CHAPTER V.

HOME NEWS.

While de Güldenfeldt was pursuing his travels, a prey to morbid thoughts increased by this tragic event which had touched him so nearly, and while he was trying to learn that hardest lesson in the world--the lesson to forget, or in his weaker moments, for man is but human after all, dreaming dreams and weaving fancies, dangerous and alluring, Pearl, the chief cause of his depression, yet the subject of those heavenly dreams and fancies, was pursuing the even tenour of her way in Tokyo.

Pearl likewise had passed through her moments of weakness and regret. There were times, indeed, when she arrived at the somewhat humiliating conclusion that, considering all things, there was not much to choose between her manner of acting and that of the foolish girl whom she had taken it upon herself so severely to lecture.

She and her young cousin were much in each other's society at this time, the mere fact of both being placed in fairly similar positions, helping, perhaps to strengthen the tie of kinship, and that of their mutual affection one for the other.

It was during one of their early morning rides that Mrs. Nugent told Amy of de Güldenfeldt's offer, of her rejection thereof, and of the Swedish Minister's consequent irritation and final disappearance from the centre of operations.

At this information confided to her, a mischievous gleam sparkled from Miss Mendovy's eyes.

"Really, my dear Pearl," she said, very fairly imitating her cousin's voice and manner, "I must speak seriously to you. How could you have been so foolish as to have treated Monsieur de Güldenfeldt as if he were a mere boy? I have no patience with you, Pearl. You forget that the Swedish Minister is a man in a thousand,--a delightful man, a clever man, and from a worldly point of view an excellent match, etc., etc., etc. Don't you think, my dear," she added, turning round in her saddle, and glancing at Pearl with a face brimming over with laughter, "don't you think that these, your own words remember, addressed no doubt perfectly justly to your erring but I assure you long-ago-repentant cousin, might apply most admirably in your own case? It is rather a pity you were so 'previous,' I think, wasting your breath on me, instead of reserving it for your own delinquencies."

"It seems to me," replied Pearl, as she gave a little flick to her mare, "that you in your eloquence, Miss Amy, are forgetting one vital difference in the two cases. Whereas you, by your own confession, are in love with Sir Ralph Nicholson, and what is more, have been in this blissful condition for ages, I have no feeling for Monsieur de Güldenfeldt but that of great liking and the very deepest admiration for his cleverness and wit. This rather alters the situation, don't you think, you extremely sarcastic and facetious young person?"

"Oh, love!" ejaculated Amy with uptilted nose, "pray who thinks nowadays of such an out-of-date sentiment as love? What is love, compared to the advantages of a profitable marriage? Besides, Pearl, if you are not in love with him, you ought to be. He's a dear man, and you have recklessly and deliberately thrown away an excellent chance. And for what? An idea, a mere antiquated worn-out idea. And that's a fact, so it is no use trying to make out the contrary."

"You are doubtless right, Amy, perfectly right," answered Pearl in an unusually humble voice, "I know I am never likely to get such a chance again. Considering my position, it was a stroke of luck I had no right to expect, and yet--and yet--My dear Amy, it comes to this, it's no use talking to a girl like you. You've never been married, so how can you in the least realize what marriage means? I know, to my cost, only too well what it entails. So is it to be wondered at that I hesitate before making a second venture, however advisable to your inexperienced eyes such a marriage may seem?"

They trotted on in silence for some minutes, then Amy replied somewhat dubiously,

"You are right, Pearl. Of course I can't in the least know the consequences, good or bad, of matrimony. What is more, as far as I can see, I am never likely to have the chance of finding out. For I am decided on one point--nobody but Ralph shall have the honour of calling me wife, an honour which, so far, that young man seems in no hurry whatsoever to burden himself with. It is ages and ages since he condescended to come near me. And when by chance, once in a blue moon, we do happen to meet, His Excellency as a rule is far too occupied with some other fascinating member of the fair sex to think it worth his while to hardly cast me a glance of recognition. Rather different from the old days, eh, Pearl?"

"You brought it on yourself, my dear cousin."

"I confess, Pearl, I have hitherto looked upon you as a fairly intelligent woman. Another lost illusion, I suppose. Pray, how does the fact of my having brought this state of things on myself in the least alter or improve matters? Bother the men! Don't let's talk any more about them. The world would certainly be far jollier if they didn't exist. I see," she added with a serio-comic twinkle in her eye, "there is only one thing left for me to do, and that is to pray that Sir Ralph's ultimate fate in the shape of a wife may be a shrew, the plague of his life, someone who will lead him a nice dance in fact. Then perhaps he may feel inclined to indulge in some moments of regret that he did not stick a little longer to dear, amiable, sweet-tempered Amy Mendovy. Come along, Pearl, let's have a canter, and for one brief moment forget that disagreeable appendage--man."

