"But do nothing rsshly. Wait yet, until every doubt is cleared up. Do not see Violet yet; promise me this."
"I promise, Martin."
"Have I done rightly?" Martin asked himself, as he stood once more alone, very pale, and with a strange light in his eyes. "Has there been any i false leaven in my counsel? Has this love in my heart betrayed me—turned me false to him? Has any dream,—any insane jealous fancy prompted me to part this man and wife? Have I built any shameful hope upon that separation? Heaven for give me if this has been so! Let me think think! No. I cannot be guilty of this systematic villany. It must be right that they should part. I am brought no nearer to her; it may be that I shall never even see her again. Perhaps it will be better so. No. I could not wrong my friend, or her, by counselling a course which severs them from happiness for ever, which will bring upon her a grief almost more than she can bear. Poor Violet! No, my love is hopeless now as it has ever been. I do not profit by this sorrow. She must know her dreadful doom. We must be just before all things: yet I would die willingly to spare her the pain of To know that she is not Wilford's wife—that another has a better claim to that title—and that child, of whom she is so proud, upon whom she lavishes all a mother's rapture and fondness, that child is! It is too dreadful! That quiet, peaceful home wrecked forever! It will kill her!"
He started up.
"What am I thinking about? She may know all this already! What was it that man, Phillimore, told me in Freer Street last night? That she had gone! His Madonna, as he called her. Can she have known, suspected anything of Wilford's story? I dared not speak to him of this; it was more than he could bear. If he goes to Freer Street to find that Violet has already left him! I must see to this. Yet there are other things to look to." (He opened his pocket-book.) "This clergyman, too, must be traced out. How? What if the marriage should be invalid? But even if this man had been suspended would that fact necessarily invalidate any marriage he might solemnize? It is a question of ecclesiastical law, I suppose. How rusty one's learning grows on these subjects! Yet the chance—every chance—must be seen to. I suppose the thing is provided for in the Church Discipline Act, though I'm sure I don't recollect its provisions. If necessary I must consult my friend Jordan, the solicitor."
Then his eye fell upon the playbill. He began reading it aloud.
"Mademoiselle Stephanie Boisfleury, première danseuse, &c. &c."
With a care that was half unconscious he went through the programme of the entertainment at the Theatre Royal, Long Acre, from the first line to the last.
"I have a great curiosity to see this woman," he said, musingly.
THE MAJOR'S DAUGHTER.
It was rather a gay scene at the judge's house, in Kurrackpore, at the beginning of the cool season. about three years ago. The rooms were brilliantly lighted, and the guests were arriving fast, so that the broad open space in the front of the house was crowded with buggies and palkis, and their swarthy attendants.
Society generally stagnates in India during the hot season. People exist as they best can, close their blinds and windows, and make it their grand object in life to keep out the scorching winds. But the hot season had passed, the rains had come and gone, and Kurrackpore society roused itself from its torpid state to an interchange of friendly meetings, which were to be inaugurated by this assembly, at the house of Mr. Grove, the judge. Every one was there, that is to say, every one who was recognised as anybody at all, both civilian and military. There was an additional interest about the party, because the Major's daughter, who had just come out from England, was expected to make her first appearance there; and as young ladies were a decided novelty, there was a great amount of amusing speculation about her.
"I think I shall consign Miss Vinrace to you when she comes," Mrs. Grove said to the wife of a young civilian. "You must make her know everybody: and I can trust you for finding out what she is made of," she added, laughing.
"Don't give me credit for too much penetration," rejoined Mrs. Stanley; "but I suppose she is little more than a schoolgirl?"
"It will be a wonder if she reaches your standard. But here she comes with the Major and his wife." And the busy, kind-hearted Mrs. Grove started up to receive them.
Major Vinrace was tall and portly, his hair was almost white, and his face beamed with kindness and good-humour. His wife looked pleasant and matronly, but rather worn with a long Indian life. Every one turned to look at Clara Vinrace, and every one looked twice. The sight of the bright young girl, fresh from England, brought a home-feeling to all their hearts. She was slight and fair, with soft brown hair, taken back simply from her face, and a bright colour in her cheeks, but the eyes formed the great charm of her face, such merry, honest eyes there was no resisting them. She was dressed in simple white muslin, with sash and trimmings of blue, and altogether formed a delightful contrast to the more gorgeous toilet of some of the elder ladies.
Miss Vinrace was soon engaged for the next quadrille, and, after dancing till she was tired, she found herself seated quietly on a couch by Mrs. Stanley, who amused her with rapid and good-humouredly satirical sketches of the different people as they passed near them.
"That stout lady is Mrs. A., who has not an idea in her head, or sufficient energy to learn Hindustanee, in order to manage her servants. That tall young officer with the yellow moustache is Lieutenant B., who is always making bad jokes.