"She said you were not willing to see me, but that she would give you my messages and explanations," said the little man, thinking it would be best for his friend (and not much caring what it would be for other people) to have it all out at once, while he was as about it; "and that she would send me a note to the club, where I was staying, in the evening, or instruct you to do so. She had already told me that you were re-engaged to--a--your present husband. At night I got the letter, in which she repeated this assertion, stating that you had empowered her to do so." "And you went and told him that?" "I did not go and tell him that--for I did not want to kill him--until I had taken every possible precaution to get it corroborated." "Yes?" ejaculated Rachel, breathlessly. "I obtained an introduction to Mr. Kingston at the club, and I asked him on his honour to tell me if what Mrs. Hardy had said was true." "You told him why you wanted to know?" "I did." She stood still for a few seconds to collect her strength; whole years of effort and agony were concentrated in that little interval. "Shall you be going back to Queensland soon?" she asked quietly. "I am going back to-morrow," he said--though he had not previously thought of doing so. "Tell him when you see him--tell him from me--that I never knew _anything_--never, never, from the day I saw him last until to-night." "It will break his heart to hear it, Mrs. Kingston." "No--he will be glad to know that I was not utterly base. And I--I want him to know it." "And shall I--_can_ I--tell him that you were really not engaged when they said you were--when he thought you were waiting for him?" She flushed deeply and drew herself up with a little stately gesture. "He will not wish you to go into those particulars, Mr. Gordon. If you will give him my message simply, that is all I want you to do. He will understand it. Will you take me back to the ball-room now? I should like to find my cousin, Mrs. Reade." CHAPTER V. A CRISIS. As nature makes us, so to a great extent, the most of us remain, when education has done its very best, or its very worst, to modify the great mother's handiwork. Her patterns, of which no one ever saw the original designs, and that have been unknown centuries a-weaving, cannot be sensibly altered in the infinitesimal fragment that one human lifetime represents, though every thread of circumstance, in its right or wrong adjustment, must have its value in the ultimate product, whatever that unimaginable thing may be. Still, in the individual man or woman, here and there, the type that he or she belongs to is temporarily obscured by accidental causes; the lines of character, laid down by many forefathers, are twisted or straightened by violent wrenchings of irresponsible fate--as in less important branches of nature's business her processes are interrupted by lightning and earthquakes, and other rebellious forces.