troubled himself very little about the matter, and said that, "It was her own look out if she liked to make herself miserable."

He had not the resolution to go away and see her no more; he had not the courage to tell her plainly that he was not in love with her; he thought it would be unkind to humiliate her by telling her that she had bestowed her affections where they could not be reciprocated; and in his easygoing way of arranging all his difficulties in life, he tried to make a compromise, which, in reality, was the cruellest course of all.

He led her to believe that he was already engaged to be married to some other woman, whom he had since discovered he did not love, and that it was impossible. for him to break off the engagement with this other woman, nor would she release him.

The lie was worse than a crime, it was a blunder; it was the equivalent of a declaration of love for Theresa Ratcliff, and so she considered it; her sympathies were no longer for herself alone, they were for him too.

One lie leads to many others.

Lord Raymond's attempt to extricate himself from a dilemma caused him to become all the more entangled. Had he been possessed of greater strength of character there was time, even yet, for him to have escaped by confessing the lie, but each day that passed made it more difficult for him; and at last he became seized with a constant dread that Miss Ratcliff might discover it.

She never doubted him.

He used to draw largely on his powers of imagination to describe his fictitious fiancée, and give accounts of interviews they had had, and conversations they had held when he had told her he had ceased to care for her; but in spite of which she insisted upon holding him to his engagement.

It is true that he then tried to keep away from The Beacon as much as possible, but when his mother's

health became so precarious he was compelled to visit her frequently. At one time he felt almost inclined to risk everything, and offer to marry Miss Ratcliff, for in his constant association with her he learnt how lovable a character she possessed; but he dreaded the contempt he knew she would feel for him when she discovered the deceit he had practised.

In point of fact, Miss Ratcliff had already begun to feel disappointment in her noble lover. If he loved her, as he professed to do, why did he not brave everything and marry her?

It was an absurd confession of weakness to say that a woman, for whom he had ceased to care, and who was aware of the fact, was to keep him bound. Such a woman must be wanting in pride and every nice feeling, and need not be treated with such great consideration Miss Ratcliff thought; but her own innate delicacy prevented her disclosing her ideas to Lord Raymond.

It is a bitter moment in a woman's life when she realises for the first time that she has bestowed her best and purest love on an unworthy object, though but few women cease to care for a man through discovering that he is less perfect an ideal than their fancy painted him.

Had Theresa Ratcliff stood upon her dignity when she found Lord Raymond had no intention of marrying her, and refused to listen to his protestations of love, while he was, all the time, engaged to another woman, it is probable such treatment would have incited in him a desire to win her, for he was unaccustomed to be frustrated, and inclined to set a higher value on such things as were difficult of attainment; but she loved him too well to resist him, and forego the pleasure his attentions caused her. It was a pleasant dream, and she gave herself up to the enjoyment of it.

The awakening came at last.

When Lord Raymond saw that his mother's days

were numbered, he had some qualms of conscience as to what would become of this orphan companion when her protectress was taken from her. It was then that he sounded Mr. Marston, and finding that the latter was quite willing to marry Miss Ratcliff, he suggested the alliance to her, and recommended her seriously to consider her acceptance of Mr. Marston's offer if he made it.

There was a stormy interview. Miss Ratcliff could scarcely believe that Lord Raymond was in earnest in proposing such a thing to her; but when she realised that he was not only in earnest, but very anxious for her to adopt his counsel, she rejected his suggestion with scorn and indignation, and passionately upbraided him for his falseness towards her.

Her accusations recoiled on her own head, for she felt she was nearly as much to blame as Lord Raymond. She recognised this when the first torrent of passion had passed, and as the thought struck her, she burst into a flood of tears.

Lord Raymond was much affected at Theresa's grief, and wished to comfort her; but she rejected his consolations, and abruptly left him for the solitude of her own room, where she threw herself on the bed, and gave herself up to regret and self-reproach. She passed a miserable night, but in the morning her pride came to the rescue, and she determined not to let Lord Raymond see how much she had suffered.

She reappeared on the scene looking calm and collected, and when, in the course of the forenoon, Mr. Marston arrived and made her an offer of marriage, she accepted him without hesitation.

Lord Raymond was piqued to see how quickly and easily Theresa was able to dismiss him from her thoughts, and he tried once again to be on the old terms of familiarity.

He failed signally. From the moment he had expressed a wish for her to give herself as wife to another man, Theresa's eyes had been opened; and she realised

how little worth having was the love Lord Raymond had professed for her.

She married Mr. Marston, and, although she did not love him, she tried to do her duty towards him. She could not altogether efface from her heart the memory of the love scenes which had taken place between her and Lord Raymond; but she tried not to recall them, nor think of them. His letters were put away in the secret drawer of the dressing-case he had given her, and with them was buried the romance of her life.

After his mother's death Lord Raymond left The Beacon and returned to his accustomed life, making London his headquarters, but attending all the principal race meetings, and visiting at certain country houses where good sport and high play abounded.

He seemed to have a run of bad luck. Mr. Marston seldom received a letter from his lordship which did not contain a demand for more money; and although each request was met with a stern protest on the part of the agent, somehow the money was invariably forthcoming, in return for which Lord Raymond gleefully signed his name to any document that was put before him, and troubled himself no further in the

matter.

There was no sign of an impoverished exchequer in the management of the vast estates surrounding The Beacon; large sums of money were expended in draining, making roads, erecting new farm-buildings, and lately a slate quarry had been opened in one of the mountains, to which a tramway, some four miles in length, had been laid. Mr. Marston had the sole direction of everything, and whatsoever he undertook proved a success.

Robert Marston became a man of considerable mark in the county. His great business capacity, his comprehensive knowledge of all local matters, his shrewd common-sense, and the authority he possessed

as manager of the Raymond estates, made him much. sought after. In every new project that was started he was invited to join, and he was a director of most of the local public companies.

Four years passed with scarcely any change. Mr. Marston worked indefatigably morn, noon, and night, and was said to be amassing immense wealth. He went out but little into society, nor did he entertain much at his own house; an occasional gentleman's dinner-party, when some business matter would be the chief topic of conversation, was about the limit of his hospitality. He was frequently asked to stay at good houses, but he invariably declined such invitations; and it was rumoured that Mr. Marston drank, and that this was the reason he would not leave his own home.

There is generally a certain amount of truth in such rumours, and it was a fact that Mr. Marston was a hard drinker. But this was not his reason for declining invitations, but simply that he disliked society.

During all this time Master Tom lived with Mr. and Mrs. Cape, the gamekeeper and his wife, and was brought up as their own son. John Cape was a most respectable man, and his wife much superior to the class one generally expects to find in that station of life. Mr. Marston made a liberal allowance for the sustenance of his son; and the latter was a good deal better off, and led a happier, healthier life in the gamekeeper's cottage than had he been left to shift for himself, uncared for and neglected, in his father's house.

One evening Lord Raymond returned unexpectedly to The Beacon, and immediately sent a message to his agent, asking him to come and dine, as he wished to consult him on a matter of great importance. Mr. Marston answered the message in person, and was received in a very friendly manner by Lord Raymond. There was but little conversation during dinner, which was a very simple one, though the wine was irre