mrs. prendergast had heard of chudleigh wilmot's accession to fortune before the news had reached that more than ever "rising" man. though she was not among mr. foljambe's intimates, and though that sprightly old gentleman found less favour in her eyes than in those of most of his acquaintance, she knew when his illness commenced, when it had assumed a dangerous form; and she was one of the earliest outsiders to learn its fatal and rapid termination. she was indebted for all this information to dr. whittaker, whom she had assiduously cultivated, and who was very fond of talking of all and everything that nearly or remotely concerned wilmot. the little professional jealousy which had sometimes interfered with dr. whittaker's genuine and generally irrepressible admiration of the genius and the success of his confrère and superior had given way to the influence of the superior's loftiness and liberality of mind; and with dr. whittaker also there was, as old mr. foljambe had said, on an occasion destined to affect many destinies, "nothing like wilmot."

dr. whittaker was not aware that mrs. prendergast valued his visits chiefly because they afforded her an opportunity, which otherwise she could not have enjoyed, of hearing of wilmot. she had too much tact to permit him to make any such mortifying discovery, and he had too much vanity to permit him to suspect the fact, except under extreme provocation. so mrs. prendergast accounted his visits as among her most agreeable glimpses of society; and he regarded her as one of the most sensible and unaffected women of his acquaintance. thus, when dr. whittaker's attendance on mr. foljambe came to a close with the sprightly and débonnaire old gentleman's life, he brought the news to his friend in cadogan-place, and they lamented together wilmot's untimely absence. but dr. whittaker had previously conveyed to mrs. prendergast information of another sort, which had largely influenced the feelings with which she heard of mr. foljambe's death.

it was the same welcome messenger who had brought her the tidings of madeleine kilsyth's marriage; and never had he been more welcome. she had steadily persevered in denying to herself that the young scotch girl could possibly count for anything, one way or another, in the matter in which she was so vividly interested; but she had not succeeded in feeling such complete conviction on the point as to render her indifferent to any occurrence which effectually disposed of that young lady before wilmot's return. that he should have come back to london, to all the former prestige of his talent and success, with the new and brilliant addition that he had acquired the whole of mr. foljambe's large fortune, to find madeleine kilsyth unmarried, and to be brought upon an equality with her by the agency of his wealth,--this would not have appeared to henrietta by any means desirable. the obstacles which the social pride of her relations might have opposed to a penchant for wilmot on the part of miss kilsyth--and mrs. prendergast had always felt instinctively that such a penchant, if it did not actually exist, would arise with opportunity--would be considerably modified, if not altogether removed, by wilmot's becoming a rich man by other than professional means. altogether there were many new sources of danger to her project, which did not relax in its intensity and fixedness by time, silence, or leisure for consideration, in the possibility of madeleine kilsyth's being again brought within wilmot's reach, which presented themselves very unpleasantly to the clear perception of mrs. prendergast.

"and so you had not heard of miss kilsyth's intended marriage at all, knew nothing of it until after the event?" said dr. whittaker, after he had imparted the intelligence to mrs. prendergast. to him it was merely an item in the gossiping news of the day; nor had he any suspicion that it was more to his hearer.

"no; i had not heard a word of it. and i wonder i had not, for i have seen miss charlton several times; and i know mrs. m'diarmid has been at their house frequently. she must have known all about it, and i can't fancy her knowing anything and not talking about it."

"no," said dr. whittaker. "reserve is not her forte, good old lady. but they say--the omnipresent, omniscient, and indefinable they--that miss kilsyth expressly stipulated that the engagement was to be kept a profound secret. she is troubled, i understand, with rather more delicacy and modesty than most young ladies at present; and she disliked the pointing and talking, the giggling and speculation which attend the appearance of an engaged young lady in what is politely called 'high life' on such occasions."

"the engagement was not a long one, i suppose?" said henrietta.

"only a few weeks, i understand. they say lady muriel kilsyth was rather anxious to get her stepdaughter off her hands--"

"and into those of her not particularly rich cousin, i fancy," said henrietta. dr. whittaker laughed.

"i daresay i shall hear a great deal about it at the charltons'," she continued; "i am going to dine there to-morrow. i know mrs. m'diarmid will be there, and she will have plenty to tell, no doubt. i shall hear much more about the wedding than i shall care for."

mrs. prendergast dined at mrs. charlton's on the following day, and she did hear a great deal about the wedding, which mrs. m'diarmid was of opinion had not been quite worthy of the occasion either in style or in publicity, and whereat she could not say madeleine had conducted herself altogether to her satisfaction. not that she had been too emotional, or in the least bold in her manner, but she had taken it all so very quietly.

