she rejoined. 'Why couldn't you say so at once?'

Emily blushed. 'It would be such a chance for my husband,'
she answered confusedly. 'A letter, inquiring for a good courier

(a six months' engagement, Miss!) came to the office this morning.
It's another man's turn to be chosen--and the secretary will

recommend him. If my husband could only send his testimonials by the
same post--with just a word in your name, Miss--it might turn the scale,

as they say. A private recommendation between gentlefolks goes so far.'
She stopped again, and sighed again, and looked down at the carpet,

as if she had some private reason for feeling a little ashamed
of herself.

Agnes began to be rather weary of the persistent tone of mystery
in which her visitor spoke. 'If you want my interest with any

friend of mine,' she said, 'why can't you tell me the name?'
The courier's wife began to cry. 'I'm ashamed to tell you, Miss.'

For the first time, Agnes spoke sharply. 'Nonsense, Emily!
Tell me the name directly--or drop the subject--whichever you

like best.'
Emily made a last desperate effort. She wrung her handkerchief

hard in her lap, and let off the name as if she had been letting
off a loaded gun:--'Lord Montbarry!'

Agnes rose and looked at her.
'You have disappointed me,' she said very quietly, but with a look

which the courier's wife had never seen in her face before.
'Knowing what you know, you ought to be aware that it is impossible

for me to communicate with Lord Montbarry. I always supposed you
had some delicacy of feeling. I am sorry to find that I have

been mistaken.'
Weak as she was, Emily had spirit enough to feel the reproof.

She walked in her meek noiseless way to the door. 'I beg your pardon,
Miss. I am not quite so bad as you think me. But I beg your pardon,

all the same.'
She opened the door. Agnes called her back. There was something

in the woman's apology that appealed irresistibly to her just and
generous nature. 'Come,' she said; 'we must not part in this way.

Let me not misunderstand you. What is it that you expected me
to do?'

Emily was wise enough to answer this time without any reserve.
'My husband will send his testimonials, Miss, to Lord Montbarry

in Scotland. I only wanted you to let him say in his letter
that his wife has been known to you since she was a child,

and that you feel some little interest in his welfare on that account.
I don't ask it now, Miss. You have made me understand that I

was wrong.'
Had she really been wrong? Past remembrances, as well as present

troubles, pleaded powerfully with Agnes for the courier's wife.
'It seems only a small favour to ask,' she said, speaking under

the impulse of kindness which was the strongest impulse in her nature.
'But I am not sure that I ought to allow my name to be mentioned in your

husband's letter. Let me hear again exactly what he wishes to say.'
Emily repeated the words--and then offered one of those suggestions,

which have a special value of their own to persons unaccustomed to the use
of their pens. 'Suppose you try, Miss, how it looks in writing?'

Childish as the idea was, Agnes tried the experiment. 'If I let you
mention me,' she said, 'we must at least decide what you are to say.'

She wrote the words in the briefest and plainest form:--'I venture to state
that my wife has been known from her childhood to Miss Agnes Lockwood,

who feels some little interest in my welfare on that account.'
Reduced to this one sentence, there was surely nothing in the reference

to her name which implied that Agnes had permitted it, or that she
was even aware of it. After a last struggle with herself, she handed

the written paper to Emily. 'Your husband must copy it exactly,
without altering anything,' she stipulated. 'On that condition,

I grant your request.' Emily was not only thankful--she was
really touched. Agnes hurried the little woman out of the room.

'Don't give me time to repent and take it back again,' she said.
Emily vanished.

'Is the tie that once bound us completely broken? Am I as entirely
parted from the good and evil fortune of his life as if we had never

met and never loved?' Agnes looked at the clock on the mantel-piece.
Not ten minutes since, those serious questions had been on her lips.

It almost shocked her to think of the common-place manner in
which they had already met with their reply. The mail of that

night would appeal once more to Montbarry's remembrance of her--
in the choice of a servant.

Two days later, the post brought a few grateful lines from Emily.
Her husband had got the place. Ferrari was engaged, for six

months certain, as Lord Montbarry's courier.
THE SECOND PART

CHAPTER V
After only one week of travelling in Scotland, my lord and my lady

returned unexpectedly to London. Introduced to the mountains and
lakes of the Highlands, her ladyship positively declined to improve

her acquaintance with them. When she was asked for her reason,
she answered with a Roman brevity, 'I have seen Switzerland.'

For a week more, the newly-married couple remained in London,
in the strictest retirement. On one day in that week the nurse

returned in a state of most uncustomary excitement from an errand on
which Agnes had sent her. Passing the door of a fashionable dentist,

she had met Lord Montbarry himself just leaving the house.
The good woman's report described him, with malicious pleasure,

as looking wretchedly ill. 'His cheeks are getting hollow,
my dear, and his beard is turning grey. I hope the dentist

hurt him!'
Knowing how heartily her faithful old servant hated the man who

had deserted her, Agnes made due allowance for a large infusion
of exaggeration in the picture presented to her. The main impression

produced on her mind was an impression of nervous uneasiness.
If she trusted herself in the streets by daylight while Lord

Montbarry remained in London, how could she be sure that his next
chance-meeting might not be a meeting with herself? She waited at home,

privately ashamed of her own undignified conduct, for the next two days.
On the third day the fashionableintelligence of the newspapers

announced the departure of Lord and Lady Montbarry for Paris,
on their way to Italy.

Mrs. Ferrari, calling the same evening, informed Agnes that her husband
had left her with all reasonable expression of conjugal kindness;

his temper being improved by the prospect of going abroad.
But one other servant accompanied the travellers--Lady Montbarry's maid,

rather a silent, unsociable woman, so far as Emily had heard.
Her ladyship's brother, Baron Rivar, was already on the Continent.

It had been arranged that he was to meet his sister and her husband
at Rome.

One by one the dull weeks succeeded each other in the life of Agnes.
She faced her position with admirable courage, seeing her friends,

keeping herself occupied in her leisure hours with reading and drawing,
leaving no means untried of diverting her mind from the melancholy

remembrance of the past. But she had loved too faithfully,
she had been wounded too deeply, to feel in any adequate degree

the influence of the moral remedies which she employed.
Persons who met with her in the ordinary relations of life,

deceived by her outward serenity of manner, agreed that 'Miss
Lockwood seemed to be getting over her disappointment.'

But an old friend and school companion who happened to see her during
a brief visit to London, was inexpressibly distressed by the change

that she detected in Agnes. This lady was Mrs. Westwick, the wife
of that brother of Lord Montbarry who came next to him in age,

and who was described in the 'Peerage' as presumptive heir to the title.
He was then away, looking after his interests in some mining property

which he possessed in America. Mrs. Westwick insisted on taking Agnes