NEVER FORGOTTEN.

PART THE SECOND.
CHAPTER XVI. MR ROMAINE GROWING
                         " STEADY"

In the Fermor household the furies of conjugal
discord were tossing their torches violently.
But they were genteel furies, and created no
public disturbance, and a chilling and bitter
politeness was their chief instrument.

Mrs. Fermor, in a sort of excitement, dressed
herself the next afternoon for a little expedition.
She felt a sort of flutter, as though it were an
enterprise of great moment and anxiety. But
she was determined to be free and independent,
and to do something that would commit her to
being free and independent. And in a little quiet
brougham, that was sometimes hired for her, and
glowing like a fresh pulled rose, she drove away
to Mr. Romaine's "log-house."

She stepped out boldly, and gave a wistful
look both up and down the street, in the hope that
Captain Fermor might be passing by, to see her
glove thrown down.

Such "a log-house" indeed; that is, accepting
the richest stuffs, the most gorgeous arms, gold,
silver, china, leopard skin rugs, and filigree
lamps, as the rude materials with which log-
houses are put together. Mr. Romaine came out
and met her at the door like a sultan from his
palace.

She looked in timorously, and shrank back.
For the sultan had no one with him. " Afraid?"
he said. " Quite right. I was prepared.
With you I had asked all the polite
conventionalities, but they have not come."

"It is not that," said Mrs. Fermor; "but
you told me our friend Miss Manuel was to be
here."

"Well, so I did; but I can see you won't
come in."

Mrs. Fermor drew back again. " No, no,"
she said, " you could scarcely ask me. Married
ladies don't pay visits to gentlemen in this way."

Mr. Romaine gave a loud and genuine
laugh. "If all these caftans, and cloaks, and
damascened blades had tongues, how noisily
they would contradict you."

Mrs. Fermor looked at him with a little alarm,
and turned to go.

His voice became soft of a sudden, and entreating.
"What, no comfort today for the poor
lonely outcast! No encouragement! If you
were only to know how much better I feel
since last night—how much stronger and
better able to struggle—But what is this to
you?"

"A great deal, " said Mrs. Fermor, warmly;
" it gives me more pleasure than anything I
could hear. But you will go on, and do your
best?"

"Why should I?" he said, gloomily. " No
one cares to help me. Look here, " he said; " read
that. Just sent here, not ten minutes before you
came. And I am expected to be steady and
keep straight."

It was a sort of Lilliputian note, signed
"Fanny Massinger," the name of the fair blonde
girl. It said that she was coming that afternoon
to see him, and talk over old times.

Mrs. Fermor was astounded.

"Now, you see," he said, " the way I live, and
what I have to go through. The best way is not
to affect anything quixotic, but to go on in the
old road. So now, good-by, Mrs. Fermor. Let
me see you down, and then to order tea for Mrs.
Massinger."

Mrs. Fermor paused. She was a warm
impulsive creature, and full of enthusiasm. She
seemed to hear a secret call to her, to help, and
protect this strange, struggling, even noble
heart, who was so unfairly tried. Her cheek
glowed as she turned and said:

"No, no; we must do what we can for you. I
won't desert you. So come and show me your
curiosities."

She was bewildered with the treasures that he
exhibited; and he illustrated them so agreeably,
with such a pleasant commentary, that an hour
slipped away. No Mrs. Massinger came,
however; for though Mr. Romaine had indeed
received a note from her, he had written one in
reply, pleading business for that evening, but
fixing the same hour for the next day. How he
talked, and almost bewailed the miserable state
of his soul—a kind of wreck now—while Mrs.
Fermor listened with a sort of devotion to the
curious scraps and hints, patches of his life, which
he allowed to escape him carelessly, as it were,
and which had for her young soul an unavoidable
interest—may be conceived.