What to do she could not tell. The step which Swithin had entreated her

to take, objectionable and premature as it had seemed in a county aspect,

would at all events have saved her from this dilemma. Had she allowed

him to tell the Bishop his simple story in its fulness, who could say but

that that divine might have generously bridled his own impulses, entered

into the case with sympathy, and forwarded with zest their designs for

the future, owing to his interest of old in Swithin's father, and in the

naturally attractive features of the young man's career.

A puff of wind from the open window, wafting the Bishop's letter to the

floor, aroused her from her reverie. With a sigh she stooped and picked

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it up, glanced at it again; then arose, and with the deliberateness of

inevitable action wrote her reply:-'WELLAND HOUSE, _June_ 29, 18--.

'MY DEAR BISHOP OF MELCHESTER,

--I confess to you that your letter, so

gracious and flattering as it is, has taken your friend somewhat

unawares. The least I can do in return for its contents is to reply

as quickly as possible.

'There is no one in the world who esteems your high qualities more

than myself, or who has greater faith in your ability to adorn the

episcopal seat that you have been called on to fill. But to your

question I can give only one reply, and that is an unqualified

negative. To state this unavoidable decision distresses me, without

affectation; and I trust you will believe that, though I decline the

distinction of becoming your wife, I shall never cease to interest

myself in all that pertains to you and your office; and shall feel the

keenest regret if this refusal should operate to prevent a lifelong

friendship between us.--I am, my dear Bishop of Melchester, ever

sincerely yours,

'VIVIETTE CONSTANTINE.'

A sudden revulsion from the subterfuge of writing as if she were still a

widow, wrought in her mind a feeling of dissatisfaction with the whole

scheme of concealment; and pushing aside the letter she allowed it to

remain unfolded and unaddressed. In a few minutes she heard Swithin

approaching, when she put the letter out of the way and turned to receive

him.

Swithin entered quietly, and looked round the room. Seeing with

unexpected pleasure that she was there alone, he came over and kissed

her. Her discomposure at some foregone event was soon obvious.

'Has my staying caused you any trouble?' he asked in a whisper. 'Where

is your brother this morning?' She smiled through her perplexity as she took his hand. 'The oddest

things happen to me, dear Swithin,' she said. 'Do you wish particularly

to know what has happened now?' 'Yes, if you don't mind telling me.' 'I do mind telling you. But I must. Among other things I am resolving to give way to your representations,--in part, at least. It will be best to tell the Bishop everything, and my brother, if not other people.' 'I am truly glad to hear it, Viviette,' said he cheerfully. 'I have felt for a long time that honesty is the best policy.' 'I at any rate feel it now. But it is a policy that requires a great deal of courage!' 'It certainly requires some courage,--I should not say a great deal; and indeed, as far as I am concerned, it demands less courage to speak out than to hold my tongue.' 'But, you silly boy, you don't know what has happened. The Bishop has made me an offer of marriage.' 'Good gracious, what an impertinent old man! What have you done about it, dearest?' 'Well, I have hardly accepted him,' she replied, laughing. 'It is this

event which has suggested to me that I should make my refusal a reason

for confiding our situation to him.' 'What would you have done if you had not been already appropriated?' 'That's an inscrutable mystery. He is a worthy man; but he has very

pronounced views about his own position, and some other undesirable

qualities. Still, who knows? You must bless your stars that you have

secured me. Now let us consider how to draw up our confession to him.

I wish I had listened to you at first, and allowed you to take him into our

confidence before his declaration arrived. He may possibly resent the

concealment now. However, this cannot be helped.' 'I tell you what, Viviette,' said Swithin, after a thoughtful pause, 'if the Bishop is such an earthly sort of man as this, a man who goes falling

in love, and wanting to marry you, and so on, I am not disposed to

confess anything to him at all. I fancied him altogether different from

that.' 'But he's none the worse for it, dear.' 'I think he is--to lecture me and love you, all in one breath!' 'Still, that's only a passing phase; and you first proposed making a

confidant of him.' 'I did. . . . Very well. Then we are to tell nobody but the Bishop?' 'And my brother Louis. I must tell him; it is unavoidable. He suspects

me in a way I could never have credited of him!' Swithin, as was before stated, had arranged to start for Greenwich that morning, permission having been accorded him by the Astronomer-Royal to

view the Observatory; and their final decision was that, as he could not

afford time to sit down with her, and write to the Bishop in

collaboration, each should, during the day, compose a well-considered

letter, disclosing their position from his and her own point of view;

Lady Constantine leading up to her confession by her refusal of the

Bishop's hand. It was necessary that she should know what Swithin

contemplated saying, that her statements might precisely harmonize. He

ultimately agreed to send her his letter by the next morning's post,

when, having read it, she would in due course despatch it with her own.

As soon as he had breakfasted Swithin went his way, promising to return

from Greenwich by the end of the week.

Viviette passed the remainder of that long summer day, during which her

young husband was receding towards the capital, in an almost motionless

state. At some instants she felt exultant at the idea of announcing her

marriage and defying general opinion. At another her heart misgave her,

and she was tormented by a fear lest Swithin should some day accuse her

of having hampered his deliberately-shaped plan of life by her intrusive

romanticism. That was often the trick of men who had sealed by marriage,

in their inexperienced youth, a love for those whom their maturer

judgment would have rejected as too obviously disproportionate in years.

