I Say No

'You seem to have faith in time, Mr. Mirabel.'

'The greatest faith. Time is the inveterate enemy of deceit. Sooner or later, every hidden thing is a thing doomed to discovery.'

'Without exception?'

'Yes,' he answered positively, 'without exception.'

At that moment Francine stopped and looked back at them. Did she think that Emily and Mirabel had been talking together long enough? Miss Plym—with the parsley still on her mind—-advanced to consult Emil y's experience. The two walked on together, leaving Mirabel to overtake Francine. He saw, in her first look at him, the effort that it cost her to suppress those emotions which the pride of women is most deeply interested in concealing. Before a word had passed, he regretted that Emily had left them together.

'I wish I had your cheerful disposition,' she began, abruptly. 'I am out of spirits or out of temper—I don't know which; and I don't know why. Do you ever trouble yourself with thinking of the future?'

'As seldom as possible, Miss de Sor. In such a situation as mine, most people have prospects—I have none.'

He spoke gravely, conscious of not feeling at ease on his side. If he had been the most modest man that ever lived, he must have seen in Francine's face that she loved him.

When they had first been presented to each other, she was still under the influence of the meanest instincts in her scheming and selfish nature. She had thought to herself, 'With my money to help him, that man's celebrity would do the rest; the best society in England would be glad to receive Mirabel's wife.' As the days passed, strong feeling had taken the place of those contemptible aspirations: Mirabel had unconsciously inspired the one passion which was powerful enough to master Francine—sensual passion. Wild hopes rioted in her. Measureless desires which she had never felt before, united themselves with capacities for wickedness, which had been the horrid growth of a few nights—capacities which suggested even viler attempts to rid herself of a supposed rivalry than slandering Emily by means of an anonymous letter. Without waiting for it to be offered, she took Mirabel's arm, and pressed it to her breast as they slowly walked on. The fear of discovery which had troubled her after she had sent her base letter to the post, vanished at that inspiriting moment. She bent her head near enough to him when he spoke to feel his breath on her face.

'There is a strange similarity,' she said softly, 'between your position and mine. Is there anything cheering in my prospects? I am far away from home—my father and mother wouldn't care if they never saw me again. People talk about my money! What is the use of money to such a lonely wretch as I am? Suppose I write to London, and ask the lawyer if I may give it all away to some deserving person? Why not to you?'

'My dear Miss de Sor—!'

'Is there anything wrong, Mr. Mirabel, in wishing that I could make you a prosperous man?'

'You must not even talk of such a thing!'

'How proud you are!' she said submissively.

'Oh, I can't bear to think of you in that miserable village—a position so unworthy of your talents and your claims! And you tell me I must not talk about it. Would you have said that to Emily, if she was as anxious as I am to see you in your right place in the world?'

'I should have answered her exactly as I have answered you.'

'She will never embarrass you, Mr. Mirabel, by being as sincere as I am. Emily can keep her own secrets.'

'Is she to blame for doing that?'

'It depends on your feeling for her.'

'What feeling do you mean?'

'Suppose you heard she was engaged to be married?' Francine suggested.

Mirabel's manner—studiously cold and formal thus far—altered on a sudden. He looked with unconcealed anxiety at Francine. 'Do you say that seriously?' he asked.

'I said 'suppose.' I don't exactly know that she is engaged.'

'What do you know?'

'Oh, how interested you are in Emily! She is admired by some people. Are you one of them?'

Mirabel's experience of women warned him to try silence as a means of provoking her into speaking plainly. The experiment succeeded: Francine returned to the question that he had put to her, and abruptly answered it.

'You may believe me or not, as you like—I know of a man who is in love with her. He has had his opportunities; and he has made good use of them. Would you like to know who he is?'

'I should like to know anything which you may wish to tell me.' He did his best to make the reply in a tone of commonplace politeness—and he might have succeeded in deceiving a man. The woman's quicker ear told her that he was angry. Francine took the full advantage of that change in her favor.

'I am afraid your good opinion of Emily will be shaken,' she quietly resumed, 'when I tell you that she has encouraged a man who is only drawing-master at a school. At the same time, a person in her circumstances—I mean she has no money—ought not to be very hard to please. Of course she has never spoken to you of Mr. Alban Morris?'

'Not that I remember.'

Only four words—but they satisfied Francine.

The one thing wanting to complete the obstacle which she had now placed in Emily's way, was that Alban Morris should enter on the scene. He might hesitate; but, if he was really fond of Emily, the anonymous letter would sooner or later bring him to Monksmoor. In the meantime, her object was gained. She dropped Mirabel's arm.

'Here is the lodge,' she said gayly—'I declare Cecilia has got an apron on already! Come, and