"Well, if neither I nor my sisters have hurt your feelings, Hannah, what

in the name of sense did you mean by saying--I hate even to repeat the

words--that you won't marry me?"

"Reuben, reproach has fallen upon my name--undeserved, indeed, but not

the less severe. You have young, unmarried sisters, with nothing but

their good names to take them through the world. For their sakes, dear,

you must not marry me and my reproach!"

"Is that all you mean, Hannah?"

"All."

"Then I will marry you!"

"Reuben, you must give me up."

"I won't, I say! So there, now."

"Dear Reuben, I value your affection more than I do anything in this

world except duty; but I cannot permit you to sacrifice yourself to me,"

said Hannah, struggling hard to repress the sobs that were again rising

in her bosom.

"Hannah, I begin to think you want to drive me crazy or break my heart!

What sacrifice would it be for me to marry you and adopt that poor

child? The only sacrifice I can think of would be to give you up! But I

won't do it! no! I won't for nyther man nor mortal! You promised to

marry me, Hannah, and I won't free your promise! but I will keep you to

it, and marry you, if I die for it!" grimly persisted Reuben Gray.

And before she could reply they were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Come in!" said Hannah, expecting to see Mrs. Jones or some other humble

neighbor.

The door was pushed gently open, and a woman of exceeding beauty stood

upon the threshold.

Her slender but elegant form was clothed in the deepest mourning; her

pale, delicate face was shaded by the blackest ringlets; her large, dark

eyes were fixed with the saddest interest upon the face of Hannah Worth.

Hannah arose in great surprise to meet her.

"You are Miss Worth, I suppose?" said the young stranger.

"Yes, miss; what is your will with me?"

"I am the Countess of Hurstmonceux. Will you let me rest here a little

while?" she asked, with a sweet smile.

Hannah gazed at the speaker in the utmost astonishment, forgetting to

answer her question, or offer a seat, or even to shut the door, through

which the wind was blowing fiercely.

What! was this beautiful pale young creature the Countess of

Hurstmonceux, the rival of Nora, the wife of Herman Brudenell, the "bad,

artful woman" who had entrapped the young Oxonian into a discreditable

marriage? Impossible!




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