“Archibald,” she presently said, “I do not wish Francis Levison to stay at East Lynne.”

“It will only be for a few days—­perhaps but a day or two.  Sir Peter is in the humor to discharge the claims, and, the moment his resolve is known, the ex-captain can walk on her majesty’s dominions, an unmolested man, free to go where he will.”

“That may be,” interrupted Lady Isabel, in an accent of impatience; “but why should he come to our house?”

“I proposed it myself.  I had no idea you would dislike his coming.  Why should you?”

“I don’t like Francis Levison,” she murmured.  “That is, I don’t care to have him at East Lynne.”

“My dear, I fear there is no help for it now; he is most likely on his road, and will arrive to-morrow.  I cannot turn him out again, after my own voluntary invitation.  Had I known it would be disagreeable to you, I would not have proposed it.”

“To-morrow!” she exclaimed, all the words that caught her ear.  “Is he coming to-morrow?”

“Being Sunday, a free day, he will be sure to take advantage of it.  What has he done that you should object to his coming?  You did not say in Boulogne that you disliked him.”

“He had done nothing,” was her faltering answer, feeling that her grounds of opposition must melt under her one by one.

“Lady Levison appears to possess a very ill opinion of him,” resumed Mr. Carlyle.  “She says she knew him in years gone by.  She mentioned one or two things which, if true, must be bad enough.  But possibly she may be prejudiced.”

“She is prejudiced,” said Isabel.  “At least Francis Levison told me at Boulogne.  There appeared to be no love lost between them.”

“At any rate, his ill doings or well doings cannot affect us for the short period he is likely to remain.  You have taken a prejudice against him also, I suppose, Isabel.”

She suffered Mr. Carlyle to remain in the belief, and sat with clasped hands and a despairing spirit feeling that fate was against her.

How could she accomplish her task of forgetting this man, if he was thus to be thrown into her home and her companionship?  Suddenly she turned to her husband, and laid her cheek upon his shoulder.

He thought she was tired.  He passed his arm round her waist, drew her face to a more comfortable position, and bent his own lovingly upon it.  It came to her mind, as she lay there, to tell him a portion of the truth, like it had done once before.  It was a strong arm of shelter, that round her—­a powerful pillar of protection, him upon whom she leaned; why did she not confide herself to him as trustingly as a little child?  Simply because her courage failed.  Once, twice, the opening words were upon her lips, but come forth they did not; and then the carriage stopped at East Lynne, and the opportunity was over.  Oh!  How many a time in her after years did Lady Isabel recall that midnight drive with her husband, and wish, in her vain repentance, that she had opened his eyes to that dangerous man.