But Amy was not fated to be in luck that morning, for shortly afterwards a sharp turn in the road brought the two ladies face to face with that particular "appendage" who was evidently engrossing Miss Mendovy's thoughts. Ralph was accompanied by two extremely pretty girls, all three on horseback, and apparently, from their peals of happy laughter, in the highest of spirits and the greatest good humour with themselves and the world in general.

Amy Mendovy flushed crimson, and with a bow that included the whole party, she gave a cut to her pony, and trotted quickly on, while Pearl, calling out to one of the girls, "I hope you have had a nice ride this lovely morning, Eulalie," followed after her cousin.

"Why did you not stop, Amy?" she asked as she caught her up. "The de Bourvilles reined in their horses with the intention of having a chat. They looked so astonished and annoyed when you went tearing past them in that strange, erratic manner."

"If you find the society of those girls so fascinating, my dear, why did you pay any attention to my movements, and not stop yourself?" replied Amy sharply.

"I had to follow you. If I had not done so it would have made your behaviour appear still more markedly rude," answered Pearl quietly. "As it is, they may possibly attribute our tearing past them in that extraordinary manner, to some real necessity for haste."

"I really don't in the least care what they think. The opinions of the Mesdemoiselles de Bourville never have interested me, nor will they ever interest me in the very slightest degree. The only thing that distresses me somewhat is to see two unfortunate girls, neither of whom have the vaguest notion of sitting a horse, attempting to ride."

"Well, you see, they are merely beginners. No doubt as they go out now so often with Sir Ralph he will soon teach them to sit straight," replied Pearl rather maliciously. "They've got nice figures, and are both adorably pretty. I'm sure their habits are English made."

"Doubtless," said Amy, with a slight drawl, which she affected when she wished to appear bored, "but really their riding habits excite me as little as the owners themselves. Do let us talk of something more interesting, Pearl."

Pearl smiled quietly to herself as she thought, with a certain satisfaction, how quickly the remedy which she herself had prescribed was working on the all-unconscious patient. "I have never seen Amy in such a temper, or heard her use such an unpleasant tone towards other girls before," she thought. "Poor child! She's green with jealousy. No wonder! when in the old days there was never a question of Ralph riding with anyone but herself. Dear, wise Ralph! if only you continue to play your cards as well as you have started, there's no reason whatsoever, knowing my fair cousin as I do, but that you will be married to her whenever you choose to fix the day."

That same morning, on her return from her ride, Pearl found she was likely to have far more serious matters than Amy's affairs of the heart to occupy her mind.

The mail had come in, an event that ordinarily did not greatly excite Mrs. Nugent. Having shut herself off from all old associations, all former connections, she seldom, with the exception of an occasional communication from her banker or lawyer, received much of interest by the post, the pile of newspapers and magazines, despatched to her weekly, being her sole and only means of keeping in touch with the outer world.

But this morning, on entering her cosy little boudoir, one glance at the writing table showed, lying in a prominent place, a couple of letters, one from Mr. Hall and the other in a former well-known and altogether dreaded handwriting. No need to lift the letter from the table to recognize only too well the once familiar, but now almost forgotten writing of the husband whom she had divorced. On perceiving it she made an exclamation of dismay, for a moment hesitating whether she should not destroy unread this unexpected and most unwelcome missive. Nevertheless, though vexed and irritated, the sight of the letter aroused no keen feelings in her mind. Since she had freed herself from him, the writer himself had grown so completely indifferent--belonging so entirely to that black chapter of the past, which, until reopened by Nicholson, she had flattered herself was closed for ever--that she felt, whatever he might elect to write, whatever insults, whatever injuries might be addressed to her in this letter, no sentiment but that of a sort of dreary contempt, a partial and temporary irritation unworthy even of the name of anger, was now capable of being once more stirred to life.

Indifference to vituperation did not however, carry her so far as to swamp all natural feelings of curiosity, and when, after a few moments of deliberation, she lifted the letter by the corner, she examined the envelope with a certain interest and wonder. The letter was fully directed to her present name and address, a fact which, on consideration, caused an incipient fear, and certainly unbounded astonishment.

