stormy spirit; for, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, quite unaccountable to any one who had just heard and seen him, he cast himself at his wife's feet, and clutched her dress—as he implored her pardon, and lavished on her every fond word and endearing epithet that the heart of the most devoted lover could have devised. He even dropped scalding tears of repentance on her cold hands; and reproached himself for his recent conduct, in language which was almost as violent as that which he had just now addressed to her, though more carefully chosen. After the first feeling of utter amazement, when it appeared that Sir Harry's sudden movement (which he had at first tried to intercept as dangerous) was one of penitence, not wrath-this aspect of the Baronet's character was hardly less repugnant to Frank than the other had been. He looked on the grovelling, self-abased creature before

him with a contempt which was as keen, in its way, as had been the passionate indignation called forth by the sight of Sir Harry's maniacal outburst of rage.

How did Lady Carew feel? Was the wife propitiated, and her injured feelings appeased, by these signs of her husband's contrition and love? Frank dared not look at her; for her own sake he shrank from meeting her eyes.

He need not have been afraid. She stood like one carved out of stone; she might have been the lifeless recipient of the evidences of emotion which she herself was incapable of feeling. Her eyes were almost blank in their dull, dark gaze; and the events of that night appeared to have exhausted her sensations into a kind of torpor of the soul. When Sir Harry rose and released her hands, she sank upon the nearest seat.

Her husband turned to the young man

standing by, and addressed him in words of stammering, incoherent gratitude-calling Frank his good angel, and expressing his thankfulness that Heaven should have called him in at such a moment-and seemed likely to fall at his feet also; but the other shrank back from such an embarrassing honour.

Would he come to-morrow-to-morrow morning -to be thanked? Sir Harry could not thank him properly to-night; he was upset and unnerved - but would Leslie promise to come to-morrow without fail?

Frank promised hastily; it seemed the only thing to do-the only way to escape from the painful situation.

He looked at Zara, doubtful whether to take any farewell of her or not. She seemed to feel the slight pause caused by his momentary irresolution; for she raised her eyes from the carpet, and her set lips

appeared to form some words. He bent his head to her, and went away.

In the hall the butler was ready to let him out-with that air of complete unconsciousness, and utter indifference to everything going on around him, which is at once the characteristic, and highest accomplishment of his class.

CHAPTER XXI.

ACROSS THE GULF.

That comfort comes too late,

'Tis like a pardon after execution."

It was not till after much self-debate, and many demurs, that Frank Leslie made up his mind to fulfil the promise extracted from him the night before, and call upon Sir Harry Carew. A request made and acceded to, under such circumstances, could scarcely, he felt, be considered binding; and, besides that, what was any request from such a changeable madman worth? An interview between them might only produce unpleasant results, and serve to remind the Baronet of what he was now doubtless only anxious to forget; Frank would not farther interfere between