Then Staines tried to comfort her; assured her she was tormenting herself idly; her husband would perhaps have spent some of the diamond money on his amusement; but what if he had? he should deduct it out of the big diamond, which was also their joint property, and the loss would hardly be felt. “As to my wife, madam, I have but one anxiety; lest he should go blurting it out that I am alive, and almost kill her with joy.” “He will not do that, sir. He is no fool.” “I am glad of it; for there is nothing else to fear.” “Man, I tell you there is everything to fear. You don't know him as I do; nor his power over women.” “Mrs. Falcon, are you bent on affronting me?” “No, sir; Heaven forbid!” “Then please to close this subject forever. In three weeks we shall be in England.” “Ay; but he has been there six months.” He bowed stiffly to her, went to his cabin, and avoided the poor foolish woman as much as he could without seeming too unkind. CHAPTER XXVI. Mrs. Staines made one or two movements--to stop Lord Tadcaster--with her hand, that expressive feature with which, at such times, a sensitive woman can do all but speak. When at last he paused for her reply, she said, “Me marry again! Oh! for shame!” “Mrs. Staines--Rosa--you will marry again, some day.” “Never. Me take another husband, after such a man as I have lost! I should be a monster. Oh, Lord Tadcaster, you have been so kind to me; so sympathizing. You made me believe you loved my Christopher, too; and now you have spoiled all. It is too cruel.” “Oh! Mrs. Staines, do you think me capable of feigning--don't you see my love for you has taken you by surprise? But how could I visit you--look on you--hear you--mingle my regrets with yours; yours were the deepest, of course; but mine were honest.” “I believe it.” And she gave him her hand. He held it, and kissed it, and cried over it, as the young will, and implored her, on his knees, not to condemn herself to life-long widowhood, and him to despair. Then she cried, too; but she was firm; and by degrees she made him see that her heart was inaccessible. Then at last he submitted with tearful eyes, but a valiant heart. She offered friendship timidly. But he was too much of a man to fall into that trap. “No,” he said: “I could not, I could not. Love or nothing.” “You are right,” said she, pityingly. “Forgive me. In my selfishness and my usual folly, I did not see this coming on, or I would have spared you this mortification.” “Never mind that,” gulped the little earl. “I shall always be proud I knew you, and proud I loved you, and offered you my hand.” Then the magnanimous little fellow blessed her, and left her, and discontinued his visits. Mr. Lusignan found her crying, and got the truth out of her. He was in despair. He remonstrated kindly, but firmly. Truth compels me to say that she politely ignored him. He observed that phenomenon, and said, “Very well then, I shall telegraph for Uncle Philip.”