Nell of Shorne Mills

"Let me stay with you to-night! I can sleep on this couch--on this

chair--beside you, if you like," pleaded Nell, confused and frightened,

but aching with pity and sympathy. "I know that it is all wrong, that

you are mistaken. If I could only convince you! If I could only tell you

what I saw in Lord Wolfer's eyes as he looked at you to-night!"

The countess shook her head.

"It is you who are mistaken," she said, "and it is too late. No, you

shall not stay. I have done wrong to say so much. Try--try and forget

it. But yet--no, don't forget it, Nell. Remember me and my wretchedness,

and let it be a warning to you, if ever you are tempted to marry a man

who does not love you, whom you do not love. Ah, but you must go, Nell!

I am worn out!"

Nell went to her and put her arm round her neck, and drew her face down

that she might kiss her, but the countess gently put Nell's arm from

her, and drew back from the proffered kiss.

"No; you shall not kiss me!" she said, in a low voice. "You will be glad

that you did not--presently! Stay--give me that flower!" she said,

holding out her hand, but looking away.

Nell started, and drew the flower from her bosom as if it had been

something poisonous, and flung it in the fire.

The countess shrugged her shoulders with an air of indifference, and

turned to watch the flower withering and consuming in the fire, and

Nell, with something like a sob, left her.

What should she do? She understood that her friend stood on the verge of

a precipice; but how could she--Nell--with all her desire to save her,

drag her back?

As she was going to her room she heard a step in the hall, and, looking

over the balustrade, saw the earl pass from the library to the

drawing-room. For an instant she was half resolved to go down to him,

to--what? How could she tell him? She dared not!

Lord Wolfer wandered into the drawing-room and stood before the fire,

looking into it moodily, as he leaned against the great mantelpiece of

carved marble.

He was thinking of the flower which he had seen first in his wife's

possession, then in Sir Archie's, and lastly in Nell's; and of her blush

and confusion when he had asked her how she came by it. He knew Sir

Archie, knew him better and more of his life than Sir Archie suspected.

The man was a perfect type of the modern lover; incapable of a fixed

passion, as fickle as the wind. Could it be that he had transferred,

what he would have called his "devotion," from the countess to Nell? It

seemed at first sight too improbable; but Wolfer knew his world and the

ethics of the smart set of which Sir Archie Walbrooke was a conspicuous

member too well to scout the idea as impossible. The fact that Sir

Archie had spent the last three months flirting with one woman would be

no hindrance to his transferring his attentions to a younger and

prettier one.