The Emancipated | Page 5

greenhouse. He is irreclaimable; the worst

character that ever came under my notice; he shall not set foot on the
premises. If he is in want, he has only himself to blame. I do not like to
think of his wife suffering, but it is the attribute of sins such as his that
they involve the innocent with the guilty; and then she has shown
herself so wretchedly weak. Try, however, to help her secretly if her
distress becomes too acute.
"It was impertinent in Mrs. Walker to make such reference to me in
public. This is the result of my absence and helplessness. I shall write
to her--two lines."
A flush had risen to her cheek, and in adding the last two words she all
but pierced through the thin note-paper. Then her hand trembled so
much that she was obliged to pause. At the same moment there
sounded a tap at the door, and, on Mrs. Baske's giving permission, a
lady entered. This was Mrs. Spence, a cousin of the young widow; she
and her husband had an apartment here in the Villa Sannazaro, and
were able to devote certain rooms to the convenience of their relative
during her stay at Naples. Her age was about thirty; she had a graceful
figure, a manner of much refinement, and a bright, gentle, intellectual
face, which just now bore an announcement of news.
"They have arrived!"
"Already?" replied the other, in a tone of civil interest.
"They decided not to break the journey after Genoa. Cecily and Mrs.
Lessingham are too tired to do anything but get settled in their rooms,
but Mr. Mallard has come to tell us."
Miriam laid down her pen, and asked in the same voice as before:
"Shall I come?"
"If you are not too busy." And Mrs. Spence added, with a smile, "I
should think you must have a certain curiosity to see each other, after
so long an acquaintance at secondhand."
"I will come in a moment."
Mrs. Spence left the room. For a minute Miriam sat reflecting, then
rose. In moving towards the door she chanced to see her image in a
mirror--two of a large size adorned the room--and it checked her step;
she regarded herself gravely, and passed a smoothing hand over the
dark hair above her temples.
By a corridor she reached her friends' sitting-room, where Mrs. Spence
sat in the company of two gentlemen. The elder of these was Edward

Spence. His bearded face, studious of cast and small-featured, spoke a
placid, self-commanding character; a lingering smile, and the pleasant
wrinkles about his brow, told of a mind familiar with many by-ways of
fancy and reflection. His companion, a man of five-and-thirty, had a far
more striking countenance. His complexion was of the kind which used
to be called adust--burnt up with inner fires; his visage was long and
somewhat harshly designed, very apt, it would seem, to the expression
of hitter ironies or stern resentments, but at present bright with friendly
pleasure. He had a heavy moustache, but no beard; his hair tumbled in
disorder. To matters of costume he evidently gave little thought, for his
clothes, though of the kind a gentleman would wear in travelling, had
seen their best days, and the waistcoat even lacked one of its buttons;
his black necktie was knotted into an indescribable shape, and the ends
hung loose.
Him Mrs. Spence at once presented to her cousin as "Mr. Mallard." He
bowed ungracefully; then, with a manner naturally frank but
constrained by obvious shyness, took the hand Miriam held to him.
"We are scarcely strangers, Mr. Mallard," she said in a self-possessed
tone, regarding him with steady eyes.
"Miss Doran has spoken of you frequently on the journey," he replied,
knitting his brows into a scowl as he smiled and returned her look.
"Your illness made her very anxious. You are much better, I hope?"
"Much, thank you."
Allowance made for the difference of quality in their voices, Mrs.
Baske and Mallard resembled each other in speech. They had the same
grave note, the same decision.
"They must be very tired after their journey," Miriam added, seating
herself.
"Miss Doran seems scarcely so at all; but Mrs. Lessingham is rather
over-wearied, I'm afraid."
"Why didn't you break the journey at Florence or Rome?" asked Mrs.
Spence.
"I proposed it, but other counsels prevailed. All through Italy Miss
Doran was distracted between desire to get to Naples and misery at not
being able to see the towns we passed. At last she buried herself in the
'Revue des Deux Mondes,' and refused even to look out of the
window."

"I suppose we may go and see her in the morning?" said Miriam.
"My express instructions are," replied Mallard, "that you are on no
account