THE gates of silence between Jem and Vernon were now not only closed, but locked.

Upon reflection, he could not but think, since the slander against him was current, and since she had had so much to do with the personages concerned, that she must have heard it. He, poor fool, had thought that, in dispelling her false ideas respecting his feeling for Mrs. Trent, he had knocked down the barrier between them. But here was one far deadlier and more sinister-one which he could not push, nor shake, nor so much as touch upon, with her.

For a moment, so sore was his need that he had thoughts of going to his aunt and appealing to her. He was sure that she would not have heard anything of the kind herself, or that, having heard, she would give no credit to such a tale. For she, as he firmly believed, knew his secret-knew the feeling for Vernon which was consuming him. When he had avowed his intention of going away, she had not seemed surprised. She had wept, had shown a depth of sympathy which had greatly surprised him. She had said that she knew,

she guessed, his reason for departure, and could not but own that it was natural.

That being so, he went on to suppose that she might have told Vernon of his feelings-that the girl also knew why he could not remain longer in the same house with her. There was nothing to be saidnothing to be done. It was one of the dumb tragedies of life. His only course, as long as their enforced companionship should last, was to see as little of her, say as little to her as he could.

He thought it hard that Gladwyn should have turned up before he could escape. His curiosity to know what had passed between Vernon and her suitor was consuming in its intensity.

When they reached home, after the Flower Show, they were told that Mr. Gladwyn had come in about three o'clock, that he had looked and seemed ill, that he had packed his things, and gone back to London, leaving a note for Miss Wilmot.

Vernon, who was in a silent, brooding mood, opened the note in the hall, both her aunt and Jem standing by.

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"What a queer way to behave," was her comment, as she broke the seal. It was very brief. "H❜m," she remarked. "He says he has had news of such a shattering nature as to make it impossible for him to tell me what it is at present. He will write further in two or three days from London. Oh well, he has gone, and that's a relief!" She let a long sigh exhale. "I can't forget about Mrs. Trent," she said, "and it makes me feel wretched, and rather selfreproachful. I don't feel at all equal to the effort of entertaining a visitor. I am glad there are only just

-ourselves." She lifted her head and smiled, the tenderest, shyest of smiles, right into Jem's eyes. He was looking so intensely at her that he caught it full, and had a sensation of sudden glory. Mrs. Bardsley, who had found two notes awaiting her, took these in her hand and went into the drawing-room. Vernon, seeing that they were unheard, hastily crossed the space between them, and stood looking wistfully into his face, wherein, as it seemed to her, a door had rolled back, making intercourse possible between them.

"I want to say," she murmured hurriedly," that I believe I do know just how you feel about—about that poor Mrs. Trent. I-I was so sorry for blundering so the other night, after the picnic. But I understand better now. I only wanted to tell you that. Don't be

With which, she whisked up the stairs and disappeared.

Arrived in her room, she was sensible of a curious glow from head to foot, the result of her bold attempt to propitiate Jem. It had cost her a real effort. Oh, surely he would feel that it had needed courage, and be kind to her in response! Might it not be the beginning of better relations between them?

She stood motionless in the centre of the floor, her lips apart, her mind holding the picture of just Jem's eyes as she had met them but now: what was it? Why were they so haunting? Why was she filled with a kind of exhaustion which yet was ecstasy?

"Now, if only I can put my finger on the last link, and truly understand him! . . . Father Conroy said he had been misunderstood. Well, at least I can honestly say that I have tried.”

She glanced down at Lionel's letter. It was most unlike his usual style-bald, hasty, disconnected. What news could he have heard? She remembered that he had received a letter that morning. Why-of course! his sudden illness was the result of the news in the letter. What could it have been?

Oh, she knew, she knew! The anguish that grasped her heart and twisted it told her that she knew. As if somebody had brought her the news, she knew that he had heard of his wife's death.

And if he was free, her duty was clear. Putting behind her all her own desires, she must marry him, devote her life to trying to keep her marriage She owed this to Jem and to Aunt Emma. If she were married to Lionel, Jem would not go away.

VOWS.

God was demanding this sacrifice at her hands. She had been too happy. Life was too much as she wished it. She was called upon to surrender—what?

What hope was it, what desire, which lay right at the bottom of her heart, unknown to her until this moment? What was the meaning of this solicitude of hers for Jem's approval, Jem's friendship? Did anything, in fact, matter to her, in comparison of this one point of Jem's opinion?

Horror crept over her. Was it possible that she was growing to love a man who had never loved her? -not only that, but had openly showed his dislike, his disapproval? If this were so, then there was no way out but to marry Lionel, and hide from everybody the secret of her own humiliation. Yes, she saw it all. And it had been going on for quite a long time, unsuspected. She had listened for his footstep, her heart had quickened at his approach; she had shrieked for

him when she hung between life and death upon the castle wall.

And she had not known it.

Forgetting her toilette, forgetting everything in the world but this self-revelation, she sat absorbing it, living over again every word that Jem and she had exchanged during the past month, every inflection of his voice, each expression of his face; confronting the dreadful certainty of her unrequited love.

The maid entering with hot water at last broke up her reverie. She was admonished, unhooked, brushed, arrayed, and sent down only a minute or two after the sounding of the gong.

"Where's Jem?" asked Mrs. Bardsley, as she took her seat. "I do wish he would be more punctual."

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Mr. Bardsley asked me to say, maʼam, that he had gone over to Wishfield, and should have some supper with Mr. Conroy, and not be back until late."

Respite for Vernon! Respite! A clear evening in which she could sit and contemplate the contents of her own heart, and reiterate her duty to herself and her aunt and Jem.

But she could not move in the matter as yet. So far, it was but her idea. That actual news received by Lionel was a matter of mere guesswork. Until she heard again from him she could do nothing.

Again she passed a sleepless night-she, whose clear eyes usually closed as her curly head touched the pillow! Thoughts of these three people-Lionel, Jem, and Laura Trent-danced before her brain.

She came to breakfast with dark purple underlinings to those shining eyes. But Mrs. Bardsley herself had passed a most disturbed night, as a result of