'Good-bye,' said Lady Mason, and her voice sounded in Sir Peregrine's ears like a voice from the dead.
'God bless you and preserve you,' said Mrs. Orme, 'and restore you to your son. God will bless you if you will ask Him. No; you shall not go without a kiss.' And she put out her arms that Lady Mason might come to her.
The poor broken wretch stood for a moment as though trying to determine what she would do; and then, almost with a shriek, she threw herself on to the bosom of the other woman, and burst into a flood of tears. She had intended to abstain from that embrace; she had resolved that she would do so, declaring to herself that she was not fit to be held against that pure heart; but the tenderness of the offer had overcome her, and now she pressed her friend convulsively in her arms, as though there might yet be comfort for her as long as she could remain close to one who was so good to her.
'I shall come and see you very often,' said Mrs. Orme,—'almost daily.'
'No, no, no,' exclaimed the other, hardly knowing the meaning of her own words.
'But I shall. My father is waiting now, dear, and you had better go.'
Sir Peregrine had turned to the window, where he stood shading his eyes with his hand. When he heard his daughter-in-law's last words he again came forward, and offered Lady Mason his arm. 'Edith is right,' he said. 'You had better go now. When you are at home you will be more composed.' And then he led her forth, and down the stairs, and across the hall, and with infinite courtesy put her into the carriage. It was a moment dreadful to Lady Mason; but to Sir Peregrine, also, it was not pleasant. The servants were standing round, officiously offering their aid,—those very servants who had been told about ten days since that this lady was to become their master's wife and their mistress. They had been told so with no injunction as to secrecy, and the tidings had gone quickly through the whole country. Now it was known that the match was broken off, that the lady had been living upstairs secluded for the last week, and that she was to leave the house this morning, having been committed during the last day or two to stand her trial at the assizes for some terrible offence! He succeeded in his task. He handed her into the carriage, and then walked back through his own servants to the library without betraying to them the depth of his sorrow; but he knew that the last task had been too heavy for him. When it was done he shut himself up and sat there for hours without moving. He also declared to himself that the world was too hard for him, and that it would be well for him that he should die. Never till now had he come into close contact with crime, and now the criminal was one whom as a woman he
