survived her, the interest was to be his for life—in case she died childless, the capital would devolve to himself at Darrell's decease. Meanwhile, Darrell agreed to pay £500 a year, as the interest of the £10,000 at five per cent., to Jasper Hammond, or his order, provided always that Jasper and his wife continued to reside together, and fixed that residence abroad.
By a private verbal arrangement, not even committed to writing, to this sum was added another £200 a year, wholly at Darrell's option and discretion. It being clearly comprehended that these words meant so long as Mr. Hammond kept his own secret, and so long, too, as he forbore directly, or indirectly, to molest, or even to address the person at whose pleasure it was held. On the whole, the conditions to Jasper were sufficiently favorable; he came into an income immeasurable beyond his right to believe that he should ever enjoy; and sufficient—well managed—for even a fair share of the elegances as well as comforts of life, to a young couple blessed in each other's love, and remote from the horrible taxes and emulous gentilities of this opulent England, where, out of fear to be thought too poor, nobody is ever too rich.
Matilda wrote no more to Darrell. But some months afterward he received an extremely well-expressed note in French, the writer whereof represented herself as a French lady, who had very lately seen Madame Hammond—was now in London but for a few days, and had something to communicate, of such importance as to justify the liberty she took in requesting him to honor her with a visit. After some little hesitation, Darrell called on this lady. Though Matilda had forfeited his affection, he could not contemplate her probable fate without painful anxiety. Perhaps Jasper had ill-used her—perhaps she had need of shelter elsewhere. Though that shelter could not again be under a father's roof—and though Darrell would have taken no step to separate her from the husband she had chosen, still, in secret, he would have felt comparative relief and ease had she herself sought to divide her fate from one whose path downward in dishonor his penetration instinctively divined. With an idea that some communication might be made to him, to which he might reply that Matilda, if compelled to quit her husband, should never want the home and subsistence of a gentlewoman, he repaired to the house (a handsome house in a quiet street, temporarily occupied by the French lady). A tall chasseur, in full costume, opened the door—a page ushered him into the drawing-room. He saw a lady—young—and with all the grace of a Parisienne in her manner—