"i assure you it was quite unnatural, in my opinion," said the old lady, with a homely heartiness of manner calculated to convert other people to her opinion too. "madeleine was as quiet and as unconcerned as if it was somebody else's wedding, and not her own. she positively seemed to think more of little maud's dress and appearance than of her own, and she was as friendly as possible with mr. caird."

"friendly with mr. caird, mrs. m'diarmid!" said henrietta. "why should you be surprised at that? why should she not be friendly with him?"

"well, i'm sure i don't know, my dear," answered mrs. m'diarmid, who called everyone 'my dear;' "it did seem odd to me somehow--there, i can't explain it; and i daresay i'm an old fool--very likely; but they did seem more like friends to me, that is, madeleine did, than lovers--that's the truth."

miss charlton remarked to mrs. prendergast, with a sentimental sigh, that she perfectly understood mrs. m'diarmid,--that miss kilsyth's manner had had too little of the solemnity and exaltation of such a \serious and important event. "at such a moment, henrietta," said the young lady, raising her fine eyes towards the ceiling, "earth and its restraints should fade, and the spirit be devoted to the heavenly temple, which is the true scene of the marriage."

"all i can say, then," said mrs. m'diarmid, by no means touched by the high-flown interpretation placed upon her remarks, "is, that if anyone can be reminded of a heavenly temple by st. george's, hanover-square, they must have a lively imagination; for a duller and heavier earthly one i never was in in my life."

"i suppose the wedding-party was numerous?" said mrs. charlton, who never could endure anything like a verbal passage-at-arms; and who was moreover occasionally beset by a misgiving that her daughter was rather silly.

"not what the kilsyths would consider large, my dear; only their immediate connections and a few very intimate friends. miss kilsyth would have it so; and indeed the whole thing was got up in a hurry. it was announced in the morning post on monday, and the marriage came off on wednesday."

"i suppose the bride had some splendid presents?" said miss charlton, whose curiosity was agreeably irrepressible.

"o yes, my dear, lots. some beautiful and expensive; some ugly and more expensive; several cheap and pretty; and a great many which could not possibly be of use to any rational being. you know mr. foljambe, don't you, mrs. prendergast?"

"yes," said henrietta; "i know him slightly."

"he is an old friend of kilsyth's; poor man, he's very ill indeed--could not come to the wedding because he was ill then, and he is much worse since; he gave madeleine the handsomest present of the lot--a beautiful set of pearls, and he sent her such a nice, kind, old-fashioned letter with them. he is a real old dear, though i always feel a little afraid of him somehow."

"is mr. foljambe really very ill?" said mrs. charlton.

"i am sorry to say he is," said henrietta; "i saw dr. whittaker to-day, and he gave a very bad account of him."

"dr. whittaker?" said mrs. charlton inquiringly. "i don't know him; i--"

"no," interrupted henrietta with a smile; "he is not yet famous; he is only just beginning to be a rising man. he is a great friend of dr. wilmot's, who, when he went abroad, placed several of his principal patients in his hands."

as henrietta mentioned wilmot's name, she glanced keenly at mrs. m'diarmid, and perceived at once that the mention of him produced an effect on the old lady of no pleasing kind. her face became overcast in a moment.

"i hope miss kilsyth's--i beg her pardon, mrs. caird's health is sufficiently restored to make any such provision in her case unnecessary," said henrietta to mrs. m'diarmid in her best manner; which was a very good manner indeed.

"yes, yes," the old lady said absently; then recovering herself, she continued, "madeleine has been much better latterly; but sir saville rowe has been looking after her. dr. wilmot recommended her specially to his care."

the conversation then turned on other matters, and did not again revert to the kilsyths; but mrs. prendergast carried away with her from the substance of what had passed two convictions.

the first, that wilmot had entertained sufficient feeling of some kind for madeleine kilsyth to render him averse to bringing her into contact with the man who attended his wife's deathbed, and who might therefore have been inconveniently communicative, or even suspicious.

the second, that there was some painful impression or association in the kind, honest, and simple mind of mrs. m'diarmid connected with dr. wilmot and madeleine kilsyth.

