proachable; both men seemed rather embarrassed, and the bottle passed freely.

When alone after dinner, Lord Raymond said:

"Well, Marston, I dare say you wonder what has brought me down here so suddenly? It is the old story-I want to raise the wind; but it is for the last time, as I am going to be married."

"Allow me to offer my congratulations," replied Mr. Marston rather coldly. Might I inquire who the lady is?"

"Thanks; yes, it is Lady Hermione Kirwan, the eldest daughter of Lord Kilcanuor. We are to be married very shortly, and I have come to arrange with you about settlements. I want £30,000."

"It can't be done, my lord."

"But it must be done, even should it compel me to sell every stick on the estate.”

There was a pause, and the expression on Mr. Marston's face grew very hard.

"If you were to sell every stick you possess on the estate it would not realise the amount you mention," replied Mr. Marston, slightly emphasising the words "" you possess.'

"Then how am I to get the money?" asked Lord Raymond, bewildered, scarcely comprehending what his agent said.

"I do not think it possible. For the last ten years. you have been spending considerably more than your income; the greater portion of your estate has been sold to meet your constant demands for money, what remains in your possession is heavily encumbered. I have constantly warned you that the resources of even the Raymond estates were not limitless, but you paid no heed to my admonitions. I did not consider it my duty to persist in warning you when you declined to listen, and now the long-foreseen crash has come."

There was something defiant in Mr. Marston's tone as he spoke, but Lord Raymond did not seem to notice it. He was stunned with the news.

For the first time in his life he was really in love, captivated by the beautiful face of the daughter of a penniless Irish peer.

He knew she was not equally in love with him, but that only stimulated his passion. He was thought to be an excellent match, and she had consented to marry him; but whether she would be equally ready to wed him if she knew he had dissipated all his wealth was doubtful.

Lord Raymond did not blame himself; he cursed his crushing bad luck.

He had determined to lead a new life when married, to forsake the turf, give up all his gambling habits, and settle down respectably; it seemed to him very hard lines that, having made such good resolutions, he was not to be given the opportunity of carrying them out.

He sat for some time in silence, while his agent watched him.

The moment had come to Robert Marston for which he had been waiting for years. He had brought himself to hate Lord Raymond, and he could witness his distress without feeling pity, yet he did not experience the satisfaction he had anticipated. He expected

Lord Raymond would have burst into a violent passion and abuse him; he did not shrink from such an ebullition, and had determined, if accused, to state his reasons for allowing his lordship to go to his ruin unchecked.

It was, perhaps, a pity such a scene did not take place, as, in the explanation that probably would have followed, many doubts and misunderstandings might have been cleared up.

There had been no robbery on Mr. Marston's part, no actual dishonesty in the ordinary acceptation of the word. He had had pliant material to work with. Lord Raymond's naturally weak character, his reckless disposition, and spendthrift propensities had made him an easy victim, while his perfect

confidence in his agent had lulled any disquieting thoughts and encouraged him to continue his ruinous

course.

Herein lay the treachery. Mr. Marston knew how much he had been trusted, and how much he had abused that trust; and the thought of that caused him disappointment, for he was by nature true and sincere.

"I'll tell you what, Marston," suddenly exclaimed Lord Raymond looking up, "I will sell the house in town. I suppose that would realise a sufficient sum?"

"Do you mean to sell the pictures and furniture also?" asked Mr. Marston, knowing that the house contained a valuable collection of works of art.

"You may sell every d-d thing in it, so long as you raise me £30,000 in cash to put into settlements; but don't let there be any fuss about it. Try and dispose of it privately, and keep the news quiet for the present."

Very well, my lord. I think I had better go up to London and see about it myself."

"Yes, do so, and try and arrange the matter as quickly as you can.”

"I will leave by the early train to-morrow morning, unless your lordship wishes to go over the accounts of the estate. I presume that in the marriage settlements some reference will have to be made as to the disposition of your other property, besides the £30,000 you intend to settle on Lady Hermione Kirwan?"

"Oh bother the accounts; it is bad enough to have lost the money without having to brood over it. 'It's no use crying over spilt milk.' If there is any fuss with the lawyers you will have to tackle them." And Lord Raymond took a fresh cigar from his case and lighted it.

Shortly afterwards, Mr. Marston took his leave and returned to his house.

His preparation for his journey to London the following morning was peculiar: ho unlocked the

secret drawer of his wife's dressing case and carefully perused every letter of Lord Raymond it contained.

CHAPTER III.

RAISING THE CURTAIN

In omni adversitate fortunæ, infelicissimum genus est infortunii fuisse felicem.-BOETHIUS.

THE money required by Lord Raymond was forthcoming in sufficient time; it was invested in Preference Stock, and strictly tied up in the marriage settlement. There were a few thousands over and above the £30,000 settled on the Countess, and these supplied the necessary sinews for the expenses of the marriage tour and the redecorating of The Beacon.

With his accustomed extravagance, Lord Raymond spent the money lavishly, and, when he returned. home with his bride, some three months after marriage, he was reduced to his usual state of impecuniosity. This did not prevent him from giving extensive orders as to the festivities which were to be observed on his home-coming.

Huge tables, spread out in the open, were covered with every sort of comestible; casks of beer and wine. on tap were free to all comers; prizes were given for wrestling and running matches; there were swings, merry-go-rounds, shooting-galleries, and bands of music, while dancing, kiss-in-the-ring, and other amusements were indulged in by thousands on the broad level land below The Beacon. At night, bonfires were lighted on all the neighbouring hills, and there was a grand display of fireworks.

When the carriage containing the bride and bridegroom first appeared, everybody left his occupation to welcome it. The horses were taken out, ropes were attached, and the carriage was drawn by hundreds of willing hands up the steep hill and into the courtyard of The Beacon, while cheers ascended from thousands of lusty throats.

This reception gratified the young Countess greatly. It smacked of feudalism. She had been brought up in actual poverty in her wild Irish home, but surrounded by a peasantry who looked upon Lord Kilcannor in the light of a Deity, and her imagination. had been fed with old extravagant traditions as to the former splendour of her family, and she firmly believed herself to be descended from a line of Phoenician kings.

She had no love for her husband. She married him solely for the position she believed he could give her, and to which her birth entitled her; they were unlike in character, and had no two tastes in common; the one point of similarity between them being a careless habit of lavishly spending money.

Lady Raymond had none of the usual warmth of the Irish nature. She was cold, proud, and calculating; and it was the possession of these qualities that enabled her to secure the erratic affections of Lord Raymond, which her beauty had first excited. She was very beautiful, and fully conscious of her charms; but not exactly vain. She considered she had an hereditary right to great personal attractions, as also to wealth, high station, and the power such things confer.

The poverty of Kilcannor Castle had not been borne with resignation by any member of the family. Lord Kilcannor was never tired of abusing his ancestors for having dissipated their fortunes, and leaving him nearly penniless; but he never thought, for a moment, of adding to or increasing his slender income by any exertion or economy on his part. His daughters had been taught, from their earliest days, that their only