worthier of you than I deemed (_I_ who set up for the censor of other
men!); perhaps he may both win and deserve your affection.

Evelyn, farewell! God, who tempers the wind to the shorn lamb, will
watch over you!

ERNEST MALTRAVERS.



CHAPTER V.

OUR acts our angels are, or good or ill,
The fatal shadows that walk by us still.--JOHN FLETCHER.

THE next morning came; the carriage was at the door of Maltravers, to
bear him away he cared not whither. Where could he fly from memory? He
had just despatched the letter to Evelyn,--a letter studiously written
for the object of destroying all the affection to which he had so fondly
looked as the last charm of life. He was now only waiting for Vargrave,
to whom he had sent, and who hastened to obey the summons.

When Lumley arrived, he was shocked at the alteration which a single
night had effected in the appearance of Maltravers; but he was surprised
and relieved to find him calm and self-possessed.

"Vargrave," said Maltravers, "whatever our past coldness, henceforth I
owe to you an eternal gratitude; and henceforth this awful secret makes
between us an indissoluble bond. If I have understood you rightly,
neither Alice nor other living being than yourself know that in me,