A footman meets him at the door with the information that her ladyship awaits him in the morning-room, and thither, still in a dream, Sir Roland rapidly proceeds. As he enters the apartment he starts back, thunderstruck with amazement. A lady stands upon the hearthrug—a woman delicately fair, and very lovely, though still too thin and pale, and with tears of expectation and suspense within her eyes. She is robed in black velvet, fitting closely to her graceful figure—at her throat and wrists are falls of Venetian lace—and her dainty feet are cased in silk stockings and buckled shoes. Her golden hair cut short upon her brow, is piled in innumerable little curls upon the top of her head, which grow longer and longer until they lay in a flossy mass upon her neck and shoulders. For a moment, Sir Roland gazes at this unlooked-for apparition in utter silence. ‘Husband!’ says Juliet shyly, ‘don’t you know me?’ ‘My dearest!’ he exclaims, rushing forward and clasping her in his arms; ‘how beautiful you have become.’ Then, with the touch of his arms and lips, all her womanhood asserts itself, and she casts herself, sobbing, on his breast. ‘Oh, Roland! forgive me! forgive me! Take me back and love me as you used to do!’ ‘What have I to forgive you, darling?’ ‘All my ill-temper and impatience and want of fortitude. I bore our lot so badly—I did not deserve to have it bettered—and now that prosperity has come to us, I feel it will be worthless without your love.’ ‘But you have my love, Juliet! you have never lost it. The ills and discomforts of poverty soured my nature, and made me behave like a brute to you; but my heart has been yours through it all, dearest wife, and I have never been more convinced of the fact than during our present separation.’ She looks up at him and smiles—oh! such a heavenly smile of renewed happiness and hope. ‘And, Roland, you are quite, _quite_ sure that you love me best of all the world! That there is no other woman dearer to you than myself?’ He has just _one_ twinge as she puts the question to him; but men are used to twinges, and he can answer honestly,— ‘Not _one_, my love!—not a single one! nor ever shall be. Take your husband’s word for it, and let us resolve from this moment to banish the painful memory of the Past, and live for each other only in the Future.’ * * * * * And so they have and do, and there is only one thing that Lady Tresham cannot understand, which is Sir Roland’s rooted aversion to Lady Ernest Freemantle. He will not let his wife invite her down to Tresham Court, although she has often hinted she would like to visit them, and all the excuse he can give for his conduct is that he does not choose to cultivate the lady’s acquaintance. So the matter rests, and as long as Sir Roland does not renew it, there is no need he should confess the little scene that took place in the gondola on the moonlighted Venice canal. THE END. [Illustration]