"What care I!"

"But your mother will care," said Mrs. Godfrey, softly; your mother will grieve if blot or stain should fall upon her child. Paul, were he alive, would advise as we advise. In his name, I entreat you to follow the counsel of Mr. Beckenham. When you arrive in town, your now excited feelings will have become subdued, and you will then be less impulsive and more discreet. You will remember your position, the respect you owe to yourself, and likewise your duty to your husband."

For a long time 'Rina refused to yield to either arguments or entreaties; she was utterly prostrated with affliction, and completely regardless of the future. But Beckenham saw with dread the precipice, on the brink of which she stood so heedlessly, and was resolved to save her from falling. He pictured to her a mother's agony over the ruin of her child. He spoke of a blasted reputation-of the scoffs and taunts of the vulgar and unfeeling-of a desolate life filled with longings for death.

At last 'Rina gave way, and attentively listened to all that Beckenham advised. It was for her mother's sake that she consented to act according to the counsel of her friends-consented to return to town-to her husband, if he would receive his runaway wife and would forgive her error: for she was now as one "wrecked upon a sand that looked to be washed off the next tide."

"Do with me as you please, she said, submissively; "I, as a child, will go by your directions.”

CHAPTER XXXII.

AT ten o'clock the next morning 'Rina, accompanied by Mr. Beckenham, reached London.

"Times, sir? Morning Post?" cried a news-boy.

Beckenham bought a Morning Post, and, assisting 'Rina into a cab, told the driver to proceed to Belgrave Square as quickly as possible.

"Would you like to be alone?" Beckenham asked; "if so, I will ride outside."

No, no, come in; I am too wretched to endure myself." Beckenham took the seat opposite to his companion, and began to read the news. Suddenly his eyes were riveted to the paper, and with much surprise and regret he read the following paragraph :

"ELOPEMENT IN HIGH LIFE.-Considerable excitement and conjecture in the fashionable circles have been created by the Duchess of L's sudden and mysterious disappearance from home. The noble duke is distracted. It is more than suspected that the beautiful duchess (late an actress of celebrity) has eloped with an actor to whom she was formerly engaged."

Beckenham uttered an impatient exclamation and tore up the paper, the fragments of which he flung out of the cab-window.

'Rina, who was buried in her own sad thoughts, did not remark this little incident; had she (in her excited state) seen the paragraph, its effects probably might have proved fatal to her.

The cab entered Belgrave Square.

'Rina's face became white as ashes, and her whole frame quivered with agitation.

"Summon your fortitude," said Beckenham, observing her

emotion.

"I feel quite powerless," she rejoined, faintly.

Courage, let me entreat you to take courage! She clasped her hands and moaned.

man

Was she, the runaway wife, about to stand before that cold, stern, hateful ? No wonder that she trembled-no wonder that her heart sank as she drew near to his dwelling-no wonder that the blood seemed frozen in her veins, and that her limbs refused their office.

Oh! what humiliation she felt in thus returning to the home from which she had fled so rashly. What Beckenham intended to say to the duke regarding her flight she neither knew nor cared to know. Paul was dead, and she felt reckless.

She knew she had acted imprudently in thought and deed; she knew she had forgotten her duty in forsaking him to whom she had sworn obedience: she knew all this too well; and her weary spirit grew sick as she reflected. The cab stopped. 'Rina, shrinking back, drew her veil close about her face, and Beckenham alighted at the duke's door.

"The duke left town this morning," said the lackey, in answer to Beckenham's inquiry.

"For Eaglemount?"

"Don't know, sir, really," replied the servant, with an impudent stare.

Beckenham hesitated how to act. The matter in hand was delicate and difficult to manage; so he must be cautious in his proceedings.

"Is the duchess's maid within?" he asked, assuming au air of indifference.

"I don't know, sir, really."

"Will you please to inquire?"

"Well really-I don't know?" drawled the powdered flunkey; really I don't! Here, you 'Enery!" he continued, addressing a footman who was passing through the hall ; you know whether Olland is in the 'ouse?"

"do

"Don't know," replied Enery, leisurely walking into a side apartment.

"He don't know, you see," observed the servant, to whom Beckenham had spoken.

Humph! so I perceive," said the old gentleman, putting his hand into his pocket and jingling the loose silver therein. "Here!" he added, producing a crown-piece; "do you

T

think this will help you to discover whether Mrs. Holland is at home or abroad?"

"Well really, you're very good," said the man, pocketing the crown-piece; "here she is!"

Henry told me I was wanted," said a genteel, comely woman, entering the hall from a side door.

"Can I speak to you for a few minutes?" said Beckenham,- alone," he added, in a low tone.

66

Certainly, step this way, sir," said Holland, preceding him into a room on the ground floor. "Now, your pleasure, if you please, sir?" she asked, as she closed the door.

"Your lady is coming home," said he.

"Heavens ! exclaimed the woman, in a terrified voice; "where is the duchess? not at the door-not near it, I hope!

"What alarms you? what if she were even beneath this roof?"

Sir, I know nothing of the duchess's affairs; all I know is that the duke has given all the servants strict orders not to admit her. I am sorry-I do not pretend to judge the actions of those whom I serve-I am very sorry for her."

"You are quite sure that you are stating the truth respecting the duke's order?"

66

Inquire of the servants, sir.”

Enough; I am. obliged by your civility-thank you!" so saying, he passed out into the hall, through which he almost staggered, and reached the cab in a state of angry disappointment.

"Park Lane, cabman! he said, resuming his seat in the vehicle.

"Park Lane! wherefore? What is the matter?" asked 'Rina, betraying great terror: "I am confounded; I cannot comprehend."

"The duke has left town," said Beckenham, evasively, "and the servants are shutting up the house.'

He could not at that moment find courage to tell her the fearful truth; but there was a strange tone in his voice which caused her to look wistfully into his face, and made her dread that some new sorrow was at hand.

"I am thinking," proceeded he, hesitatingly,-" I'm

thinking it would be a prudent and wise course of conduct, on your part, to at once seek the counsel of your friend Sir John Craggsbridge,-of whom you may remember speaking

to me."

"No, no! not to-day!" cried 'Rina, in confusion: “I cannot see Sir John to-day; I feel unable to talk or even to listen to any one."

"This is sheer folly you will want all your friends in the coming struggle."

“There is something that you have left untold,” she said, abruptly: "I am certain there is some fresh calamity in store for me! Do not seek to deceive me."

"I must not deceive you."

"Speak!"

"The duke,” said Beckenham, greatly embarrassed,—“ the duke has closed his doors against you."

A strange expression flitted across 'Rina's countenance at hearing she had no longer a home beneath her husband's roof. For a moment her cheeks flushed, as if with joy, then suddenly became deadly pale.

Beckenham, in as few words as possible, detailed to her his interview with Holland, her woman.

"I am free," 'Rina said, after a long pause, CC am I not? He cannot, after this, command me to live with him again."

"I much fear that the end of this affair will be a legal separation."

"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed she, fervently.

"I am sorry to see you rejoice at the prospect of that which I and all your friends must regard as a great misfortune."

"I shall be free!" she said, evincing great agitation; "there is happiness in the thought at least as much happiness as I shall ever taste again."

"There will be shame cast upon your name," said Beckenham, sorrowfully.

"No, no; not shame!" she cried, indignantly; "surely not shame!"

"It is necessary that you should be made thoroughly aware how matters stand at the present instant," observed he: "I should like to spare your feelings, but there must be