So he knew not only of her change of name, but of her whereabouts, by what occult means she did not wait to consider, but delaying no longer, Pearl hastily opened the epistle, and read the following contents:

"Dear Pearl,

"I do not for one moment flatter myself that it is likely you should take the smallest interest in the fate of the man who once called himself your husband. As, however, I am informed that surely--and I am personally convinced by no means slowly--my days are numbered, I am writing before the breath vanishes for ever from this poor suffering body, to make, entirely for my own satisfaction, a certain communication to you.

"I am leaving you--for reasons which it is hardly necessary for me to enumerate--the complete mistress of my fortune. For fear, however, that you should be deluded into the belief that this proceeding is an act of, what you might be pleased to consider reparation on my part, I wish before the end comes, to entirely disabuse your mind of that fallacy.

"I am a dying man, it is true, but a worn out carcass does not necessarily entail a clouded or impaired intelligence. My mind, believe me, is as clear as when you knew me, and I solemnly here announce on my death-bed a fact, which except in public you have heretofore never given me the chance of declaring, that in my marital relations, I was as deeply wronged, as you no doubt are perfectly justified in considering I wronged you.

"You obtained your divorce by the breadth of a hair, you will doubtless remember. The fact that after having achieved your ends no marriage with Martinworth took place, did not for one instant throw dust in my eyes, whatever may have been the effect on that individual himself, or on the many, who at that time, called themselves your friends. I repeat, that for many years I possessed the positive conviction that Martinworth was your lover. In no wise did this fact interfere with me or my plans. Indeed, the knowledge that you were agreeably occupied entirely suited my book, and under the circumstances I found it a natural and convenient arrangement for all parties concerned.

"If, my dear Pearl, you had only shown that cleverness which you had exhibited for so many years, and if instead of dragging me into the Divorce Court you had been satisfied to let well alone, we should have continued a comfortable _ménage à trois_ till the end of the chapter. That chapter, as far as I am concerned, would soon have closed, and in three or four years' time you would have found yourself, while still fairly young and extremely handsome, playing the satisfactory and the justifiable _rôle_ of the bereaved, but by no means inconsolable widow. That awkward impediment the husband, having been conveniently disposed of underground, no stumbling block would have stood in the way of legalizing your position, by a marriage at some fashionable church, to which interesting ceremony lustre would have been added by the presence, no doubt, of the smartest set in Town.

"But you were too hasty in your desire to cast off your shackles. Seeing, however, the precious little use you have made of your freedom, is it to be wondered at that my breath should have been taken away by such an exhibition of complete _manque de savoir faire_. By one, too, whom, when I gave myself the trouble to think about her at all, I certainly considered possessed that quality to perfection.

"What? I ask you, have you gained by this most ill-advised step, on the taking of which, if you had only consulted me, I should most certainly, for your own sake, have counselled you against? Have you achieved liberty of action? Certainly not. Before your divorce you were completely free. A firmer and less compromising stand in society? Hardly, you must allow, considering the many doubtful and unpleasant incidents of your life, that to shield my own reputation my counsel had to bring to light. Undisturbed union with your lover? Your own subsequent and most inexplicable behaviour forfeited for ever all chance of such a future.

"Now, in the place of gain, compare your losses. Exile from your native land. The loss of the protection of your husband's name. The loss of the constant companionship of an adoring lover, and while you were my wife, however much you might have thought fit to scorn that position, the loss of a tangible and by no means insignificant place in that society, which for over ten years had been to you as the very breath of your nostrils.

"Oh! poor, blind, benighted fool! I cannot but pity you, Pearl, my rage and spite having long ago exhausted themselves. It is to prove to you this truth, namely, that I have no bitterness, no rancour, that I am acting as I do, leaving you the complete controller of that fortune, which, from the fact of you having shared it for so many years, you well know is by no means inconsiderable. Do as you will with it. As you will see, it is yours without conditions. You in your turn can leave this wealth to whom you desire, my own few distant relatives having no claim whatsoever upon me.

"One word more before I close these lines.

"Once, being no longer master of my actions, I was so unfortunate as to strike you. It was principally on the fact of that blow that you obtained your divorce. I apologise to you for this deed. I can only add that, whatever the provocation, I should never have acted thus in my sober moments.

