LADY ALICE'S SUSPICION.

The next day was a fine one. The sun was shining brightly, the sky was a deep transparent blue, and as Frederick walked through the park on his way to the Kingsbury mansion he stopped several times to enjoy the cool morning air. The trees were clothed in all the fresh beauty of their spring garments, dew was sparkling like diamonds on the velvetry lawns, where flocks of sheep were peacefully grazing, and the still sheet of water of the Serpentine flashed like a mirror in the bright morning light. Great rose-bushes, with their sweet-smelling pink, red, and white blossoms, perfumed the air, while the paths were bordered with a rainbow of many-colored flowers, over which yellow butterflies were hovering. In the distance there was a kind of dim silvery haze hanging midway between heaven and earth, and through its gauzy vail the tall clumps of trees and bushes looked almost fairy-like and unreal.

As he reached the Marble Arch Frederick espied an old beggar woman who was squatting outside on the pavement close to the park railings. She was a repulsive-looking object. Her face was seamed and lined with numerous wrinkles, clearly defined by the dirt which was in them; her bushy gray eyebrows were drawn frowningly over her watery, red-rimmed blue eyes; her nose was hooked like the beak of a bird of prey, and from her thin-lipped mouth two yellow tusks protruded, like those of a wild boar.

Frederick, with one of those momentary contrasts which made him so difficult to understand, stopped in front of the old crone and dropped a guinea into her palm. She raised one skinny hand to shade her eyes and looked curiously at the generous stranger.

“Thank ye, my lord,” muttered she.

“You'll drink it,” I suppose, said Frederick, gazing at her inflamed nose and sunken cheeks, which bore unmistakable signs of debauchery.

“Werry likely,” retorted the hag with a grin; “I'm a fortune to the public 'ouse, I am. And it's the only pleasure I 'ave in my blooming life, blarst it!”

Ignoring this polite speech, the young man directed his steps to the Kingsbury residence, and was ushered by the groom of the chambers into the morning-room of the marchioness. It was a long, low apartment, oak-paneled, and had an embossed and emblazoned ceiling from which silver lamps of old Italian work hung by silver chains. The blinds were drawn down, and the hues of the tapestry, of the ivories which stood here and there on the carved brackets, of the paintings on the walls, and of the embroideries on the satin furniture, made a rich chiaro-oscuro of color. Large baskets and vases full of roses and lilies rendered the air heavy with their intoxicating odor.

Frederick sat down on a low couch to await the mistress of the house. His brows were knit and he murmured to himself abstractedly.

“Do they know it already? Hardly yet, I should think. Well, I must make bonne contenance if I wish to win the game. By Heaven! it's worth the candle.”

He had been brooding in this fashion for some ten minutes, when the door opened, and Lady Kingsbury, wrapped in a loose gown of olive-colored cashmere, with a profusion of old lace at her breast, and open sleeves, entered the room. She was very pale, and her still beautiful eyes showed traces of weeping.

She advanced toward Frederick with outstretched hands, saying in a broken, unsteady voice:

“Pardon me for keeping you waiting, my dear count. But this terrible misfortune has upset me so much that I am quite ill and ought not to have left my room.”

“Good Heaven! my dear Lady Kingsbury, what has happened?” exclaimed Frederick, with an air of the most profound surprise.

“Oh! it is too, too awful! My poor, poor Alice! Colonel Clery has been found dead in his room this morning!”

“Dead! dead! Colonel Clery! Great God! Why, I left him in perfect health a few hours ago! What could have caused his death?”

“Heart disease, I presume; though nobody who saw him would ever have believed him to be subject thereto. When his servant entered his rooms this morning he found him lying on the lounge, still wearing his evening dress. Surprised at such a proceeding on the part of a man who was as regular and methodical in his habits as was his master, the valet approached the sofa and attempted to rouse him. But he was dead! and the doctor, who was immediately called in, declared that he must have been so for some hours,” concluded Lady Kingsbury, bursting into fresh tears.

“This is really terrible,” said Frederick, with a display of considerable emotion. “I cannot tell you how shocked I am! One could not help being fond of Colonel Clery. He was a man in a thousand, and though our acquaintance was so short I feel his loss as that of an old and dear friend. Will you think me indiscreet if I ask how Lady Alice bears this crushing blow?”

“Don't talk about it,” sobbed the marchioness, “I almost fear that she will go out of her mind. Her otherwise cold and indifferent nature was centered in Charlie, whom she had loved for several years. Her father at first objected to the match, having looked higher for his eldest daughter. But he had to give way before the unwavering constancy of the two young people. I don't know what is to become of Alice now. It breaks my very heart to see her silent despair!”

“I will not keep you away from her any longer. She needs your loving care and sympathy,” said Frederick, rising. “I trust that you will forgive my intrusion on your sorrow, and that you will tell me frankly if I can be of any use to you. Dispose of me entirely. You have been so kind to me that I should deem it a great favor to be able to be of service to you.”

“Thank you so much, my dear M. de Vaugelade. It is very kind of you to say so. Don't think that I am sending you away. I hope you will come soon again, but I really am afraid that I cannot bear much more this morning.”

Kissing her hand, Frederick bowed himself out and was slowly descending the wide staircase when he heard himself called by name.

Turning himself quickly round he saw Lady Alice standing at the head of the stairs and beckoning to him. Was this the bright and happy girl whom he had left but a few hours ago? Her head leaned backward against the high, carved panel of the wall, her face was deadly pale and cold, and had the immutability of a mask of stone. Other women might moan aloud in their misery and curse their fate, but she was one of those who choke down their hearts in silence and conceal their death-wounds.

A few steps brought Frederick to her side. He did not dare to salute her, for it seemed to him as if her whole being shrank within her as she saw him there. Without looking at him, she spoke in a voice quite firm though it was faint from feebleness.

“I have but little to say to you. I want only to ask you, how and where you parted last night with—with—him?”

She almost lost her self-control. Her lips trembled and she pressed her hand on her breast.

Frederick staggered slightly, as if under some sword-stroke from an unseen hand. A great faintness came upon him. For a moment he was speechless and mute. She looked up at him steadily once. Then she spoke again in that cold, forced, measured voice which seemed to his ear as hard and pitiless as the strokes of an iron hammer.

“I ask you how you parted with him?”

With a mighty effort he broke the spell which held him mute, and murmured, with a suffocated sound in his voice, as though some hand were clutching at his throat:

“I left him well and happy. Why do you ask me? I know nothing more.”

“Are you so sure of that?” she asked, fixing her cold eyes upon him.

“Lady Alice! what do you mean?” exclaimed Frederick, who, seeing the danger, was regaining his entire self-possession.

“Nothing,” she answered wearily. “Go. It is best so. I must have time—time to think.”

She passed her hand over her forehead twice, as if in pain, and he, bowing low, walked down stairs blindly, not knowing whither he went. Mechanically he reached the entrance, passed the threshold, and went out into the bright spring sunlight.