He bit his lip.  “No, I do not.”

“You are talking to me as you have no right to talk!” she exclaimed, in agitation.  “Who but you, would so insult me, taking advantage of my momentarily unprotected condition.  Would you dare to do it, were Mr. Carlyle within reach!  I wish you good-evening, sir.”

She walked away as quickly as her tired frame would permit.  Captain Levison strode after her.  He took forcible possession of her hand, and placed it within his arm.

“I pray you forgive and forget what has escaped me, Lady Isabel.  Suffer me to be, as before, the kind friend, the anxious brother endeavoring to be of service to you in the absence of Mr. Carlyle.”

“It is what I have suffered you to be, looking upon you as, I may say, a relative,” she coldly rejoined, withdrawing her hand from his contact.  “Not else should I have permitted your incessant companionship; and this is how you have repaid it!  My husband thanked you for your attention to me; could he have read what was in your false heart, he had offered you different sort of thanks, I fancy.”

“I ask your pardon, Lady Isabel; I have acknowledged my fault, and I can do no more.  I will not so offend again; but there are moments when our dearest feelings break through the convenances of life and betray themselves, in spite of our sober judgment.  Suffer me to support you down this steep hill,” he added, for they were then going over the sharp stones of the Grand Rue; “you are not strong enough to proceed alone, after this evening’s long walk.”

“You should have thought of that before,” she said, with some sarcasm in her tone.  “No; I have declined.”

So she had to put his arm back, which he was holding out, as she walked on unsupported, with what strength she had, he continuing by her side.  Arriving at her own door, she wished him a cool good-evening, and he turned away in the direction of his hotel.

Lady Isabel brushed past Peter, and flew upstairs, startling Wilson, who had taken possession of the drawing-room to air her smart cap at its windows in the absence of her lady.

“My desk, Wilson, immediately,” cried she, bearing off her gloves, her bonnet, and her shawl.  “Tell Peter to be in readiness to take a letter to the post; and he must walk fast, or he will not catch it before the English mail is closed.”

The symptoms of sinful happiness throbbing at her heart while Francis Levison told her of his love, spoke plainly to Lady Isabel of the expediency of withdrawing entirely from his society, and his dangerous sophistries; she would be away from the very place that contained him; put the sea between them.  So she dashed off a letter to her husband; an urgent summons that he should come to her without delay for remain away longer she would not.  It is probable she would have started alone, not waiting for Mr. Carlyle, but for fear of not having sufficient funds for the journey, after the rent and other things were paid.