said; so much the oftener would he make her dance with him, now that at last she was there. Then Aglionby became feebly conscious that his arm was somewhat roughly jogged, and that a voice which he seemed to have heard fifty years ago sounded in his ear: He felt her gloved hand within his, and for a blessed moment or two he forgot Lizzie Vane's very existence. With the actual touch of her hand, with the sound of her pathetic contralto voice, the spell rushed blindingly over him. How had he lived out these weeks since he parted from her? "Bernard, are you dreaming? Here's a lady How had he been able to think it all over, as he speaking to you." With a veritable start, this time he came to his senses, and beheld Mrs. Malleson, in black tulle and gloire de Dijon roses, holding out a hand to him, and smiling in friendly, wise. "Mrs. Malleson, I—you are late, surely, are you not ?" "We are, I believe, and I am afraid it is my fault. I hope the men are not all so deeply engaged that the Misses Conisbrough will get no dances." Here some one came and said to Lizzie that he thought it was their dance. Nothing loth, she suffered herself to be led away. "That is Miss Vane, I know," observed Mrs. Malleson. "You must introduce her later. She is wonderfully pretty." She was in her turn monopolized and led away. Aglionby could not have replied had she remained. If he had never known, or never admitted the truth to himself until now, at last it overwhelmed him. Lizzie Vane beautiful! Lizzie Vane beloved by him! It was like awakening from some ghastly dream, to be confronted by a yet more horrible reality. He mechanically passed his hand over his eyes and shivered. When he looked round again, he saw that Judith was standing alone. Philippa was receiving some very late guests. Delphine had been led away, so had Mrs. Malleson. Several groups were in the room, but both he and Judith were emphatically alone-outside them all. Presently he found himself by her side-as how should he not? There was no one else there, so far as he knew. On a desert island even enemies become reconciled. had done again and again, calmly and without any particular emotion? In one of Terguéneff's novels he relates the story of a Russian peasant woman, whose only and adored son is suddenly killed. A visitor, calling a week or so later, finds the woman, to his surprise, calm, collected, and even cheerful. "Laissez la," observed the husband, "elle est fossilee!" Now Bernard knew that was exactly what he had been-fossilized; unrealizing what had happened to him. For him, as for that peasant woman, the day of awakening had dawned. He allowed his eyes and his voice to tell Judith that in finding her to-night he had found that which he most desired to see. He allowed his eyes and his voice also to question her eyes and her voice, and in their very hesitation, in their reply, in their very trouble, their abashed quietness, he read the answer he wished for. She bad not esceped unscathed from the ordeal which had been too much for him. Twice already to-night he had asked her this question, and had heard this answer-merely with look and tone-without any word whatever, and he wanted to ask it again and again, and to have her answer it as often as he asked it. She was standing, so was he. That last long look was hardly over, when he offered her his arm, and said: "You are not dancing; come to the sofa and sit down." She complied; mechanically she sat down, and he beside her; he put his arm over the back of the sofa; she was leaning back, and the lace ruffle of her dress just touched his wrist, and the contact made his blood run faster. "Mrs. Conisbrough is not with you?" he "I hope you have not quite forgotten me, Miss inquired. Conisbrough." His voice was low, and there was no smile on his face, any more than there was on hers. With both of them it was far too deadly earnest to permit of smiles or jests. "It would imply an unpardonably short memory on my part, if I had," she answered very gravely, and looking more majestic than ever. "No, she is not well. She made a point of Delphine's and my coming." Bernard did not ask her for a dance. He felt a sympathetic comprehension of her position. He knew she would have to dance, unless she wished to be remarkable, which he was sure was no part of her scheme. But he knew that it would be against her will-that she would be more grateful to those who did not ask her than to those who did, and he refrained. "You said," he went on, in the same low tone, "that if we met in society, we might meet as friends. I have not troubled you since you told me that, have I ?" Judith paused, and at last said constrainedly: "No." "No. Therefore I claim my reward now. We are in society to-night. It is the time when we are allowed by your own law to be on friendly terms, and I mean to take advantage of the fact. Will you grant me a favor? Will you let me take you in to supper?" Judith, in her simplicity and surprise, was quite bewildered, and felt distracted how to act. Evidently he had not given up, and did not intend to give up, any scrap of a friendly or cousinly privilege which might be open to him. If her secret in the background had been less terrible and (to her) tragic, she would have been amused at Aglionby's determination not to be set aside. As it was, she replied at last gently: "Don't you think there is another lady whom you ought rather to take in to supper?" He opened his eyes as if not understanding, then remarked: "Oh, you mean Miss Vane. Do