However, it was now too late for these lugubrious thoughts; and, bracing

herself, she began to frame the new reply to Bishop Helmsdale--the plain,

unvarnished tale that was to supplant the undivulging answer first

written. She was engaged on this difficult problem till daylight faded

in the west, and the broad-faced moon edged upwards, like a plate of old

gold, over the elms towards the village. By that time Swithin had

reached Greenwich; her brother had gone she knew not whither; and she and

loneliness dwelt solely, as before, within the walls of Welland House.

At this hour of sunset and moonrise the new parlourmaid entered, to

inform her that Mr. Cecil's head clerk, from Warborne, particularly

wished to see her.

Mr. Cecil was her solicitor, and she knew of nothing whatever that

required his intervention just at present. But he would not have sent at

this time of day without excellent reasons, and she directed that the

young man might be shown in where she was. On his entry the first thing

she noticed was that in his hand he carried a newspaper.

'In case you should not have seen this evening's paper, Lady Constantine,

Mr. Cecil has directed me to bring it to you at once, on account of what

appears there in relation to your ladyship. He has only just seen it

himself.' 'What is it? How does it concern me?' 'I will point it out.' 'Read it yourself to me. Though I am afraid there's not enough light.' 'I can see very well here,' said the lawyer's clerk stepping to the

window. Folding back the paper he read:-'"NEWS FROM SOUTH AFRICA.

'"CAPE TOWN, _May_ 17 (_via_ Plymouth).--A correspondent of the _Cape

Chronicle_ states that he has interviewed an Englishman just arrived

from the interior, and learns from him that a considerable

misapprehension exists in England concerning the death of the

traveller and hunter, Sir Blount Constantine--"' 'O, he's living! My husband is alive,' she cried, sinking down in nearly a fainting condition.

'No, my lady. Sir Blount is dead enough, I am sorry to say.' 'Dead, did you say?' 'Certainly, Lady Constantine; there is no doubt of it.' She sat up, and her intense relief almost made itself perceptible like a fresh atmosphere in the room. 'Yes. Then what did you come for?' she

asked calmly.

'That Sir Blount has died is unquestionable,' replied the lawyer's clerk

gently. 'But there has been some mistake about the date of his death.' 'He died of malarious fever on the banks of the Zouga, October 24, 18--.' 'No; he only lay ill there a long time it seems. It was a companion who died at that date. But I'll read the account to your ladyship, with your

permission:-'"The decease of this somewhat eccentric wanderer did not occur at the

time hitherto supposed, but only in last December. The following is

the account of the Englishman alluded to, given as nearly as possible

in his own words: During the illness of Sir Blount and his friend by

the Zouga, three of the servants went away, taking with them a portion

of his clothing and effects; and it must be they who spread the report

of his death at this time. After his companion's death he mended, and

when he was strong enough he and I travelled on to a healthier

district. I urged him not to delay his return to England; but he was

much against going back there again, and became so rough in his manner

towards me that we parted company at the first opportunity I could

find. I joined a party of white traders returning to the West Coast.

I stayed here among the Portuguese for many months. I then found that

an English travelling party were going to explore a district adjoining

that which I had formerly traversed with Sir Blount. They said they

would be glad of my services, and I joined them. When we had crossed

the territory to the South of Ulunda, and drew near to Marzambo, I

heard tidings of a man living there whom I suspected to be Sir Blount,

although he was not known by that name. Being so near I was induced

to seek him out, and found that he was indeed the same. He had

dropped his old name altogether, and had married a native princess--"' 'Married a native princess!' said Lady Constantine.

'That's what it says, my lady,--"married a native princess according to

the rites of the tribe, and was living very happily with her. He told me

he should never return to England again. He also told me that having

seen this princess just after I had left him, he had been attracted by

her, and had thereupon decided to reside with her in that country, as

being a land which afforded him greater happiness than he could hope to

attain elsewhere. He asked me to stay with him, instead of going on with

my party, and not reveal his real title to any of them. After some

hesitation I did stay, and was not uncomfortable at first. But I soon

found that Sir Blount drank much harder now than when I had known him,

and that he was at times very greatly depressed in mind at his position.

One morning in the middle of December last I heard a shot from his

dwelling. His wife rushed frantically past me as I hastened to the spot,

and when I entered I found that he had put an end to himself with his

revolver. His princess was broken-hearted all that day. When we had

buried him I discovered in his house a little box directed to his

solicitors at Warborne, in England, and a note for myself, saying that I

had better get the first chance of returning that offered, and requesting

me to take the box with me. It is supposed to contain papers and

articles for friends in England who have deemed him dead for some time."' The clerk stopped his reading, and there was a silence. 'The middle of

last December,' she at length said, in a whisper. 'Has the box arrived

yet?' 'Not yet, my lady. We have no further proof of anything. As soon as the

package comes to hand you shall know of it immediately.' Such was the clerk's mission; and, leaving the paper with her, he withdrew. The intelligence amounted to thus much: that, Sir Blount

having been alive till at least six weeks after her marriage with Swithin

St. Cleeve, Swithin St. Cleeve was not her husband in the eye of the law;

that she would have to consider how her marriage with the latter might be

instantly repeated, to establish herself legally as that young man's

wife.




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