A heartsproblem. 
by CHARLES GIBBON. 
CHAPTER XX—IS THE PROBLEM SOLVED? 
“ It is her own free, unprompted request, and I ce^ 
tainly think you have no alternative but to comply 
■with it.” . i, — 
“ That is your way of putting it, but she must have 
been influenced by what you said, or she would never 
have thought of sending such a pressing message 
to me, after what occurred only the other day,^ ana 
knowing that I must be aware of her engagement. 
“I can say nothing on that head. I have brought tne 
message simply because I wish to serve two friends. 
“ I am obhged to you for all the kindness you intend¬ 
ed ; but I should have been more gratefid, Arkwood, u 
you had not meddled so much in my affaii's.” 
“For the next week I give you license to be as disa¬ 
greeable to me as you may find relief in being. I am 
not going to be hui't by anything you may say in your 
E resent humor. I knew that the idea of being called to 
er would startle you, and I know that as soon as you 
have cooled down you will own that I have acted the 
part of a friend—and a most thankless part that often 
IS, as you are teaching me. 
“ I cannot help feeling that it would have been best 
for all parties if you had left things alone.” 
“ Maybe ; but if I have been meddling, as you call it, 
it has been because the ordinary expressions of friend¬ 
ship have assumed that form. There was nothing ob¬ 
trusive in my accompanying Colonel Cuthbert and his 
daughter home after O’Bryan had been acquitted—for 
you know my acquaintance 'with them has not been in¬ 
terrupted. There was nothing unusual in the fact that 
the conversation should turn upon the scrape her old 
companion had got into, or in my telling now much 
interest you had taken in the case.” 
“But it was not necessary to go on to tell her about 
my efforts to discover Lucy—it was pot necessary to 
show what an absolute fool I am.” 
“I don’t know that such was the result of my con¬ 
versation ; and at any rate you need not be afraid that 
I was sentimental or that she is likely to be so. She 
simply' says there is an explanation due to you—that it 
can only be properly made by her own lips, and that, 
fearing she may lose strength or courage to make it if 
there is delay, she begs you will grant her the favor to 
come back with me; and I say, come along!” 
“ But what is the good of it r” 
“ How can I tell ? She seemed to me to be much dis¬ 
turbed and I promised that you should grant the favor 
she asked. And so, I again say, come along. There is 
nothing very dreadful in a few minutes’ interview -with 
a pretty woman, even if you have once professed to be 
desperately in love with her.” 
“TProfessed !” echoed Maurice bitterly, “I wish it had 
been only that.”- 
“ It is my opinion she would cordially reciprocate that 
■wish.” 
“Very weU, I shall go; but I hope there ■will be no 
hysterics or nonsense. I go simply because I do not 
■wish to think hereafter that I ■wilfully did anything to 
give her pain.” 
His face became hard and dark; his movements quick 
and decisive. 
“There was no yielding on his side, whatever may be 
on hers,” thought Arkwood as he watched his fried’s 
gloomy coimtenance. 
On the way to Kensington, Mamice was silent- he 
felt very cold. He was going to see her again, and’ in 
stead of the pulse bouudmg with joy, he had the sensa' 
tion of being mmibed from head to foot. 
No good could come of this meeting; it was onlv 
another tug at liis heartstrings; surely this time thev 
■would break. He did not see what she could possihlv 
have to say to him, unless Arkwood in his i&tak^ 
, i'«oroiinded her—or suggested—that she- 
kindliness had persiadea^ 
might shU fiSd that she had lost all power to 
apathy. She slmm na would do anything 
move him-outwaidly at leas h 
rather than betoy j,,, visit to 
much difficidtj ^ treat the whole matter in a 
conventional way, ^ civility demanded in re- 
Arkwood had said that she >ad been much disturbed, 
nnd Kde him imcomfortable to think of her in ^s- 
and It maae agitated voice. 
nfdid^rot iFnow LW he shOTld act if she shoidd appear 
penitent for her share in the past misery The mere 
tCght of it was sapping his resolve to be perfectly 
ralni and to make the conversation as brief as possible.. 
When he stood at the door of Colonel Cuthbei't’s house 
he would have been glad of an excuse to tm-n away.. 
But Ai-kwood promptly rang the bell; and they were 
conducted up-stairs to the dra^ug-room. 
Dark-brown hangings which covered the door oi an 
inner room were drawn aside and JIiss Cuthbert ad- 
vanced to the visitors. Maurice became immediately 
conscious that there was no danger of any severe test of 
his feelings; her quiet self-possession assured him of 
that. But she was very pale, and her coimtenance,. 
although calm, indicated that she had exercised much 
effort to nerve herself to the performance of a sad but 
unavoidable duty. 
“ I have kept my promise. Miss Cuthbert,” said Ark¬ 
wood before she had time to speak ; “ and now, with 
j-oui- leave, I shall at once retire.” 
There was no awkwardness in her manner of thank¬ 
ing him, no hint of surprise at his abrupt departm-e. 
They were alone together. 
He stood, hat in hand, head slightly bowed, and con¬ 
scious that she was looking at him. But he was not 
conscious of the sadness in the eyes, or the ripple of agi¬ 
tation which passed over the face. 
“ Mr. Calthrope!” 
He raised his eyes; he fancied that he detected a 
slight tremor on the lips, and that he distinguished a 
faint echo of the old sweet voice whidi used to sound so 
musically in his ears in the little room in Camberwell.. 
He had an experience similar to that of the sultan in 
the fa,u-y tale who, under the influence of a great magi¬ 
cian, imagined himself acting his part in the events of a 
long life during the bi-ief space that he could hold liis. 
head m a ^b of water. Ine richly furnished chamber 
in ivhich they stood was transformed into the poor one 
of his old lodging; he saw himself and Lucy as they 
then were; the same feelings thrilled through him and 
a clear vision of all that had hapiiened up to the mo¬ 
ment ■when he first saw Miss Cuthbert passed before 
hun; all m the space which could only be counted an 
awkward pause. ’’ 
Hei sensations were the reflections of his: but they 
scene to remembrance of that wild 
of Cuthbert,” he said. In spite 
\vished it to be^ voice was not so steady as he 
qidetly'!™*^ aside for a moment and then said 
to "com?® for having troubled you 
SdVXit Kffime.”- 
not ’“o* resolute; he was 
told her bluntlv “^n he could have 
der their position was such as to ren- 
eirmeetmgmost undesirable ; and that -what he 
