"Yes, I see them--my uncle and his wife," answered Reginald, with a gesture of impatience.

"They are very happy--are they not? It is quite an Arcadian picture. I beg you to contemplate it earnestly."

"What a fool you are, Carrington!" cried the young man, flinging away his cigar. "If my uncle chooses to make an idiot of himself, that is no reason why I should watch the evidence of his folly!"

"But there is another reason," answered Victor, with a sinister look in his glittering black eyes. "Look at the picture while you may, Reginald, for you will not have the chance of seeing it very often."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that the day is near at hand when Lady Eversleigh will fall from her high estate. I mean that an elevation as sudden as hers is often the forerunner of a sudden disgrace. The hour will come when Sir Oswald will mourn his fatal marriage as the one irrevocable mistake of his life; and when, in his despair, he will restore you, the disgraced nephew, to your place, as his acknowledged heir; because you will at least seem to him more worthy than his disgraced wife."

"And who is to bring this about?" asked Reginald, gazing at his friend in complete bewilderment.

"I am," answered the surgeon; "but before I do so I must have some understanding as to the price of my services. If the cat who pulled the chestnuts out of the fire for the benefit of the monkey had made an agreement beforehand as to how much of the plunder he was to receive for his pains, the name of the animal would not have become a bye-word with posterity. When I have worked to win your fortune, I must have my reward, my dear Reginald."

"Do you suppose I should be ungrateful?"

"Of course not. But, you see, I don't ask for your gratitude--I want a good round sum down on the nail--hard cash. Your uncle's fortune, if you get two-thirds of it, will be worth thirty thousand a year; and for such a fortune you can very well afford to pay me twenty thousand in ready money within two years of your accession to the inheritance."

"Twenty thousand!"

"Yes; if you think the sum too much, we will say no more about it. The business is a very difficult one, and I scarcely care to engage in it."

"My dear Victor, you bewilder me. I cannot bring myself to believe that you can bring about my restoration to my old place in my uncle's will; but if you do, the twenty thousand shall be yours."

"Good!" answered the surgeon, in his coolest and most business-like manner; "I must have it in black and white. You will give me two promissory notes; one for ten thousand, to fall due a year hence--the other for the same sum, to fall due in two years."

"But if I do not get the fortune--and I am not likely to get it within that time; my uncle's life is a good one, and--"

"Never mind your uncle's life. I will give you an undertaking to cancel those notes of hand if you have not succeeded to the Raynham estates.

And now here are stamps. You may as well fill in the body of the notes, and sign them at once, and so close the transaction."

"You are prepared with the stamps?"

"Yes; I am a man of business, although a man of science."

"Victor," said Reginald Eversleigh; "you sometimes make me shudder, There is something almost diabolical about you."

"But if I drag yonder fair lady down from her high, estate, you would scarcely care if I were the foul fiend in person," said Carrington, looking at his friend with a sardonic smile. "Oh, I think I know you, Reginald Eversleigh, better than you know me."

Amongst the guests who had arrived at the castle within the last few days was Lydia Graham, the young lady of whom the baronet had spoken to his nephew. She was a fascinating girl, with a bold, handsome face, brilliant gray eyes, an aquiline nose, and a profusion of dark, waving hair. She was a woman who knew how to make the most of every charm with which nature had endowed her. She dressed superbly; but with an extravagance far beyond the limits of her means. She was, for this reason, deeply in debt, and her only chance of extrication from her difficulties lay in a brilliant marriage.

For nearly nine years she had been trying to make this brilliant marriage. She had "come out," as the phrase goes, at seventeen, and she was now nine-and-twenty.

During that period she had been wooed and flattered by troops of admirers. She had revelled in flirtations; she had triumphed in the power of her beauty; but she had known more than one disappointment of her fairest hopes, and she had not won the prize in the great lottery of fashionable life--a wealthy and patrician husband.

Her nine-and-twentieth birthday had passed; and contemplating herself earnestly in her glass, she was fain to confess that something of the brilliancy of her beauty had faded.

"I am getting wan and sallow," she said to herself; "what is to become of me if I do not marry?"

The prospect was indeed a sorry one.

Lydia Graham possessed an income of two hundred a year, inherited from her mother: but such an income was the merest pittance for a young lady with Miss Graham's tastes. Her brother was a captain of an expensive regiment, selfish and extravagant, and by no means inclined to open his purse for his sister's benefit.

She had no home; but lived sometimes with one wealthy relation, sometimes with another--always admired, always elegantly dressed; but not always happy.

