"Miles," she said in agitation, "do not say things like these; even in jest, Lord Randolph's name should never be mingled with mine in a breath of doubt, after that one painful scene at Uplands—you forget, too, he is Dora's——"
"Oh!" laughed he hoarsely, "those things are soon broken off. Now, Minnie, were you free, on your sacred soul, do you not think that man would propose to marry you?"
"On my sacred soul, Miles," she answered solemnly, shrinking from his arms, almost with a feeling of dislike towards him at the manner of his speech,—"I do not think so; and this I know, were I free, fifty times over, I would refuse his lordship."
"Forgive me, Minnie, forgive me—forget this!" and he once more folded his arms around her, as he rose from his seat. "I am unworthy of you, yet indeed I love you." His smile was almost as of old, and once again they were at peace; he had forgotten the letter, but it was only the merciful oblivion of a moment; their peace was like a house built on a blasted rock, through the caverns of which the wind whistles mournfully, shewing the hollowness beneath.
Shortly afterwards he quitted the house for "nearly the whole day," he said. He was gone; and she sat silently thinking, as now was her wont when alone; there was nothing to restrain her feelings having full play. Before him, she often forced a gaiety she did not feel; now she sat in sorrow, and the once laughing face looked pale and care-worn.
"A letter, if you please, ma'am," said the footboy, presenting one. She took it, the characters were familiar. "Poor Mary!" she said, refolding it when read; "I have indeed much neglected you of late; and it was a sacred duty to do otherwise, lest by that neglect your heart had once again grown callous or reckless in the midst of troubles. We should uphold a fallen sister who has risen, lest the weakened limbs totter again, and sink, never to rise! I will go at once and see her; I am sure my doing so must please Miles—poor Miles, my own dear husband! John," she asked, as the boy obeyed her summons to the room again, "who brought this note?"
"I don't know, ma'am. A man; he said there was no answer required."
"Go," she said, "round to the stables, and order me a fly immediately, without delay."
The letter said—
"Dear Mrs. Tremenhere—I am sure you will pardon my writing to ask you, as a very great favour, to come here to-day. I am in much trouble, and have only you to comfort and support me in it, by your counsel and advice. Pray, forgive the trouble I am imposing upon you; and pray be here if possible by two o'clock.
"Humbly and sincerely yours,
"Mary Burns."