on that evening mrs. prendergast settled the point, in consultation with herself, that madeleine's marriage was an important advantage gained. how important, or precisely why, she had no means of ascertaining, but she felt that it was so; and she experienced a comfortable feeling, compounded of hope and content, at the occurrence.

a week later dr. whittaker called on henrietta and communicated to her the intelligence of mr. foljambe's death; and in a few days later the accession of wilmot to his faithful old friend's large fortune was made known to her in the same way.

and now henrietta felt the full importance of the removal of madeleine kilsyth from wilmot's path. he would return to london of course--perhaps to abandon his professional pursuits, though that she thought an unlikely step on his part. his sphere of life would, however, certainly be changed; and the best chance for the success of her project would consist in her being able to induce him to form habits of intimacy and companionship with her before the increased demands of society upon him should whirl him away out of her reach. even supposing, which she--though more capable than most women of taking a contingency which she disliked into sensible and serious consideration--did not think likely, that dr. wilmot would contemplate a second marriage, and that marriage purely of affection, he would certainly return to london heart-whole. if madeleine kilsyth had indeed possessed for him attraction which he could not disavow to himself, nor avow to the world, so much the better now as things had turned out. madeleine would have held his fancy captive until such time as fate had set between them a second inviolable barrier; and this new and keen disappointment, even supposing he had never distinctly formulated his hope, would have turned his heart, and brought him: back irresistibly to the realties of life.

thus, knowing nothing of the actual circumstances of the case, unaware of the twofold shock which chudleigh wilmot had received by the events which she calmly regarded as equally fortunate; unconscious of the storm of passion, rage, grief, and helplessness in which wilmot was wrapped and tossed, even while she was quietly discussing the matter with herself, henrietta prendergast arranged the present before her eyes, and questioned the future in her thoughts. but had she known all of which she was ignorant--had she been able to see chudleigh wilmot as he really was, while she was thus thinking of him, the revelation would hardly have changed the current of her thoughts, though it might have robbed her of much of her composure. in that case she would have reflected that she had but mistaken the quality and the depth of his feelings, that circumstances remained unchanged. wilmot had been passionately in love with madeleine kilsyth; but he was now none the less certainly, irrevocably, and eternally separated from her.

thus, the facts which she knew, the facts which she guessed, and the facts which were effectually concealed from her, all bore encouragingly upon the projects of henrietta prendergast. it is only just to acknowledge that the increase to his wealth did not intensify or sharpen mrs. prendergast's wish to marry wilmot; indeed it rather depressed her. she felt that it might create new obstacles as strong as those which fate had removed; she would have preferred his being in his former position. "if i could have won him as he was," she thought, "and then this fortune had come, that would have been better. however, ever so poor he would have been a man worth winning; it makes no difference in that respect his being ever so rich."

after all, this appreciation, calm and passionless, yet just, clear-sighted, and true, was not a gift to be despised by a sensible man, who had had the gilding pretty nearly taken off the gingerbread of his life, but it was not likely to be valued as it deserved by a man pining desperately for the impossible love of a brilliant young beauty like madeleine kilsyth.

one immediate purpose which henrietta set strongly before her was to see wilmot as soon as possible after his return, of the time of which event she would be duly informed by dr. whittaker. she had had no communication with him since the puzzling interview which had preceded his departure; he had neither written nor gone to take leave of her; but this omission, which would have been extremely discouraging to a less keen-sighted woman, was not discouraging to henrietta. she knew that, as far as she was concerned, it meant simply nothing. wilmot was deeply distressed and preoccupied; that was the cause of it. she also knew that at present, in his life, she meant nothing, and she was satisfied, so that the future should afford her a fair opportunity of coming to mean much. but she must attain and begin to profit by that opportunity as soon as possible--she must endeavour to anticipate other impressions; and for this purpose she resolved to seek an interview with him immediately on his return.

"i will write to him at once," she said to herself "he has no reason to wish to avoid me; and if he had, he would conquer it at an appeal made in the name of poor mabel."

and this strange yet matter-of-fact woman paused in the busy current of her thoughts and plans to bestow affectionate remembrance and true regret on her dead friend! henrietta prendergast was neither inconsistent nor insincere.

* * * * *

"i hope you did not think me intrusive in asking you to call on me so soon," said henrietta to chudleigh wilmot, when he had duly presented himself in answer to a note from her, which she had written on the day dr. whittaker had told her wilmot had returned to london.

