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turned on her sharply.

      ‘Do you defend the Countess?’

      ‘Why not?’ Agnes answered. ‘I know nothing against her. On the day when we met, she appeared to be a timid, nervous person, looking dreadfully ill. She fainted under the heat of the room. We know that she did not want to hurt me; we know that she was not aware of my engagement.’

      Henry lifted his hand impatiently, and stopped her.

      ‘Try to forget them both, Agnes!’ he interposed.

      Agnes laid her hand on his arm.

      ‘You are very good to me, Henry; but you don’t quite understand me. I was wondering whether my feeling for your brother could really pass away. I have destroyed the last visible things that remind me of him. In this world I shall see him no more. But is the tie that once bound us, completely broken? What do you think, Henry? I can hardly believe it.’

      The old nurse appeared again at the door, announcing another visitor.

      ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, my dear. But here is Mrs. Ferrari. She wants to know when she may say a few words to you.’

      Agnes turned to Henry, before she replied.

      ‘You remember Emily Bidwell, my favourite pupil years ago at the village school, and afterwards my maid? She left me, to marry an Italian courier, named Ferrari.’

      Henry rose.

      ‘I will be glad to see Emily at any other time,’ he said. ‘But I will go now. My mind is disturbed, Agnes. I will cross the Channel[15] tonight. A few weeks’ change will help me, I hope.’

      He took her hand.

      ‘Is there anything in the world that I can do for you?’ he asked very earnestly.

      She thanked him, and tried to release her hand.

      ‘God bless you, Agnes!’ he said.

      Her face flushed again. He lifted her hand to his lips, kissed it fervently, and left the room. The nurse hobbled after him.

      ‘Don’t be sad, Master Henry,’ whispered the old woman. ‘Try her again, when you come back!’

      Agnes tried to compose herself. She paused before a little water-colour drawing[16] on the wall, which had belonged to her mother. It was her own portrait when she was a child.

      The courier’s wife entered – a little meek melancholy woman, with white eyelashes, and watery eyes. Agnes shook hands with her kindly.

      ‘Well, Emily, what can I do for you?’

      The courier’s wife made a rather strange answer:

      ‘I’m afraid to tell you, Miss.’

      ‘Sit down, and let me hear. How does your husband behave to you?’

      Emily’s light grey eyes looked more watery than ever. She shook her head and sighed resignedly. ‘I have no positive complaint to make against him, Miss. But I’m afraid he doesn’t care about me; and he seems to take no interest in his home – I may almost say he’s tired of his home. It will be better for both of us, Miss, if he travels for a while. Not to mention the money.’

      She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and sighed again.

      ‘I don’t quite understand,’ said Agnes. ‘I thought your husband had an engagement to take some ladies to Switzerland and Italy?’

      ‘Oh, Miss, one of the ladies fell ill – and the others won’t go without her. They paid him a month’s salary as compensation. But the loss is serious.’

      ‘I am sorry to hear it, Emily. Let us hope he will soon have another chance.’

      ‘Miss, you see, there are so many couriers at the moment just now. If someone privately recommends-’

      She stopped.

      Agnes understood her directly.

      ‘You want my recommendation,’ she rejoined.

      Emily blushed.

      ‘It will 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. The secretary will recommend another man. If my husband could only send his testimonials… with just a word in your name, Miss… A private recommendation, you know.’

      She stopped again, and sighed again, and looked down at the carpet.

      Agnes began to be rather weary of the mysterious tone of her visitor.

      ‘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 said,

      ‘Lord Montbarry!’

      Agnes rose and looked at her.

      ‘You have disappointed me,’ she said very quietly. ‘You know 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 am mistaken.’

      Emily walked to the door.

      ‘I beg your pardon, Miss. I am not quite so bad as you think. But I beg your pardon.’

      She opened the door. Agnes called her back. There was something in the woman’s apology that appealed to her.

      ‘Come,’ she said. ‘Let me not misunderstand you. What is it that you expected me to do?’

      Emily was wise enough to answer this time quickly.

      ‘My husband will send his testimonials, Miss, to Lord Montbarry in Scotland. I only wanted you to let him say in his letter that you have known his wife 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. I was wrong.’

      ‘It seems only a small favour to ask,’ Agnes said. ‘But I am not sure that I 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. Agnes wrote:

      ‘I venture to state that Miss Agnes Lockwood has known my wife from her childhood, and she feels some little interest in my welfare on that account.

      Then Agnes handed the written paper to Emily.

      ‘Your husband must copy it exactly,’ she stipulated. ‘On that condition, I grant your request.’

      Emily was thankful. Then she vanished.

      Two days later, the post brought a few grateful lines from Emily. Her husband got the place. Ferrari was engaged, for six months certain, as Lord Montbarry’s courier.

      The Second Part

      Chapter V

      After only one week in Scotland, my lord and my lady returned unexpectedly to London. For a week more, the newly-married couple remained in London, in the strictest retirement. On one day in that week the nurse met Lord Montbarry himself. The good woman’s report described him, with malicious pleasure, as wretchedly ill.

      ‘His cheeks are hollow, my dear, and his beard is grey. I hope the dentist hurt him!’

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

      Mrs. Ferrari informed Agnes that her husband’s temper was improved. One other servant accompanied the travelers – Lady Montbarry’s maid, a silent, unsociable

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