"And now, adieu. By the time you receive this I shall, in all probability be beneath the sod. No doubt you will experience a certain natural satisfaction in feeling assured that for the future you no longer can be troubled by

"GUY NORRYWOOD." arl stood for a long time with this letter clasped tightly in her hand,

Pea prey to strangely mixed feelings. Though, during all the years they had spent together, Norrywood had evidently not considered it worth his while to express his opinion, she nevertheless had by no means been in ignorance of her husband's true sentiments towards her. Before the crash she in her turn, had scorned to confute or to argue this opinion, though if she had for a moment supposed that every questionable position, every compromising action on her part was to have been brought as evidence against her in her own suit, she certainly would have taken more pains in those early days, even to the man whom she despised so thoroughly, to have explained and proved her innocence. But neither she, nor Martinworth, nor her Counsel had for one moment contemplated such a step on Norrywood's part, and indeed at one time it was believed the case would proceed in its course undefended. Judge then of her astonishment when her husband appeared in Court armed with these many powerful, aye! deadly weapons against her. Too late then to explain or temporize, and Pearl in bitterness of spirit realised fully her egregious folly in having from the very commencement so completely scorned, so entirely despised her foe.

Bitter memories were aroused in Mrs. Nugent's breast by the perusal of this letter--memories and regrets and rage that long had remained dormant, so much so, that she asked herself whether after all, her philosophy was beginning to play her false. But Norrywood's unvarnished opinion of her, the complete cynicism of his plain speaking, the crude bluntness, brutality indeed, of his well weighed and deliberate conclusions touched her not at all. She had all along been aware of his opinion, and to some extent she could comprehend his having arrived at such an unflattering conclusion, and almost forgave him for it. She felt, however, a slight regret that he should have died unchanged in this belief, especially as on the whole the letter aroused her sympathies, and a vague feeling of pity in her breast. She read between the lines, and in spite of his refutation of the same, she knew that this will in her favour was an act of reparation--tardy amends for all he had made her suffer during his lifetime. The act, if not the words, confessed remorse. Such being the case, and with this barrier of the tomb between them, she felt that she could forgive him much. She had never for one instant contemplated the possibility of inheriting his money. She did not wish for it, and as she restored the letter to the envelope she deluded herself with the belief that no power on earth could force her to accept this undesired, this unexpected gift.

But there was still Mr. Hall's letter to be read. It was, she perceived, dated ten days later than that of her husband, and contained the contents of his will and the details of his miserable death, which had taken place suddenly a few days after the writing of this last long epistle.

"Your former husband," wrote Mr. Hall, "has for the last year been suffering from an extremely painful, and from the first, incurable disease. I was surprised that I, and not his own lawyer, should be called in to draw up his last will and testament, but his reasons for this act were later on, explained. I was touched by the great change I perceived in the poor sufferer's whole character and demeanour, and though nothing I could say would induce him to change his opinion on one point,--namely, as to your relations with Lord Martinworth,--the approach of Death, that great Softener, had melted the hitherto stony heart, and he spoke gently and kindly of you, and with a genuine regret for the constant sorrow of which he had been the cause. Mr. Norrywood's standard of morals, as we know to our cost, was at no times a high one. Presumably it was owing to this fact that he appeared to think the intimacy, which to the last he insisted existed between you and his lordship, was not otherwise than natural, and by no means blamable under the circumstances of his own acknowledged infidelity to you. But what seemed to astonish him beyond words was the fact of your having gone to the length of putting him into Court at all. He told me he wished, before he died, to express what he had so far never had an opportunity of doing, his opinion of your folly in taking this step. 'Naturally I had to defend myself,' he said, 'and the consequences have been my wife's social ruin.' He said much more on this point, and concluded by asking for your address for the purpose--he told me--of expressing his sentiments, and of informing you of his monetary intentions towards you.

"Considering it was the request of a dying man, I felt--in spite of your strict injunctions to the contrary, and consequently certain qualms of conscience on my part--that the only thing I could do in the circumstances was to accede to his request. I therefore wrote down for him your present name and address, and I can only trust, my dear young friend, that Mr. Norrywood, in this his last letter to you, confined himself to facts, inscribing nothing of a particularly unkind or painful nature.

"You will see by the enclosed copy of the will that Mr. Norrywood has left you a very wealthy woman. However distasteful the source may be from which the money springs, remember, my child, that much good can be done with this large fortune, of which you are left complete mistress, now and for the future. Knowing you as I do, I am convinced that your first impulse will be to refuse this wealth. But I also believe that on impartial and thoughtful consideration you will understand the immense folly of such a step. Indeed, a great portion of it having been settled on you at your marriage, must be yours in any case. So do not act hastily, but remember that in years to come there may be others besides yourself who can be benefited by these large sums.