not imagine that I am neglecting her. Her partner at the supper-table is already selected. She told me so herself. She is to dance an "extra," I think she called it, before supper, or after, I forget which— but with some man who is to take her in to that repast. Therefore, may I hope for the pleasure? To "confound the politics" of the assembled multitude, if for no other reason," he added. "They are sure to look for signs of enmity between us, and I should like to disconcert them." "Very well, if you wish it," said Judith gravely, "and if I must go in to supper, as I suppose I must." said; and was going to say more. He was going to say that though he knew what it had cost her, yet that he was not altogether sorry, since it had brought them together, and she would not allow any other kind of intercourse. But just at that moment, Sir Gabriel, whom Judith had not yet spoken to, arrived upon the scene. Sir Gabriel had received an inkling of the truth from his son, who had had it from Mrs. Malleson. Randulf had hastily confided it to Sir Gabriel : "I wish you'd pay a little attention to the Misses Conisbrough, sir. They didn't want to come a bit to meet Aglionby, you know, and not three months since their uncle's death; but their mother made them, and they dared not cross her-so if you wouldn't mind The hint was more than enough for the warmhearted old gentleman. Despite his real liking for Aglionby, he had never ceased to shake his head over the will, and to think that Mrs. Conisbrough and those girls had been very badly used. He had just had Delphine introduced to him in the ball-room, and now he had made his way to Judith. "Miss Conisbrough, I'm delighted to see you here! I have just been talking to your sister, who is the loveliest creature I've seen for twenty years and more. I may say that to you, you know. If she doesn't turn some heads to-night, why, they are not the same kind of heads that used to be on men's shoulders in my days. " Judith's face flushed. She smiled a pleased yet nervous smile. Yes, Delphine was all that the good old man called her, and how delightful this sweet incense of justice, not flattery, would have been-how grateful, if-if only- She crushed down a desire to laugh, or cry, she knew not which-an hysteric feeling—and answered Sir Gabriel politely, but, as he thought, a little indifferently. But, remembering his son's words, he stood talking to her for some time, and finally "I'm afraid you have not looked forward with offered her his arm to take her to the ball-room any enjoyment to this ball?" and dance a quadrille with her. Aglionby went "Enjoyment!" echoed Judith drearily; and with them at the same time. So long as he did added, half forgetting the terms she had herself not exceed the bounds of politeness, he told himlaid down, "Do not think it very strange that self-so long as his outward conduct could be Delphine and I should be here. Mamma insisted, denominated "friendly"—he shook his head back and we dared not thwart her. You do not know he would not turn himself into a conventional how unwilling we were, and how it has troubled machine to say, "How do you do?" "Goodus." evening," and no more. "I know what it must feel like to you," he As they entered the ball-room, they were con fronted by Miss Vane, more flushed now, more at her ease, and arm-in-arm with a youth who had been introduced to her as Lord Charles Startforth, and who would by his title alone have fulfilled, to her mind, every requisite necessary to the constitution of a "real swell!" She saw Bernard, Sir She saw Bernard, Sir Gabriel, and Judith enter, and at once inquired of her partner : "Eh, I say, isn't that Sir Gabriel?" "That is Sir Gabriel," replied the young gentleman, with sang froid. He had found Miss Vane and her provincialisms a source of the most exquisite entertainment. ing-room after the first five minutes following her arrival. Judith purposely avoided noticing her. She had a vague consciousness that she was dancing a good deal with Randulf Danesdale, and while her reason condemned, her heart condoned, and even sympathized with the imprudence. Even she herself, after a time, fell into the spirit of the dance, and began to rejoice in the mere pleasure of the swift rhythmic motion. Though calm and cool outwardly, she was wrought up to a pitch of almost feverish excitement, and, as is often the case with excitement of that kind, she was able distinctly and vividly to note every small circum "I thought so. And there's my beloved with stance connected with the course of the evening. him." "Your beloved-happy man! suppose you mean ?" "Yes," said Miss Vane, explaining. "I call him my beloved, you know, because Bernard' is too familiar when you're talking to strangers, and Mr. Aglionby' sounds stiff, doesn't it?" She remembered her mother's words, "They shall Aglionby, I see who it is that has been passed over," and she could not but perceive that both she and her sister attracted a great deal of attention; that men were led up and introduced to them oftener, on the whole, than they were to other girls-that, in fact, they created a sensation-were a success. She supposed, then, that her mother was right. If they had had that "position" which she so coveted for them, they would not be counted nonentities in it. "I quite agree with you. Your beloved's aspect just at present is somewhat gloomy." "My! Yes! He does look as cross as two sticks. But," with sudden animation, "I've seen that girl before who's going to dance with Sir Gabriel. Who is she?"’ "She is Miss Conisbrough, of Yoresett." "Conisbrough-oh, of course! One of those girls who wanted to have Bernard's money," said Miss Vane, tossing her head. "Well, just fancy! only Miss Conisbrough! From her dress, and Sir Gabriel's dancing with her, I thought she must be a somebody." "Miss Conisbrough doesn't go out much, I think," said the young man, instinctively speaking with caution, and unable for his own part to resist looking with admiration at the lady in question. "Your 'beloved' seems to know her, though." While Lizzie was explaining, her partner advanced and suggested to Sir Gabriel that he and Miss Vane would be happy to be their vis-a-vis. So it was arranged, and Bernard retired, after forcing a smile in answer to a coquettish nod from his betrothed. After this dance, Judith found no lack of partners. She was forced to dance and Aglionby saw her led off time after time, and congratulated himself on having secured her promise concerning supper. Judith also saw, with a woman's quickness in such matters, that which poor Bernard never perceived; the fact, namely, that though Lizzie Vane got plenty of partners, and was apparently made much of, yet that many of her partners were laughing at her and drawing her out, and that they laughed together about her afterward; and lastly -most significant fact of all—that scarce a woman noticed or spoke to her, except Miss Danesdale, who, as hostess, was in a measure obliged to do so. Gradually she yielded to the spell of the dance, the music, the excitement of it all; to the unspoken prompting within, "Enjoy yourself now, while you may. Let to-morrow take care of itself." Go where she would, dance with whom she would, before the dance was over, sooner or later, once or oftener, as it happened, but inevitably, she met Bernard's dark eyes, and read what they said to her. When supper-time came, and he led her in, and poured out wine for her, and asked her in a low voice if she had ever been to Scar Foot, if she had ever even walked passed it since she had ceased to be his guest, Judith answered, with a vibrating voice: "No, I could not; and of my own free will I As for Delphine, she had not been in the draw-will not." He smiled, but said little more during the meal. The supper was served in brilliant fashion in an enormous room, at numbers of smallish round tables. Those who had time and attention to spare for the arrangements said it was a fairy scene, with its evergreens, its hot-house flowers, and delicate ferns and perfumed fountains. Judith and Aglionby saw nothing of that; they forced some kind of an indifferent conversation, for under the eyes of that crowd, and surrounded by those brilliant lights, anything like confidential behavior was impossible. Now and then they were greeted by shouts of especially loud laughter from another part of the room, elicited by some peculiarly piquant sally of Miss Vane's, which charmed the chorus of men around her, and gave a deeper flush of triumph to her cheeks. Just as the noise and laughter were at their height, and the fun was becoming faster, Aglionby said to Judith: "Let us go away. This isn't amusing." They rose. So did nearly every one else at the same time, but not to go Some one had said something, which Judith and Aglionby, absorbed in themselves, had not heard, and a dead silence succeeded to the tumultuous noise. Then a clock was heard striking-a deep-toned stroke, which fell twelve times, and upon the last sound the storm of laughter broke loose, and a tempest of hand-shaking and congratulations broke out. "A happy New Year to you! I wish you a happy New Year!" "Here's to the peaceful interment of the old year, and the joyful beginning of the new one!" Aglionby looked at Judith. His lips were open, but he paused. No; he must not wish her a happy New Year. He knew he must not; and he was silent. Many others had now finished supper. They, too, left the room, and seated themselves, after wandering about a little, in a kind of alcove with a cushioned seat, of which there were many in the hall. Then-for they were as much alone as if not another creature had been near themAglionby at once resumed the topic he had been dwelling on all supper-time. "You have never been near Scar Foot since that day. That means that you are still relentless ?" said he, regarding her steadily, but with entreaty in his eyes, and a decided accent of the same kind in his voice. "It means that I must be-must seem so, at least," she replied dreamily. "Pardon me, but I cannot see it in that light." "That means, that you do not believe me?" "No; I mean that if you would only state your reasons, and tell me the obstacle you see to our friendship, that I could demolish it, let it be what it might." "Oh, no, you could not," said Judith, her heart beating with a wild pleasure in thus, as it were, dancing on the edge of a precipice. "You do not know it could not be swept away." "And I say it could-it could, Judith, if you would only allow it." She started slightly, as he spoke her name, and bit her lips; but she could not summon up her strength of will to rebuke him." "Why-why do you say such things? What makes you think so?" she asked tremulously. Aglionby took her fan, and bent toward her, as if fanning her with it; but while his hand moved regularly and steadily to and fro, he spoke to her with all the earnestness of which he was capable, and with eyes which seemed to burn into hersyet with a tenderness in his voice which he could not subdue. "Because you do not trust me. Because you will not believe what to me is so simple and such a matter of course-that no reason you could assert could make me your enemy. Because there is no offense I would not condone. Pah! Condone?