counts faithfulness. But he felt not the less that the dream of his declining years was over—that she could never more be to him as she had been, the sweet companion of his leisure, the trusted partner of his life. That was all over and done with. He was not going to revile her, or to torture her, or to thrust her from him. To what end? The gulf would be wide enough, they two living side by side. He would pay her all honour before the world to the end of his days. To live with her, and to be kind to her, knowing that her heart belonged to another, should be his sacrifice, his penance for having tied that young sapling to this withered trunk.
"I have noticed that Grahame has kept aloof from us of late," he said, after a long silence. "Why is that?"
"We agreed that it was better we should see no more of each other," his wife answered quietly.
"I hope you will always remain in that agreement," said the General.
He sat up till daybreak, and he occupied part of his time in writing the rough draft of a codicil to his will, which he meant to take to his London solicitors at the earliest opportunity.
The codicil lessened Lady Valeria's fortune considerably, and allotted 40,000l. to a fund, the interest of which was to be distributed in the form of pensions to twenty widows of field-officers who had died in impoverished circumstances. This subtraction would still leave an estate which would make Lady Valeria Harborough a very rich widow, and a splendid prize in the matrimonial market.
"She will marry Bothwell Grahame, and forget the days of her slavery," thought the General, as he wrote the closing paragraph of his codicil.
It was from no malignant feeling against his wife that he made this change in the disposition of his wealth. He felt that the act was mere justice. To the wife whom he had believed wholly true he bequeathed all. To the woman who had been only half loyal he left half. A mean man would have fettered his bequest by the prohibition of a second marriage; but General Harborough was not that kind of man.
He wondered whether Sir George Varney would take any action in the matter of that blow. He had assisted the fallen man to a chair in the verandah, and had taken him a tumbler of brandy, which Sir George drank as if it had been water. In his half-stunned condition the Baronet had sworn an oath or two, and had walked off muttering curses, which might mean threats of speedy vengeance.
"If he is the scoundrel I think him, he will send me a summons, in order to drag my wife's name before the public," thought General Harborough; nor was he mistaken, for the summons was served within two days of the assault. It was
