"I am anxious about her too," returned her husband, "but don't mistake me. I am far from meaning to infer that I don't think well of Chancellor. He's by no means a bad fellow, but neither is he a piece of manly perfection, as I fancy Eugenia imagines. She really is so silly, Sydney, so extreme and exaggerated, I am afraid she is sure to have a grand smash some day. She rushes into things so frantically, and it would be perfect waste of breath to try to make her hear reason. And think how little she and Chancellor really know of each other." "You don't need to remind me of that," said Sydney, sadly. "Still I hardly see that a longer engagement would have mended matters. They could not have seen much of each other now he is at Bridgenorth, and after all--" "After all, all marriages are a good deal of a toss-up," said Frank, lightly, "ours of course excepted. But don't fret yourself about Eugenia. She and everyone else must learn their own lessons, I suppose, and I don't see that there is anything to be done to help her." Sydney sighed and said no more. There was a mixture of truth in what Frank said, but yet on this one subject the sympathy between herself and Gerald was greater than she found in her husband, only, unfortunately, her knowledge of her brother-in-law's secret forbade her appealing to him for comfort or advice. So she was fain to keep her fears to herself and try to see her sister's future as hopefully as she could. And time went on; the days and weeks flew rapidly by and the marriage-day drew near. On the Sunday preceding it Captain Chancellor came over from Bridgenorth for a few hours. It seemed to Eugenia that he looked out of spirits. "Is anything the matter?" she asked anxiously, when they were alone together. He looked a little surprised at her inquiry. "What makes you think there is?" he answered, it seemed to her evasively. "No, there is nothing the matter--except, oh yes, by-the-bye, I must not forget to tell you--you will be sorry to hear my sister cannot be with us on Thursday after all." "Your sister, Mrs Eyrecourt," exclaimed Eugenia. "Oh, I am so sorry!" She hardly liked to ask the reason of this sudden change of intention; Beauchamp was far from communicative about his family affairs, and Eugenia knew little of Mrs Eyrecourt beyond her name. "Yes," he replied, "it is a pity. I only heard from her this morning. And oh, by-the-bye, she enclosed a note for you, not knowing your address." He felt for his pocket-book, which contained the note. It was a mere civil expression of apology for being obliged at the last to give up thoughts of being present at the ceremony; it began "Dear Miss Laurence," and ended "Yours sincerely." The reason given for her unavoidable absence was "the serious illness of a near relative." Eugenia looked puzzled. "A near relative--" she said, inquiringly. "Some one on Mr Eyrecourt's side of the house, I suppose."