-forgive, forget, wipe clean away, to have the good-will and the friendship of you and yours. Now do you understand ?" Judith turned paler; she shut her eyes involuntarily, and drew a long breath. Could it be possible that he suspected—that he had the slightest inkling of her real reason for maintaining the distance between them for which she had stipulated? His words hit home to the very core and eye of her distress. The peril was frightful, imminent, and she had herself attracted it by allowing him to advance thus far, by herself sporting with deadly weapons. He was watching her, with every sense on the alert, and he saw how, unconsciously, her hands clasped; she gave a little silent gasp and start, and there actually did steal into his mind, only to be dismissed again, the wonder, "Can it be that there really is some offense which she deems irreparable ?" "Hush!" she said at last. "It was very wrong of me to allow the subject to be mentioned. And you do not keep your promise. You know that you promised me at Scar Foot, Mr. Aglionby" onby "You also promised me at Scar Foot, and then demanded your promise back again," said he, resolved that if he had to give way again (and what else could a man do, when a women appealed to him for mercy ?) that she should buy the concession hard. cease to persecute you with my importunities. I see that is what you were thinking. And you are quite right." "You are quite wrong," said Judith. "What I do think is that you are not behaving kindly to her to allow her to-to-she is so young and inexperienced-and so pretty. "And you and your sister are so old and wise, and so hideous," he rejoined, with a bitter laugh. "That alone is enough to account for your dif "I have told you I cannot explain," she said, ferent style of behavior. No. Do not try to almost despairingly. "Do you mean to make me go over it all again?" A rush of sudden tears filled her eyes. "Do you mean to make me plead it all a second time?" "I should like to make you do it-yes. And, at the end of all, I should like to refuse what you ask," he said, with a savage tenderness in his voice. Judith looked steadily at him for a short time, as if to test whether he was in earnest or not, and then said, in a dull, dead voice, "I wish I were dead;" and looked at the ground. This was more than he could bear. "Forgive me, Judith!" he whispered. "If you can, forgive me. I will not sin again, but it is hard." "Yes, it is hard," she replied, more composed, as the terror she had felt on hearing him talk about "offenses" and "condonation" began to subside. "It is hard. But making scenes about it will make it none the easier. We have our duties, both of us-you as a man More peals of laughter, as a noisy group came out of the supper-room-half a dozen young men, and Miss Vane in the midst of them, laughing in no gentle tones, and holding in her hand, high above her head, a flower, toward which one of the said young gentlemen occasionally stretched a hand, amid the loud hilarity of the lady and her companions. The party made their way toward the ball-room, and Miss Vane was heard crying: "I'm sure I never promised to dance it with you. Here's my programme. Look and see!" They disappeared. Judith's face burned. She looked timidly at Aglionby, who was gazing after the group, his face pale, his eyes mocking, his lips sneering. He laughed, not a pleasant laugh. "We all have our duties, as you most justly remark. Mine is to marry that young lady, and palliate it." "I think you are to blame," Judith persisted. "You have no right to do it-to leave her with all those silly, empty-headed young men. It is not fair. You ought to take" "Take her home-and myself too. A good I am sure the carriage will be round by But you?" idea. now. "Take me to the drawing-room, please. I dare say Mrs. Malleson will also be ready to go." He gave her his arm. Mrs. Malleson was soon found, seated on a sofa, with Delphine beside her, looking a little pale and exceedingly tired. Bernard wished them good-night, and went to the ball-room. He had seen Mrs. Bryce in the drawing room, and found that she was quite ready to go. In the dancing-room there was a momentary pause between two dances. Bernard saw Randulf Danesdale promenading with a young lady on his arm, with whom he seemed to be in earnest conversation. At the further end of the room he saw that fatal pink dress; heard the same shrill, affected tones, and the chorus of laughter that followed on them. Nothing could have been more distasteful to him in his present mood than to have even to speak to her, after his parting from Judith Conisbrough. But he walked straight up to the group, most of whom he knew slightly by this time, and offering his arm to his betrothed, said gravely: "Lizzie, I am sorry to break off your amusement, but it is very late: we have ten miles to drive, and Mrs. Bryce is tired, and wishes to go." "Oh, Aglionby, don't take Miss Vane away! The light of the evening will be gone. Don't look so down, man! Miss Vane, don't let him drag you off in that way. I am down for a dance." “And I,” “And I," cried several voices. Bernard's face did not relax. He could not unstiffen his features into a smile. He looked directly at Lizzie, as mildly as he could, and re |