"I should much like to know your intentions as to the future. Have you any thoughts of returning home? Your absence has been a long one. The persons that you dreaded are removed from your path--one by death and the other by marriage. It is therefore hardly necessary for me to point out that on inheriting this fortune your presence, for a short period at least in your native land, is highly desirable, I may even add, necessary."

Mr. Hall concluded his letter with various business details as to investments, etc., also with much fatherly and kind advice, which he considered it his duty to offer, but which no one knew better than he himself was more likely to be ignored than followed.

Pearl, with puckered brow, was still standing by her writing table, pondering over these momentous and upsetting communications, when a _'ricksha_ rattled up to the door, and a moment later Mrs. Rawlinson was in the room.

"Dearest Rosina," exclaimed Pearl as she embraced her cousin, "what a wonderful woman you are! You have the blessèd knack of always appearing on the spot when most needed. I was wishing for you so much, and was just contemplating ordering the carriage and driving round to Azabu."

"What's the matter now?" enquired Mrs. Rawlinson, as she glanced at the two letters in Pearl's hand with a certain alarm in her brown eyes.

"I want you to read these letters brought by this morning's mail. No, this one first."

Rosina took Mr. Norrywood's letter handed to her, and walking to the window stood with her back to Mrs. Nugent. She read it straight through, and until she had replaced it in the envelope made no remark.

"Well, I suppose, judging from what he writes of his condition, the poor man must be dead by this time," and Rosina's cheerful voice as she turned round contrasted rather ludicrously with the _figure de circonstance_ conjured up for the occasion.

"Yes," said Pearl quietly, "he is dead."

"It's no use humbugging, and pretending one is sorry when one isn't," retorted Mrs. Rawlinson. "To put it mildly, Pearl, that man's death is--is--what shall we say? Well, let us call it a merciful release. That's an expression that can hurt no one."

"He's done me no harm for some years, and time softens things," replied Pearl gently. "I think, too, he was perhaps sorry at the last."

"Hum! death-bed repentance," said Mrs. Rawlinson drily. "I've not much faith in that sort of thing myself. So easy to say you are sorry when circumstances over which you have no control make it impossible for you to have the chance of doing further harm. At any rate, I am glad to see that his repentance--if repentance it was--took a tangible form, and that in dying he had the decency to make certain amends for his disgraceful conduct towards you during his lifetime. You'll be a rich woman, Pearl. Let us trust, dear, that you will make better use of the money than he did."

"Yes," said Pearl, "I shall be rich, very rich, if I accept the money."

"If--what?" and Rosina stared.

"If I accept Mr. Norrywood's money," repeated Pearl. "I have by no means decided to do so, Rosina."

"Are you mad?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"My dear Pearl," and Mrs. Rawlinson settled herself squarely in an arm chair, "I shall not even give myself the trouble of demanding your reasons for this totally absurd, ridiculously quixotic hesitation on your part."

"Such being the case," retorted Pearl with a slight flush, "I shall likewise, greatly to my relief, be exempted from the trouble of informing you of them. Nevertheless I am, I confess, somewhat disappointed, for I flattered myself that you at least, Rosina, would have understood my motives--my--well--my scruples on this point."

"Well, then, I don't, and that's a fact," replied her cousin tersely. "The man, as all the world knows, treated you shamefully, made your life a misery from the very commencement. After putting up for years not only with neglect and infidelity, but with downright cruelty, you had the strength of mind to appeal to the law, and to divorce him. He is dying, and he writes you a letter. And even on his death-bed he cannot resist insulting you--accusing you of various disgraceful and altogether impossible actions. He has however, enough decency left in his composition to apologise for one of the many hundreds of his villainous acts, and, above all, he makes a certain reparation by leaving you his fortune. After all, my dear Pearl, a large portion of that fortune is already yours. He made excellent settlements, I remember, and you have been profiting by the interest of that sum ever since you left him. I really can't see the difference if, instead of a portion--the quarter, the half, whatever has hitherto been yours--you should for the future take over the whole of the fortune."

Pearl was silent. Rosina's calm unemotional manner of regarding matters always influenced her more impulsive and excitable nature. She felt there was much good sense and wisdom in what her cousin said.

"You seem to be of the same opinion as Mr. Hall," she said, after a minute. "He thinks I ought to keep the money. You will see what he says in this letter."

"He is a good friend to you, Pearl, that old lawyer," remarked Mrs. Rawlinson, as after carefully reading the letter, she returned it to Mrs. Nugent. "I can only impress on you to follow his and my advice. Above all, don't act in a hurry. What do you intend to do about going home?"

