"I will see her," she said, hoarsely. "May God forgive her and pity me! Fetch her down here, Mr. Parmalee, and I will see her."
"Yes, my lady; but as I'm rather short of funds, perhaps—"
She drew out her purse and poured its glittering contents into his palm.
"It is all I have now; when you return I will have the three hundred pounds. You must take her back to New York. She and I must never meet again—for my husband's sake."
"I understand, my lady. I'll do what I can. I'll take her back, and
I'll trouble you no more."
His last words were drowned in the gallop of Sir Galahad up the avenue.
"It is my husband," my lady exclaimed. "I must leave you. When will you—and she—return?"
"In two days we will be here. I'll give out she's a sister of mine at the inn, and I'll send you word and arrange a meeting."
Mr. Parmalee drew down his hat and strode away. Weak, trembling, my lady leaned for a few moments against a tree, trying to recover herself, then turned slowly and walked back to the house to meet her husband.