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ledge of the world ought to have led me at once to suspect the hollowness of Monsieur Wetter's profession!

"He wants an introduction to Alice, that is it, undoubtedly; and for what end? He is amazingly changed, this garçon! He is no longer lymphatic, romantic in the highest degree, mawkish, or Teutonic; he rides on horseback, and affects the air of conquest. There is about him a smack of the gallant, of the coureur des dames. He is a man whom Alice would not like, but still it is as well that she did not see him at this particular time. He is going out of town, he said; when he comes back we shall have moved to another house, our change of address will not be recorded in the fashionable newspapers, and, as I shall take care that it is not sent to Monsieur Wetter in South Audley-street, it is probable that he will know nothing about it. And so," And so," she added, drawing down the blinds as she heard Alice's footsteps on the stairs, "bon soir, Monsieur Wetter."

And for his own part, Mr. Wetter, as he rode back to London, was full of his reflections.

"What a wonderful thing," he thought to himself," that I should have come across Pauline Lunelle in that house, and how lucky that I recognised her instantly, and was enabled, by playing upon her vanity, to put her off the scent of the real motive of my visit, and induce her to believe that I had come to see her. Let me see; all the points of the story seem to fit and dovetail together admirably. Pauline spoke of her companion as a widow-yes, that's right. I saw the notice of John Calverley's death just before I left New York. She said, too, that her husband, the escroc, was dead-that, also, is right. I recollect reading the story of his having been drowned some time ago. Ay, and now I remember that it spoke of him, Mr. Durham, as having been in the employ of Messrs. Calverley. This would account for Pauline's presence in that house, and her intended connexion with that pretty girl. So far so good, je prend mon bien où je le trouve; and I think in the present instance I shall not have far to look for it. Mademoiselle Pauline Lunelle, ex-dame du comptoir, will be too much frightened at the idea of having the story of her own youth set before her friends to refuse to aid me in any way that I may wish."

It was curious to note how Alice had accepted Pauline's companionship as a matter of course, and how she seemed to cling to

the Frenchwoman for society in that dark period of her life. When Martin Gurwood visited her soon after her convalescence, he conducted himself, under Humphrey Statham's directions, with all the formality and authority of a duly appointed guardian, and as such Alice received him. Amongst the business matters which were discussed between them, the appointment of Pauline to her new charge naturally held a prominent place. Martin imagined that he might have had some difficulty in bringing Alice to his views, but Pauline had already made herself so useful and agreeable to the broken-hearted girl, relieving her of all trouble, and showing, without the least ostentation, that she thoroughly sympa thised with her grief, that Alice was only too glad to learn that for some time, at least, her home was to be shared by a person so capable of understanding her position and administering to her wants. And Martin Gurwood himself did not fail to notice the alteration in Madame Du Tertre's demeanour, the gentleness of her manner towards Alice, the delicacy with which she warded off any chance allusion that might have pained her, and the eagerness and anxiety she exhibited to do her service. Martin mentioned these facts to Humphrey Statham, who received the communication in the most matter-of-fact manner, and said something to the effect "that he was glad to hear that the Frenchwoman was earning her money," which Martin, who was essentially soft-hearted, and who surrounded everything connected with Alice with a halo of romance, thought rather a brutal speech.

Uncaring in most matters, assenting not languidly-for, poor child, she strove to feign an interest which she did not feel, and failed most signally in the attemptto all that was proposed to her, Alice had yet one real anxiety, and that was to get away as quickly as possible from Rose Cottage. The place had become hateful to her; everywhere, in the house, in the gar den, there was something to remind her of the kind old man who had loved her so, and whom she had lost for ever. She wanted to be rid of it all, not merely the house, but the furniture, with its haunting memories; and most fortunately there arrived one day an American gentleman, whose business compelled him to dwell in England for a few years, during which period he must be two or three times a week in London, and who was so charmed with the cottage and its contents that he took the lease of the first, and purchased the

second "right away," as he expressed it, at the price demanded for it.

Then what was to be done, and where were they to go to? Alice had expressed a decided objection to the country, and it was accordingly decided that the new residence must be either in London itself, or in some immediate suburb. So advertisements in the newspapers were eagerly consulted, and likely house-agents were daily besieged by Martin Gurwood and Statham, antil one day, just before the time when it was necessary that Rose Cottage should be given up, the latter gentleman brought word that he had seen what he thought would be a suitable house. It was the corner house in a new street of the old village of Chelsea, and from its side window one had a pleasant glimpse of the river and the green fields and waving trees on the further shore. A neat, unpretending, comfortable little house, neatly and comfortably furnished with the money derived from the sale of the contents of Rose Cottage, suited to Alice's means, where she could live peaceably, exciting less curiosity, perhaps, than in a more retired spot. From nine in the morning till five in the evening scarcely a man, save the tradespeople of the neighbourhood, was seen in the street, but there were plenty of lady-like women and children, with their nursemaids, passing to and fro, and to many of these Alice speedily became known as "the pretty, delicatelooking lady at number nine.' All attempts at visiting were declined on the score of Mrs. Claxton's ill health, and the necessity for her maintaining perfect quietude. But Pauline had a bowing acquaintance with several of the neighbours, and was highly popular among the children.

