the consciousness of my own contemptible conduct. I went to my
bed in despair; and through the wakeful night I weakly cursed the
fatal evening at the river-side when I had met her for the first
time. But revile her as I might, despise myself as I might, I
loved her--I loved her still!

Among the letters laid on my table the next morning there were
two which must find their place in this narrative.

The first letter was in a handwriting which I had seen once
before, at the hotel in Edinburgh. The writer was Mrs. Van
Brandt.

"For your own sake" (the letter ran) "make no attempt to see me,
and take no notice of an invitation which I fear you will receive
with this note. I am living a degraded life. I have sunk beneath
your notice. You owe it to yourself, sir, to forget the miserable
woman who now writes to you for the last time, and bids you
gratefully a last farewell."

Those sad lines were signed in initials only. It is needless to
say that they merely strengthened my resolution to see her at all
hazards. I kissed the paper on which her hand had rested, and
then I turned to the second letter. It contained the "invitation"
to which my correspondent had alluded, and it was expressed in
these terms:

"Mr. Van Brandt presents his compliments to Mr. Germaine, and
begs to apologize for the somewhat abrupt manner in which he
received Mr. Germaine's polite advances. Mr. Van Brandt suffers
habitually from nervous irritability, and he felt particularly
ill last night. He trusts Mr. Germaine will receive this candid
explanation in the spirit in which it is offered; and he begs to
add that Mrs. Van Brandt will be delighted to receive Mr.
Germaine whenever he may find it convenient to favor her with a
visit."

That Mr. Van Brandt had some sordid interest of his own to serve
in writing this grotesquely impudent composition, and that the
unhappy woman who bore his name was heartily ashamed of the
proceeding on which he had ventured, were conclusions easily
drawn after reading the two letters. The suspicion of the man and
of his motives which I naturally felt produced no hesitation in
my mind as to the course which I had determined to pursue. On the
contrary, I rejoiced that my way to an interview with Mrs. Van
Brandt was smoothed, no matter with what motives, by Mr. Van
Brandt himself.

I waited at home until noon, and then I could wait no longer.
Leaving a message of excuse for my mother (I had just sense of
shame enough left to shrink from facing her), I hastened away to
profit by my invitation on the very day when I received it.

CHAPTER XIV.

MRS. VAN BRANDT AT HOME.

As I lifted my hand to ring the house bell, the door was opened
from within, and no less a person than Mr. Van Brandt himself
stood before me. He had his hat on. We had evidently met just as
he was going out.

"My dear sir, how good this is of you! You present the best of
all replies to my letter in presenting yourself. Mrs. Van Brandt
is at home. Mrs. Van Brandt will be delighted. Pray walk in."

He threw open the door of a room on the ground-floor. His
politeness was (if possible) even more offensive than his
insolence. "Be seated, Mr. Germaine, I beg of you." He turned to
the open door, and called up the stairs, in a loud and confident
voice:

"Mary! come down directly."

"Mary"! I knew her Christian name at last, and knew it through
Van Brandt. No words can tell how the name jarred on me, spoken
by his lips. For the first time for years past my mind went back
to Mary Dermody and Greenwater Broad. The next moment I heard the
rustling of Mrs. Van Brandt's dress on the stairs. As the sound
caught my ear, the old times and the old faces vanished again
from my thoughts as completely as if they had never existed. What
had _she_ in common with the frail, shy little child, her
namesake, of other days? What similarity was perceivable in the
sooty London lodging-house to remind me of the bailiff's
flower-scented cottage by the shores of the lake?

Van Brandt took off his hat, and bowed to me with sickening
servility.

"I have a business appointment," he said, "which it is impossible
to put off. Pray excuse me. Mrs. Van Brandt will do the honors.
Good morning."

The house door opened and closed again. The rustling of the dress
came slowly nearer and nearer. She stood before me.

"Mr. Germaine!" she exclaimed, starting back, as if the bare
sight of me repelled her. "Is this honorable? Is this worthy of
you? You allow me to be entrapped into receiving you, and you
accept as your accomplice Mr. Van Brandt! Oh, sir, I have


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