tints of autumn; he watched the blue wreaths of smoke, mounting up in tall ethereal columns from the old hall chimneys; he saw those purple hills in the distance, beyond which he first met Amy Somerton. Then he remembered the enumeration of her wishes so recently expressed--wishes that were a command to him--a command by the observance of which she would gauge his love. “She shall have no reason to complain,” he thought, as he came back again to the hall. “There may be some cruel plot of punishment for my neglect at the bottom of all this; it is a slight hope, a weak plank in the ocean of my disappointment, but I will cling to it for this day at least.” “Why did you run away?” said his lordship, when Lionel returned. “Did the Countess frighten you? We are waiting for luncheon. Cornington dines with us; he has just taken her ladyship in--come along, come along!” And the brothers, arm-in-arm, entered the luncheon-room, where Lord Cornington was just handing Lady Verner to her seat. The Countess never looked better than she did this morning, and she led the conversation in her best manner; her racy, humorous repartee reminded the Earl of his first introduction to her at Barton Hall. Lord Cornington thought her one of the most brilliant women he had ever met. Lionel Hammerton watched her, and replied to her sallies now and then with undisguised astonishment. Lord Verner was delighted with his wife, proud of her wit, proud of her beauty, proud of himself that she was his wife. None of them saw that weary, haggard look which Amy saw an hour afterwards in the glass, when she had retired to her room. She was a fine actress, and she knew it; but the effort now was a severe strain upon her nervous system. She had hoped until yesterday that she would not be called upon to act again for a long time to come. Gratitude and respect had been ripening into love for her husband; but she would never be herself so long as Lionel Hammerton remained. She was beset with fear and alarm; fear lest her husband should discover the love that had once existed between herself and his brother; fear arising from her own conscience, burthened with the knowledge of the revenge she had sought and obtained; alarm lest she should fall in the estimation of her husband. This was the greatest fear of all; the idea of losing one jot of that love and admiration which he had lavished upon her, was torture. Her own fidelity and truth were safe; she never for a moment doubted her strength to maintain her own self-respect as Earl Verner’s wife; but there was a wretched spell upon her, with Hammerton in the house, which made his presence a torment far greater than she could have dreamed of. All those first passionate feelings of triumph and revenge which had supported her during that time of Lord Verner’s courtship, had vanished long since, and now she only prayed for peace.