daughter of the previous victim suffers from what would seem to be the hereditary matrimonial ill-luck. Mr. Collins evidently entertains a theory that accidents of this kind run in families, based possibly on the same statistics by which some ingenious individual proved that being struck by lightning was an idiosyncrasy of his own kin. We can stand a pedigree of bad husbands and unfaithful lovers; but when Mr. Collins attempts to show us that the condition of the wife descends to the daughter; that the female issue of an abused and deserted wife is bound to become, in turn, an abused and deserted wife, we respectfully raise our voice in protest. Even if we were prepared to go back to Adam and Eve to find the secret of the present unhappiness of some married couples, it is not probable that the Divorce courts would admit the testimony, and it is doubtful if legislation ever yet has done much to remove hereditary traits. The moral of which would seem to be that the daughter of an unhappy couple should remain single—which, we may safely assume, she won't. Dismissing the prologue, then, as immaterial to the issue of the real story, we find in the heroine, "Anne Silvester," a young woman whom we think we have frequently met in the company of Wilkie Collins. She is, we might say, not entirely abnormal, but unnecessarily mysterious, and has that slight suspicion of insanity, without which Mr. Collins seems to find it impossible to express originality. She has "a nervous uncertainty in the eye," and "a nervous contraction of one corner of the mouth"—all of which are, however, fascinating to mankind, and are particularly dangerous qualities in a governess. To these charms "Miss Silvester" has added great strength of mind and character, which do not, however, prevent her from becoming the victim of "Geoffrey Delamayn"—an athletic young brute, physically perfect, but with neither mind nor character. She urges him to redeem his promise, and secretly marry her, and appoints a clandestine meeting at an old inn at "Craig Fernie." "Geoffrey," who begins to find his amour burdensome, takes Arnold Brinkworth"into his confidence, and prevails upon him to go to "Craig Fernie," at the appointed hour, with an excuse. "Arnold Brinkworth," whose simple and honorable nature offers an opportunity for one of those contrasts in which most novelists delight, accepts the delicate mission, and, to save the reputation of "Anne," personates the character of her expectant husband before the inn people. This is, of course, the pivot of the plot. Need we say that the villainous "Geoffrey" avails himself of this most infelicitous kindness to attempt to shift the matrimonial burden of "Miss Silvester" upon his friend; who, being engaged to "Miss Silvester's" dear friend "Blanche," is naturally embarrassed? We need not say so; the situation being palpably provided for that purpose. But it is here where the Scotch marriage-law, with its delightful uncertainty, enters into the plot. Viewed in the clear, impartial light of Scotch judicial decisions, it would appear that the parties are legally married or not, just as they may choose to elect. To save her friend "Blanche," who has been since married to "Arnold Brinkworth," "Anne Silvester" elects that "Mr. Brinkworth" is not her husband, but on the same evidence which is insufficient to establish a marriage with him, claims the athletic "Geoffrey"—whom she now despises. We do not know that we have made this clear to the reader; we do not know that it is entirely clear to ourself: but we are happy to state that this legal obscurity does not prevent "Miss Silvester" from establishing her marriage with "Geoffrey," and acquitting her friend's husband of unintentional and disinterested bigamy. "Geoffrey," who is disappointed in securing the hand and fortune of "Mrs. Glenarm," contingent upon his success in freeing himself from the claims of "Anne Silvester," accepts the situation, with the mentally reserved right of murdering his wife when he shall have an opportunity. He makes the attempt, and is frustrated by "Hester Dethridge," a darkly mysterious, deaf woman, who seems to have once done a little husband-killing on her own account; is overtaken by one of those providential epileptic strokes which follow villainy about and is apt to unpleasantly interfere with its consummation, and dies. At which point Happiness and a New Husband dawn upon the long-suffering "Anne."
So much for the inconvenience and un-
