"Pardon me; but may I ask your name—I told you mine," said I, laying my hand on hers. She coloured deeply, almost painfully. It was but the hectic flush of a moment, and when it passed away she became pale as marble. "Captain Norcliff, I think you said?" "Yes; Newton Calderwood Norcliff—and yours?" "Agnes Auriol." "Good heavens!" I almost exclaimed, as the whole mystery of her life and manner burst with a new light upon me. So my mysterious incognita was that poor girl of whom the mess had whispered. Berkeley’s mistress—Agnes Auriol—the girl whose letter—a heart-breaking one, likely—he had dropped at Calderwood, and which he had burned so carefully when I restored it to him. So _his_ were the initials that were on the gold locket at her neck, and _his_ were the forage cap and cigar which had attracted my attention on first entering the cottage parlour. It was certainly an awkward situation for me, this self-introduction and visit. If discovered there, I knew not how far it might compromise me with him, and still more with others whose opinion I valued. And as thoughts of the Chillinghams and of the mess flashed upon me, I felt that I would gladly have changed places with Sinbad on the whale’s back, or Daniel in the lion’s den. *CHAPTER XVII.* Oh, for the wings we used to wear, When the heart was like a bird, And floated through the summer air, And painted all it looked on fair, And sung to all it heard! When fancy put the seal of truth On all the promises of youth! HERVEY. To have introduced myself abruptly to Mr. De Warr Berkeley’s wedded wife, if he had one, might be explained away satisfactorily enough; but to present myself to Miss Auriol, related as she was to him, there could be no palliation whatever, and in duelling days could have led to but one result—the pistol! Something of what passed in my mind, together with an air of bewilderment, must have been apparent in my face, for the young lady, after gazing at me earnestly, as if her clear and bright, but dark blue eyes would read my very soul, looked suddenly down, and said, while her colour came and went, and her bosom heaved painfully— "I can perceive, Captain Norcliff, that my name explains much to you; but not all—oh no! not all. There are secrets in my short but wretched life that you can never learn—secrets known to God and to myself alone!" "It really explains nothing to me, Miss Auriol," I replied with a smile, being willing to relieve her embarrassment, by affecting ignorance of that which the whole mess knew—her ambiguous position; "for I am not aware that—that we ever met before." "But you have heard, perhaps—you know Mr. Berkeley?" "Of ours—yes; he was in Scotland with me a few weeks ago." "That I know too well for my own peace," said the girl, coughing spasmodically, and applying her handkerchief to her mouth. "He is frequently in this quarter, is he not?" "Yes."