"He spoke truly," said he, in a broken voice. "She never came! I walked the grounds for above an hour and a half, and then I came back towards the cottage. There was a light in her room, and I whistled to attract her notice, and threw some gravel against the glass, but she only closed the shutters, and did not mind me. I cannot tell you how my mind was racked between the actual terror of the situation and the vague dread of some unknown evil. What had produced this change in _her?_ Why had _she_ broken with me? Could it be that Towers had seen her in that long interval he was absent from the table, and, if so, to what intent? She always hated and dreaded him; but who could tell what influence such a man might acquire in a moment of terrible interest? A horrible sense of jealousy--not the less maddening that it was shadowy and uncertain--now filled my mind; and--would you believe it?--I thought worse of Towers for his conduct towards me than for the dreadful plot against Hawke.

Chance led me, as I walked, to the bank of the little lake, where I stood for some time thinking. Suddenly a splash--too heavy for the spring of a fish--startled me, and immediately after I heard the sound of some one forcing his way through the close underwood beside me.

Before I had well rallied from my astonishment, a voice I well knew to be that of Towers, cried out,--

"'Who 's there?--who are you?'

"I called out, 'Hunt,--Paul Hunt!'

"'And what the devil brings you here, may I ask?' said he, insolently, but in a tone that showed he had been drinking deeply.

"It was no time to provoke discord; it was a moment that demanded all we could muster of concession and agreement, and so I simply told how mere accident had turned my steps in this direction.

"'What if I said I don't believe you, Paul Hunt?' retorted he, savagely.

'What if I said that I see your whole game in this business, and know every turn and every trick you mean to play us?'

"If you had not drunk so much of Godfrey's Burgundy,' said I, 'you 'd never have spoken this way to an old friend.'

"'Friend be------!' cried he, savagely. 'I know no friends but the men who will share danger with you as well as drink out of the same bottle.

Why did you leave us this evening?'

"'I'll be frank with you, Tom,' said I. 'I had made a rendezvous with Louisa; but she never came.'

"'Why should she?' muttered he, angrily. 'Why should she trust the man who is false to his pals?'

"'That I have never been,' broke I in. 'Ask Hawke himself. Ask Godfrey, and he'll tell you whether I have ever dropped a word against you.'

"'No, he would n't,' said he, doggedly.

"'I tell you he would,' cried I. 'Let us go to him this minute.'

"'I 'd rather not, if the choice were given me,' said he, with a horrid laugh.

"'Do you mean,' cried I, in terror,--'do you mean that it is all over?'

"'All over!' said he, gravely, and as though his clouded faculties were suddenly cleared. 'Godfrey knows all about it by this time,' muttered he, half to himself.

"'Would to Heaven we had never come here!' burst I in, for my heart was breaking with anguish and remorse. 'How did it happen, and where?'

"'In the chair where you last saw him. We thought he had fallen asleep, and were for having him carried up to bed, when he gave a slight shudder and woke up again.

"Where's Loo?" cried he, in a weak voice; and then, before we could answer, he added, "Where 's Hunt?"

"'"Paul was here a moment ago; he 'll be back immediately."

"'He gave a laugh,--such a laugh I hope never to hear again. Cold as he lies there now, that terrible grin is on his face yet. You 've done it this time, Tom," said he to me, in a whisper. "What do you mean?" said I. "Death!" said he; "it's all up with _me,--your_ time is coming."

And he gave a ghastly grin, sighed, and it was over.'

"We both sat down on the damp ground, and never spoke for nigh an hour.

At last Tom said, 'We ought to be back in the house, and trying to make ourselves useful, Paul.'

"I arose, and walked after him, not knowing well whither I was going.

When we reached the little flower-garden, we could see into the dining-room. The branch of wax-candles were still lighted, but burnt down very low. All had left; there was nothing there but the dead man sitting up in his chair, with his eyes staring, and his chin fallen.

'Craven-hearted scoundrels!' cried Towers. 'The last thing I said was to call in the servants, and say that their master had fainted; and see, they have run away out of sheer terror. Ain't these hopeful fellows to go before the coroner's inquest?' I was trembling from head to foot all this while, and had to hold Towers by the arm to support myself.

'You are not much better!' said he, savagely. 'Get to bed, and take a long sleep, man. Lock your door, and open it to none till I come to you.' I staggered away as well as I could, and reached my room. Once alone there, I fell on my knees and tried to pray, but I could not. I could do nothing but cry,--cry, as though my heart would burst; and I fell off asleep, at last, with my head on the bedside, and never awoke till the next day at noon. Oh!" cried he, in a tone of anguish, "do not ask me to recall more of this dreadful story; I'd rather follow the others to the scaffold, than I 'd live over again that terrible day. But you know the rest,--the whole world knows it. It was the 'Awful Tragedy in Jersey' of every newspaper of England; even to the little cottage, in the print-shop windows, the curiosity of the town was gratified. The Pulpit employed the theme to illustrate the life of the debauchee; and the Stage repeated the incidents in a melodrama. With a vindictive inquisitiveness, too, the Press continued to pry after each of us, whither we had gone, and what had become of us. I myself, at last, escaped further scrutiny by the accidental circumstance of a pauper, called Paul Hunt, having died in a poor-house, furnishing the journalist who recorded it one more occasion for moral reflection and eloquence.

Collins lived, I know not how or where. She sailed for Australia, but I believe never went beyond the Cape."

"And you never met her since?"

"Never."

"Nor have you held any correspondence together?"

"None, directly. I have received some messages; one to that purport I have already told you. Indeed, it was but t' other day that I knew for certain she was in Europe."

"What was she in appearance,--what style and manner of person?"

"You shall guess before I tell you," said Paten, smiling sadly.

"A dark-eyed, dark-haired woman,--brunette,--tall,--with a commanding look,--thin lips,--and strongly marked chin."

"Here," said he, approaching the binnacle lantern, and holding out a miniature he had drawn from his breast,--"here you can recognize the accuracy of your description."

"But can that be like her?"

"It is herself; even the careless ease of the attitude, the voluptuous indolence of the 'pose,' is all her own."

"But she is the very type of feminine softness and delicacy. I never saw eyes more full of gentle meaning, nor a mouth more expressive of womanly grace."

"There is no flattery in the portrait; nay, it wants the great charm she excelled in,--that ever changeful look as thoughts of joy or sadness would flash across her."

"Good Heavens!" cried Stocmar. "How hard it is to connect this creature, as she looks here, with such a story!"

"Ah, my friend, these have been the cruel ones, from the earliest time we bear of. The more intensely they are womanly, the more unrelenting their nature."

"And what do you mean to do, Ludlow? for I own to you I think she is a hard adversary to cope with."

"I marry her, if she 'll have me."

"Have you? Of course she will."

"She says not; and she generally keeps her word."

"But why should you wish to marry her, Ludlow? You have already told me that you know nothing of her means, or how she lives; and, certainly, the memories of the past give small guarantee for the future. As for myself, I own to you, if there was not another woman--"

"Nay, nay," broke in Paten, "you have never seen her,--never spoken to her."

"You forget, my dear fellow, that I have passed a life in an atmosphere of mock fascinations; that tinsel attractions and counterfeit graces would all fail with me."

"But who says they are factitious?" cried Paten, angrily. "The money that passes from hand to hand, as current coin, may have some alloy in its composition a chemist might call base, but it will not serve to stamp it as fraudulent. I tell you, Stocmar, it is the whole fortune of a man's life to be associated with such a woman. They can mar or make you."