Amidst all Miss Graham's matrimonial disappointments, she had endured none more bitter than that which she had felt when she read the announcement of Sir Oswald Eversleigh's marriage in the "Times"

newspaper.

She had met the rich baronet very frequently in society. She had visited at Raynham with her brother. Sir Oswald had, to all appearance, admired her beauty and accomplishments; and she had imagined that time and opportunity alone were wanting to transform that admiration into a warmer feeling. In plain words, Lydia Graham had hoped with a little good management, to become Lady Eversleigh of Raynham; and no words can fully describe her mortification when she learnt that the baronet had bestowed his name and fortune on a woman of whom the fashionable world knew nothing, except that she was utterly unknown.

Lydia Graham came to Raynham Castle with poisonous feelings rankling in her heart, but she wore her brightest smiles as well as her most elegant dresses. She congratulated the baronet in honeyed words, and offered warmest friendship to the lovely mistress of the mansion.

"I am sure we shall suit each other delightfully, dear Lady Eversleigh," she said; "and we shall be fast friends henceforward-shall we not?"

Honoria's disposition was naturally reserved. She revolted against frivolous and unmeaning sentimentality. She responded politely to Miss Graham's proffers of friendship; but not with corresponding warmth.

Lydia Graham perceived the coldness of her manner, and bitterly resented it. She felt that she had reason to hate this woman, who had caused the disappointment of her dearest hopes, whose beauty was infinitely superior to her own; and who was several years younger than herself.

There was one person at Raynham whose scrutinizing eyes perceived the animosity of feeling lurking beneath Lydia Graham's smooth manner. That penetrating observer was Victor Carrington. He saw that the fashionable beauty hated Lady Eversleigh, and he resolved to make use of her hatred for the furtherance of his schemes.

"I fancy Miss Graham has at some time of her life cherished an idea that she might become mistress of this place, eh, Reginald?" he said one morning, as the two men lounged together on the terrace.

"How did you know that?" said Reginald, questioning and replying at once.

"By no diabolical power of divination, I assure you, my dear Reginald.

I have only used my eyes. But it seems, from your exclamation, that I am right. Miss Graham did once hope to become Lady Eversleigh."

"Well, I believe she tried her uttermost to win my uncle for a husband.

I have watched her manoeuvres--when she was here two years ago; but they did not give me much uneasiness, for I thought Sir Oswald was a confirmed bachelor. She used to vary her amusements by flirting with me. I was the acknowledged heir in those days, you know, and I have no doubt she would have married me if I had given her the opportunity. But she is too clever a woman for my taste; and with all her brilliancy, I never admired her."

"You are wise, for once in the way, my dear Reginald. Miss Graham is a dangerous woman. She has a very beautiful smile; but she is the sort of woman who can smile and murder while she smiles. But she may be made a very useful tool, notwithstanding."

"A tool?"

"Yes; a good workman takes his tools wherever he finds them. I may be in want of just such a tool as Lydia Graham."

All went merry as a marriage-bell at Raynham Castle during the bright August weather. The baronet was unspeakably happy. Honoria, too, was happy in the novelty of her position; happy in the knowledge of her husband's love. His noble nature had won the reward such natures should win. He was beloved by his young wife as few men are beloved in the heyday of their youth. Her affection was reverential, profound, and pure. To her mind, Oswald Eversleigh was the perfection of all that is noble in mankind, and she was proud of his devotion, grateful of his love.

No guest at the castle was more popular than Victor Carrington, the surgeon. His accomplishments were of so varied a nature as to make him invaluable in a large party, and he was always ready to devote himself to the amusement of others. Sir Oswald was astonished at the versatility of his nephew's friend. As a linguist, an artist, a musician, Victor alike shone pre-eminent; but in music he was triumphant. Professing only to be an amateur, he exhibited a scientific knowledge, a mechanical proficiency, as rare as they were admirable.

"A poor man is obliged to study many arts," he said, carelessly, when Sir Oswald complimented him on his musical powers. "My life has been one of laborious industry; and the cultivation of music has been almost the only relaxation I have allowed myself. I am not, like Lady Eversleigh, a musical genius. I only pretend to be a patient student of the great masters."

The baronet was delighted with the musical talents of his guest because they assisted much in the display of Lady Eversleigh's exceptional power. Victor Carrington's brilliant playing set off the magnificent singing of Honoria. With him as her accompanyist, she sang as she could not sing without his aid. Every evening there was an impromptu concert in the long drawing-room; every evening Lady Eversleigh sang to Victor Carrington's accompaniment.

One evening, in the summer dusk, when she had been singing even more superbly than usual, Lydia Graham happened to be seated near Sir Oswald, in one of the broad open windows.