In the early days of their tenancy Martin Gurwood was a daily visitor, and the intense respectability of his appearance did much to influence the neighbours in Alice's favour. On several occasions he was accompanied by Humphrey Statham; and when, after a short time, Martin had to return to his vicarage at Lullington, Mr. Statham came up once or twice a week and took tea with the ladies, both of whom were impressed with his gentlemanly bearing, his modesty, and his practical good sense. They had no other visitors; so it was not astonishing that one evening, when their only servant was out, and Alice feeling somewhat fatigued was lying down in her bedroom, Pauline seated at the window in the dusk seeing a tall bearded gentleman making for the house, imagined him to be Humphrey Statham, and went

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herself to let him in. But her surprise was only equalled by her dismay when on looking up, she found herself confronted by Henrich Wetter.

For an instant she stood in the doorway irresolute, but as the new-comer politely but firmly pressed into the passage, she felt constrained to ask him to walk into the parlour, and followed him there.

"Now really I am obliged to call this an exhibition of very bad manners, my dear Madame Durham."

"For Heaven's sake!" cried Pauline, interrupting him. "I am Madame Du Tertre !"

"By all means," said Mr. Wetter, pleasantly, " my dear Madame Du Tertre, then. In the first place you failed in fulfilling your agreable promise to send me your new address; and when, with infinite laboar and pains, I have discovered it, you seem as though you were inclined to close your door against me."

"It was a mistake," murmured Pauline, "I did not recognise you in the darkness; I took you for some one else."

"Took me for some one else,” he repeated with a laugh. "Mistook me for some of those gay gallants who besiege your door, and who is out of favour for the time!"

The levity of his tone grated on Pauline's ear. "You are labouring under a mistake, Monsieur Wetter," she said. "We, that is to say I, have but few friends, and certainly no acquaintances of the kind you indicate.'

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"Do you look upon me as one of those acquaintances of the kind I indicate," said Mr. Wetter, lying lazily back in his chair and smiling placidly at her, "and that it is for that reason you have failed in sending me your address ?"

"It is so long since we knew anything of each other, that I should be uncertain in what category of my acquaintance to class you, Monsieur Wetter," said Pauline, becoming desperately annoyed at his self-sufficiency and nonchalance. "The reason that you did not receive my address was, that I had lost yours, and I did not know where to write to you."

Quite a sufficient excuse," he said, "and no more need be said about the matter, unless I call your attention to the fact, that despite your negligence, I have discovered you, and have brought to that discovery an amount of perseverance and skill which would

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"Which would have been better employed in a worthier cause," said Pauline, interrupting him.

"A worthier cause!" said Mr. Wetter. "How could that be? There can be nothing better than a restoration of an old friendship, unless," he added, half under his breath, "unless it be the commencement of a new one."

His tone was so eminently provoking, that despite her better reason, Pauline suffered herself to be betrayed into an expression of annoyance.

"It is not the restoration of an old friendship that brings you here, Monsieur Wetter," she said, settling herself stiffly, and glaring at him. "Your memory, of which you prate, cannot serve you very well if you take me for a fool."

"My dear Mademoiselle Lunelle, Madame Durham, Madame-I beg your pardon, I have forgotten the most recent appellation -you do me a serious injustice in imagining that I take you for anything of the kind. The way in which you managed your affairs at Marseilles would have prevented my having any such ideas."

"And yet you think to blind and hoodwink me by pretending that you are very glad to see me."

"I am very glad to see you," said Mr. Wetter, smiling, "I can give you my word of honour of that."

"But why-why, I ask?" said Pauline, vehemently.

"Because I think you can be of use to me," said Mr. Wetter, bending forward, and bringing his hand down with force upon the table. "It is well to be explicit about that."

"Of use to you," said Pauline. "In what way ?"

"By introducing me to the lady who was living with you out in that country place where I last had the pleasure of seeing you, who is now living with you in this house. I have taken a fancy to her, and desire the pleasure of making her acquaintance."

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Monsieur, que d'honneur!" exclaimed Pauline, with curling lip, and making him a mock obeisance. "How flattered she ought to be at this proof of your esteem."

"Don't be satirical, Mademoiselle Lunelle -it is best to stick to the name which I know once to have been really yours," said Mr. Wetter, with a certain amount of savageness, "don't be satirical, it does not become you, and it offends me.' "Offends ?" cried Pauline.

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"Offends," repeated Mr. Wetter. "I have asked you to do nothing extraordinary, nothing but what any gentleman might ask of any lady." And suppose I were to refuse suppose I were to decide from pique, jealousy, or whatever other motive you may choose to accredit me with, that it was inexpedient for me to present you to my friend-what

then ?"

"Then," said Mr. Wetter, with smiling lips, but with an unpleasant look in his eyes, "I should be forced to present my. self. I have made up mind to make this lady's acquaintance, and it's a characteristic of mine, that I invariably carry out what I once undertake, and in making her acquaintance, I should have occasion to inquire how much she knew of the character and antecedents of the person who was domesticated with her."

