"I do not believe he will annoy you again," said Celine, confidently. "He has found out that you are honest, and he will be afraid to pursue you any further. The child is so pleased with you it would be a pity to forsake her. You may take my word for it that monsieur is too much afraid of his wife to bother you again. Why, she is so jealous that if she knew her husband had kissed you, she would want to cut your ears off." Golden shivered at Celine's vivid words. "It is better I should go, then," she said, with a sigh. "I would not, for the world, create trouble between husband and wife." "You had better stay," said Celine. "I shall not tell of you, and you may be pretty sure master won't. So Mrs. Desmond need never know." "It is better I should go," said Golden, decidedly; and then she threw herself down upon a lounge and burst into tears. "Oh! why are women so weak, and men so cruel?" she wildly sobbed. "It's their nature," replied Celine, but Golden made her no answer. She only continued to weep heart-brokenly. "I am the most miserable girl on earth," she sobbed. "I wish that I had never been born!" The maid's curiosity was greatly excited by Golden's words. She knelt down by the girl and inquired the cause of her sorrow, and promised her her friendship and advice if she would confide in her. But in Golden's pure mind there was an instinctive distrust of Celine. Her ready acceptance of her master's bribe had excited her disgust and dislike. She answered evasively that she had nothing to confide, and only desired to be left in peace. "Oh, very well, miss," replied the maid, "you can be left alone, I'm sure, but you'll find that it's better to make a friend of Celine Duval than an enemy." She flounced out of the room as she spoke, and Golden was left alone to the companionship of her own sad thoughts. She lay silently a long while looking at the portrait of Bertram Chesleigh, and weeping bitter tears over her unhappy fate. How beautiful and life-like was the picture! The blissful hours she had spent with the original rushed over her mind, making the contrast with the gloom of the present more harrowing. She found herself exclaiming: "Oh, that those lips had language--life has passed With me but roughly since I heard them last." But no sound came from the lips of the false-hearted lover, who had given her a few hours of happiness only to leave her to the darkness of despair. CHAPTER XXII. Golden had quite decided in her mind that she would rather leave Mrs. Desmond at once, than risk a renewal of her husband's distasteful attentions, but little Ruby's first words on returning from her drive, dispelled the idea for the present at least from her thoughts. "Oh, Mary!" the little one had cried, with childish directness, as soon as she entered the room. "Oh, Mary! I have heard bad news!" "I am very sorry for you, dear," said Golden, gently. Ruby looked up into the face of her uncle, where it hung against the wall.