Mr. Fraser winced visibly.

“What is the matter? have you got a headache?”

“Nothing, only a twinge here,” and he pointed to his heart.

Angela looked alarmed; she took a womanly interest in anybody’s ailments.

“I know what it is,” she said.  “Widow James suffers from it.  You must take it in hand at once, or it will become chronic after meals, as hers is.”

Mr. Fraser smiled grimly as he answered: 

“I am afraid that I have neglected it too long—­it has become chronic already.  But about Madeira; have you, then, made up your mind to go?”

“Yes, I think that I shall go.  If he—­is married, you know—­I can always come back again, and perhaps Pigott is right; the letter might miscarry, and there is so much at stake.”

“When shall you go, then?”

“By the next steamer, I suppose.  They go every week, I think.  I will tell my father that I am going to-morrow.”

“Ah! you will want money, I suppose.”

“No, I believe that I have plenty of money of my own now.”

“Oh! yes, under your marriage settlement, no doubt.  Well, my dear, I am sure I hope that your journey will not be in vain.  Did I tell you I have also written to Mr. Heigham by this mail, and told him all I knew about the matter?”

“That is very kind and thoughtful of you; it is just like you,” answered Angela, gently.

“Not at all, not at all; but you have never told me how you got on with Lady Bellamy—­that is, except what she told you about Mr. Heigham.”

“Oh! it was a strange interview.  What do you think she wanted to teach me?”

“I have not the faintest idea.”

“Magic.”

“Nonsense.”

“Yes, she did; she told me that she could read all sorts of things in my face, and offered, if I would give myself up to it, to make me more than human.”

“Pshaw! it was a bit of charlatanism; she wanted to frighten you.”

“No, I think she believed what she said, and I think that she has some sort of power.  She seemed disappointed when I refused, and, do you know it, if it had not been for Arthur, I do not think that I should have refused.  I love power, or rather knowledge; but then I love Arthur more.”

“And why is he incompatible with knowledge?”

“I do not know; but she said that, to triumph over the mysteries she wished to teach me, I must free myself from earthly love and cares.  I told her that, if Arthur is married, I would think of it.”

“Well, Angela, to be frank, I do not believe in Lady Bellamy’s magic, and, if its practice brings people to what she is, I think it is best left alone; indeed, I expect that the whole thing is a delusion arising from her condition.  But I think she is right when she told you that to become a mistress of her art—­or, indeed, of any noble art—­ you must separate yourself from earthly passions.  I owe your Arthur a grudge as well as Lady Bellamy.  I hoped, Angela, to see you rise like a star upon this age of insolence and infidelity.  I wanted you to be a great woman; but that dream is all over now.”