"You threaten ?" cried Pauline.

"Everything," said Mr. Wetter, again bringing his hand down upon the table. "And I not merely threaten, but I execute! Your position at Marseilles, the name and social status of your husband, and the circumstances under which you married him, all these will be news I should think to Mrs. by the way, you have not told me how the lady calls herself."

While he had been speaking Pauline's head had fallen upon her breast. She raised it now but a very little as she said, "Her name is Claxton, I will present you to her whenever you choose."

"Of course you will," said Mr. Wetter, gaily touching her hand with the back of his. "And there is no time like the present for such a pleasurable interview. She is in the house I suppose ?"

"She is," said Pauline.

"Very well then, introduce me at once. By the way, it will be advisable perhaps to say that I am your cousin, or something of that sort. We are both foreigners you know, and English people are not clever in distinguishing between Germans and French, either in name or accent."

Her

Pauline bowed her head and left the room. Five minutes afterwards she returned, bringing Alice with her. lips trembled, and her face was deadly pale as she said, "My dear, permit me to present to you my cousin, Monsieur Henrich Wetter."

The Right of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR ROUND is reserved by the Authors.

Published at the Office, 26, Wellington St., Strand. Printed by C. WHITING, Beaufort House, Duke St., Lincoln's Inn Fields.

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VOL. VIII.

202

cution, pale and collected, and return home to break their hearts alone.

"You have been here some months, Miss Grey. You find Miss Ware a very amenable pupil, I venture to believe. I think I know something of physiognomy, and I may congratulate you on a very sweet and docile pupil, eh ?"

Laura Grey, governess as she was, looked a little haughtily at this officious gentleman, who, as he put the question, glanced sharply for a moment at her, and then as rapidly at me, as if to see how it told.

"I think-I hope we are very happy together," said Miss Grey. "I can answer for myself."

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'Precisely what I expected," said the stranger, taking a pinch of snuff. "I ought to mention that I am a very particular acquaintance, friend, I may say, of Mrs. Ware, and am, therefore, privileged."

Mr. Carmel was walking beside his friend in silence, with his eyes apparently lowered to the ground all this time.

My blood was boiling with indignation at being treated as a mere child by this brusque and impertinent old man. He turned to me.

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I see, by your countenance, young lady, that you respect authority. I think your governess is very fortunate; a dull pupil is a bad bargain, and you are not dull. But a contumacious pupil is utterly intolerable; you are not that, either; you are sweetness and submission itself, eh ?"

I felt my cheeks flushing, and I directed on him a glance which, if the fire of ladies' eyes be not altogether a fable, ought at least to have scorched him.

"I have no need of submission, sir. Miss Grey does not think of exercising authority over me. I shall be eighteen my next birthday. I shall be coming out, papa says, in less than a year. I am not treated like a child any longer, sir. I think, Laura, we have walked far enough. Hadn't we better go home? We can take a walk another time-any time would be pleasanter than now."

Without waiting for her answer, I turned, holding my head very high, breathing quickly, and feeling my cheeks in a flame.

The odious stranger, nothing daunted by my dignified resentment, smiled shrewdly, turned about quite unconcernedly, and continued to walk by my side. On my other side was Laura Grey, who told me afterwards that she greatly enjoyed my spirited treatment of his ill-breeding.

She walked by my side, looking straight before her, as I did. Out of the corners of my eyes I saw the impudent old man marching on as if quite unconscious, or, at least, careless of having given the least offence. Beyond him I saw, also, in the same oblique way, Mr. Carmel, walking with downcast eyes as before.

He ought to be ashamed, I thought, of having introduced such a person.

I had not time to think a great deal, before the man of the harsh voice and restless eyes suddenly addressed me again. You are coming out, you say, Miss Ware, when you are eighteen ?" I made him no answer.

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Suppose your father and mother have placed you in my sole charge, with a direction to remove you from Malory, and take you under my immediate care and supervision, to-day; you will hold yourself in readiness to depart immediately, attended by a lady appointed to look after you, with the approbation of your parents, eh?"

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No, sir, I'll not go. I'll remain with Miss Grey. I'll not leave Malory," I replied, stopping short, and turning toward him. I felt myself growing very pale, but I spoke with resolution.

"You'll not? what, my good young lady, not if I show you your father's letter?"

"Certainly not. Nothing but violence shall remove me from Malory, until I see papa himself. He certainly would not do anything so cruel," I exclaimed, while my heart sank within me.

He studied my face for a moment with his dark and fiery eyes. "You are a spirited young lady; a will of your own!" he said.' "Then you won't obey your parents ?"

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I'll do as I have said," I answered, inwardly quaking.

He addressed Miss Grey now.

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'You'll make her do as she's ordered?" said this man, whose looks seemed to me more sinister every moment.

"I really can't. Beside, in a matter of so much importance, I think she is right not to act without seeing her father, or, at least, hearing directly from him."

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