"Oh! spare me, Rosina! Why, I have only just received these letters. I haven't thought of making plans. But who knows? If my presence in England is really necessary for business purposes, I may possibly take a trip home after the summer. But my absence will be only temporary. I shall return. While you are here, Rosina dear, Japan will always be my home."

"Well! there might be worse places," and Mrs. Rawlinson pulled down her veil, preparatory to departure, "in spite of slight drawbacks in the way of distance, typhoons, earthquakes, etc. By the way, I wanted to telephone to you on Wednesday after that awful shock, but the wires were disarranged. Were you frightened? Did you suffer much loss?"

"Several of my best pieces of Imari china were smashed," replied Pearl, "and I picked up my big Delft vase in fear and trembling. But it was uninjured, mercifully. Stranger still, this heavy bronze clock was thrown off the mantelpiece, and was still going when I picked it up. Frightened? I should think I was frightened. I and all the Japanese servants rushed into the garden, and watched the house rocking backwards and forwards, expecting every moment to see it collapse."

"It was the worst earthquake we've had for years," added Rosina, "but it was nothing here compared to what it was in the north. I see by the newspapers whole villages were destroyed, and there has been immense loss of life. Amy will have told you how Tom retired as usual under the table. And did you hear how those two American globe-trotters, those dear old Miss Mordants, each clutching her own particular Chin dog, fled precipitately from the Grand Hotel, clad in little else than their stockings and chemises, and took refuge in a _'ricksha_ in the middle of the Bund? Thus airily clad, with the hood down and the apron up, they insisted on remaining for several hours. And then poor Nelly Richards, who was completely lost, and at last, after a long search, was found up a tree in the garden. I am told no power in heaven or earth would induce her to desert her tree until dragged down by main force by her infuriated parent."

"Yes, even earthquakes have their comical side. I heard of a certain mutual friend of ours who was indulging in a bath at that moment, and who fled into the street adorned tastefully but extremely simply in a high hat and a walking-stick," and Pearl laughed, but a second later her face became once more overclouded, and she sighed deeply.

"Now my dear," said Rosina, as she took her in her arms and kissed her affectionately, "be your own brave philosophical self, and don't worry about things. And as for your late husband, the last thing you could possibly manage to do is to mourn him, you know. Personally, I make no attempt to disguise how greatly relieved I am that a merciful Providence has thought fit to remove him from this troublesome world to another, and,--we'll hope,--a brighter sphere. While he was alive, in spite of your divorce, one could never feel quite sure that he might not take it into that evil head of his to annoy you in some way. Why! who knows? He might have turned up here in Tokyo!"

"There may be, for all you think, a far worse danger threatening me than the unexpected arrival of a divorced husband," murmured Pearl oracularly.

She was on the verge of confiding to Rosina the probable arrival in Japan of Lord Martinworth. She would have done so if it had not been that, since those few confidential conversations held on Pearl's first arrival three years ago, the name and even the existence of Martinworth had, by a sort of tacit consent and mutual understanding, been ignored by the two women in all later intercourse. Pearl was longing for Rosina's sympathy and advice in the difficulties she saw before her, but an incipient feeling of shyness, a kind of _mauvaise honte_, prevented her from venturing to reopen a subject which for so long had been closed between them. She therefore held her peace.

"After all," she thought, as she seated herself at her writing table after Mrs. Rawlinson's departure, "it may simply be a mare's nest of Sir Ralph's. Dick may never come in the end. A thousand incidents may occur to cause him to change his mind. And even if he and his wife do come to Japan, it is just as likely we shall not meet. What scores of globe-trotters visit this country whom I never see. I can easily abstain for the next two or three months from accepting invitations to the English Legation, the one place where we are likely to run across each other. Yes, after all, I am glad I said nothing to Rosina."

And yet in spite of all her sophistries, deep down in her heart of hearts, Pearl never doubted for a moment but that it was ordained by fate that Dick Martinworth should visit Japan, and that once again, whether for weal or for woe she knew not, their paths in life should cross.

Mr. Hall's and Rosina's arguments combined carried weight, and the next mail conveyed a letter from Mrs. Nugent to the former, in which no mention was made of renouncing the wealth left her. Indeed, enclosed with the letter was the rough draft of a will, by which, with the exception of a very substantial legacy to Mrs. Rawlinson, and another to the old lawyer himself, the whole of Pearl's vast fortune was left unconditionally to her young cousin, Miss Amy Mendovy.