Then Lady Chandos had her carriage called and went home.
CHAPTER LIV.
A MOTHER'S APPEAL.
"She would not bear it—she could not bear it," this was Lady Marion's conclusion in the morning, when the sunbeams peeping in her room told her it was time to rise. She turned her face to the wall and said it would be easier to die—her life was spoiled, nothing could give her back her faith and trust in her husband or her love for him.
Life held nothing for her now. It was noon before she rose, and then she went to her boudoir. Lord Chandos had gone out, leaving no message for her. She sat there thinking, brooding over her sorrow, wondering what she was to do, when the Countess of Lanswell was announced.
Lady Marion looked up. It was as though an inspiration from Heaven had come to her; she would tell Lady Lanswell, and hear what she had to say.
"You have been crying," said the countess, as she bent over her daughter-in-law. "Crying, and how ill you look—what is the matter?"
"There is something very wrong the matter," said Lady Marion. "Something that I cannot bear—something that will kill me if it is not stopped."
"My dearest Marion," said the countess, "what is wrong? I have never seen you so distressed before. Where is Lance?"