"you have seen him, of course?" she had asked dr. whittaker.--"yes, i have seen him. he looks extremely ill--wretchedly ill, in fact. as unlike a man who has just come in for a tremendous stroke of luck as any man i ever saw. i fancy he was more cut up about his wife's death than either you or i gave him credit for--eh, mrs. prendergast?"

and now, holding wilmot's hand in hers, and looking into his sunken eyes, marking his sallow cheek, the rigidity of the expression of his face, the thinness of his hand, she thought that dr. whittaker's first impressions were correct. he did look ill, wretchedly ill. he did indeed look little like a favourite of fortune.

he assured her, very kindly, that her note had only forestalled his intention of calling upon her immediately, and apologised for his former omission.

"i ought to have come to say good-bye," he said; "but i could not indeed. i made no adieux possible to be avoided."

"and have you benefited by your absence? have you gained health and spirits to enjoy the good fortune which has befallen you?"

she asked him these questions in a tone of more than conventional kindness; but her face told him she read the answer in his.

"i am quite well," he said quickly; "but perhaps i don't enjoy my good fortune very much. i am alone in the world, mrs. prendergast; and my fortune has been gained by the loss of the best friend i ever had in it."

"yes," she said thoughtfully, "that is very true. poor mr. foljambe! he missed you very much; but," she added, for she saw the painful expression of self-reproach which she had noticed in their first interview after mabel's death settle down upon his face, "you must not grieve about that. he expressed the utmost confidence in dr. whittaker."

"i know--i know," said wilmot. "still i wish--however, that is but one of many far heavier griefs. i did not come to talk about my troubles," he said with a faint smile. "you had something to say to me--what is it? not only to congratulate me on being a rich man now that it is too late, i am sure."

"it is not altogether too late, i think," said henrietta in a low impressive voice; "and i wanted to speak to you of something connected alike with your grief and your fortune."

"indeed!" said wilmot in a tone of anxious surprise.

"yes," said henrietta; "i did not know how long or how short a time you might be within my reach; and so i determined to lose no time in endeavouring to gain your assent to a wish of poor mabel's."

the conscious blood rushed into wilmot's face. this, then, was the double connection of his present visit with his grief and his fortune. and he had not been thinking of mabel! his dead wife's friend believed him indifferent to the wealth that had come too late to be shared by her; and except for the first sudden remembrance which the sight of henrietta had produced, he had not thought of his dead wife at all. he thought of her now with keen remorse--keener because it had not occurred to him to think of her before, in connection with his wealth. yes, the life which had had so dark an ending might have been very bright and prosperous now, with all this useless money to gild it. he shrunk from mrs. prendergast's steady eyes with all the shame and uneasiness of a candid nature when given credit for motives or deeds superior to the truth. no vision of the dead face he had seen, awfully white and still, in his little loved home, had arisen to blot out the prospect of a future rich in all that wealth can give, to teach him how infinitely little is that all, how poor that richness! but he carried about for ever between him and the sunshine a vision of a fair girlish face, with pleading innocent blue eyes, with golden hair and faintly flushing cheeks, with sweet sensitive lips, and over all a look which he knew well and interpreted only too accurately. and that face, it did not lie in a coffin indeed, but as far, as hopelessly away from him--it lay on another man's breast this was his grief; the other--well, the other was his shield from suspicion, from observation, his defence. he seized upon it, feeling unutterably the degradation of the evasion, and answered:

"i will be more than grateful, mrs. prendergast, if you can show me any way in which i can fulfil any wish of hers. if there is anything within the power of any effort of mine, let me know it."

then henrietta, in her turn, putting the dead woman forward as a pretext, began to discuss with wilmot the provisions of a certain charitable institution, to which she knew it had been mrs. wilmot's wish to contribute, but which she had not felt entitled by her means to assist. wilmot acceded to all her suggestions with the utmost readiness, besought her to tax her memory for any other resource for doing honour to mabel's memory, and prolonged his visit considerably beyond henrietta's expectation. in her softened manner there was now no reproach, and her sense and calmness refreshed his jaded spirits. it was a relief to him to be in the company of a woman who did not expect him to be anything but sorrowful, and who yet had no suspicion of the cause and origin of his sorrow. so thought wilmot, as he left henrietta, having asked her permission to call on her again speedily.

and at the same moment henrietta was thinking--

"he knows something of the torture of love unrequited and in vain now. it won't last, of course; but for the present, if she could only know it, poor mabel is avenged!"