

observed that her mother looked unusually worn and haggard,
through the disguises of paint and powder. This was not an

uncommon result of Mrs. Eyrecourt's devotion to the demands of
society; but the cough was something new, as a symptom of

exhaustion.
"I am afraid, mamma, you have been overexerting yourself," said

Stella. "You go to too many parties."
"Nothing of the sort, my dear; I am as strong as a horse. The

other night, I was waiting for the carriage in a draught (one of
the most perfect private concerts of the season, ending with a

delightfully naughty little French play)--and I caught a slight
cold. A glass of water is all I want. Thank you. Romayne, you are

looking shockingly serious and severe; our ball will cheer you.
If you would only make a bonfire of all those horrid books, you

don't know how it would improve your spirits. Dearest Stella, I
will come and lunch here to-morrow--you are within such a nice

easy drive from town--and I'll bring my visiting-book, and settle
about the invitations and the day. Oh, dear me, how late it is. I

have nearly an hour's drive before I get to my garden party.
Good-by, my turtle doves good-by."

She was stopped, on the way to her carriage, by another fit of
coughing. But she still persisted in making light of it. "I'm as

strong as a horse," she repeated, as soon as she could speak--and
skipped into the carriage like a young girl.

"Your mother is killing herself," said Romayne.
"If I could persuade her to stay with us a little while," Stella

suggested, "the rest and quiet might do wonders for her. Would
you object to it, Lewis?"

"My darling, I object to nothing--except giving a ball and
burning my books. If your mother will yield on these two points,

my house is entirely at her disposal."
He spoke playfully--he looked his best, since he had separated

himself from the painful associations that were now connected
with Vange Abbey. Had "the torment of the Voice" been left far

away in Yorkshire? Stella shrank from approaching the subject in
her husband's presence, knowing that it must remind him of the

fatal duel. To her surprise, Romayne himself referred to the
General's family.

"I have written to Hynd," he began. "Do you mind his dining with
us to-day?"

"Of course not!"
"I want to hear if he has anything to tell me--about those French

ladies. He undertook to see them, in your absence, and to
ascertain--" He was unable to overcome his reluctance to

pronounce the next words. Stella was quick to understand what he
meant. She finished the sentence for him.

"Yes," he said, "I wanted to hear how the boy is getting on, and
if there is any hope of curing him. Is it--" he trembled as he

put the question--"Is it hereditarymadness?"
Feeling the serious importance of concealing the truth, Stella

only replied that she had hesitated to ask if there was a taint
of madness in the family. "I suppose," she added, "you would not

like to see the boy, and judge of his chances of recovery for