A Terrible Secret

ing-house, in the very

in the afternoon of a

y awaiting the return

rl is h

igure. She is a blonde of the blondest type: her hair is like spun gold, and, wonderful to relate, no Yellow Wash: no Golden Fluid, has ever touched its shining abundance. Her eyes are bluer than the September sky over the Russell Square chimney-pots; her nose is neither aquiline nor Grec

e has a pearl and turquoise star fastening her lace collar, pearl and turquoise drops in her ears, and a half dozen diamond rings on her plump, boneless fingers.

enteen months ago, sauntering idly along the summer sands, looking listlessly at the summer sea, thinking drearily that this time next year his freedom would be over, and his Cousin Inez his lawful owner and posses

divinity in yellow ringlets and pi

s rapturous adorer-it fell powerless o

places; and the Cheshire baronet had looked just once at the peach-bloom face, the blue eyes of laug

rls" as he had never wished for anything in his two-and-twenty years of life. As a man in a dream he went through that magic ceremony, "Miss Dobb, allow me to present my friend, Sir Victor Catheron," and they were free to look at each other, talk to each other, fall in love with each other as much as they plea

of the grimy metropolis; but, remarkable to say, she had as much innate pride, self-respe

tically in love. There was but one question to ask, just eight days

ear that turned him dizzy and sick as he asked it; for she had shrunk away for one instant, frightened by his fiery wooing, and the sweet f

ver the wide sea. For fully five minutes she never spoke or stirred. To his dying day that hour was with him-his passionate love, his sick, horrible fear, his dizzy rapture, when she spoke

and-but, no! it passeth all telling. They bowed down before him (figuratively), this good British tradesman and his fat wife, and worshipped him. They burned incense at his shrine; they adore

military swell in the grenadier guards-Pythias, at present, to Sir Victor's Damon-the parson, and the pew-ope

and nobody cross-questioned the baronet. That the parson was a parson, the marriage bona fide, his daughte

, impulsive lover, and very well content not to come into the full blaze and dazzle of high life just yet. If any o

yed, did I say? Well, not quite, since earth and heaven are two different places. In the dead of pale Southern nights, with the shine of the moon on his wife's lovely sleeping face; in the hot, brilliant noontide; i

e parish of Bloomsbury, "on the quiet." Very much "on the quiet" no theatre going, no opera, no visitors, and big Captain

. Monthly nurses and husbands being in the very nature of things antagonistic, and nurse being reigning potentate at present, the husband was banished. And Lady Catheron grew hot

er spoken in her life. "Are you master in your own house, or is she? Are you afraid of this Miss Cat

y something-not the bare ugly truth of his own treachery. The soap-boiler's daughter was more noble of s

mouth. "The time has come when you must speak. Don't make me think you are ashamed of me, or afraid of her. Take me hom

d it. And Sir Victor, his face hidden in the shad

n as you both can travel, my wife and child

ter from Inez, commanding his return. His hour had come. He took the next

*

he looked at her watch a little wearily. The days are very long and lonely without him. Looks up again, her eyes alight. A hansom

his wife. "Let me look at you. Oh! as pale as ever, I see. Never mind! Cheshire air, sunshine, gr

aternal look all very new fathers regard the first bl

her face. She loo

, Victor, wh

u are able. The s

r a forced laugh. Her

ery angry!" she asked, wist

e truth, I had only one interview with her, and that of so particularly unpleasant a nature, that

idery claws, and with a crash it topples over. Away goes the writing case, flying open and scattering the contents

es. "Look here! Awkward

broken too. Never mi

pes, wax, seals, pens and pencils. He flings all in a heap in the broken case. La

very harmless snake apparently-the photograph of a young and handsome man. For f

the picture is toward her, but she recognizes it. Her fac

ays, his voice stern,

y, darling. Not so loud, Victor, p

an Catheron's

thoroughly good little thing, but the best of little things (being women) are ergo dissemblers. For

little laugh. "I thought I had lost it centuries ago." "Good Hea

to his dark cousin, Inez, on his fair blonde face. "Th

d have something to do, if I put you au courant of all my acquaintances.

on cry. "Yes-there is. I wouldn't own a dog-if Juan Catheron had owned h

r! Dis

lost wretches that ever disgraced a good name. Ethel, I command y

at then?" She rises an

wer for

riends. How come you to have his picture? What has he been t

ng him, her blue eyes aglitter, "I don't

ith jealous rage and fear. "This then-

blow, "don't say that-oh, don't say that! And-and it

In all her wedded life she has never seen him look, heard him s

lover? You are te

slightly-only that-and he did give me his photograph. How could I tell he was the wretch you say he is-ho

one you had better ask. He has broken every command of the decalogue-every law human and divine

elieve as you please," his wife answers,

are born of his passionate love for her. To griev

ron's Eden is the ugliest and most vicious of all serpents-jealousy. He has never shown his green eyes and obnoxious claws so palpably

-faugh! But I am a fool to be jealous of you, my white lily. Kiss me-forgive me-we'll throw

look of disgust. Then they "kiss and make up," but the stab has been given, and will rankle. The