for me? How dared you marry me? you, bound with
crime?"

"The worst is over, Maude; the worst is over."

"It can never be over: you are guilty of wilful sophistry. The crime
remains; and--Lord Hartledon--its fruits remain."

He interrupted her excited words by voice and gesture; he took her hands
in his. She snatched them from him, and burst into a fit of hysterical
crying, which ended in a faintness almost as of death. He did not dare to
call assistance; an unguarded word might have slipped out unawares.

Shut them in; shut them in! they had need to be alone in a scene such as
that.

Lord and Lady Hartledon went down to Calne, as she wished. But not
immediately; some two or three weeks elapsed, and during that time Mr.
Carr was a good deal with both of them. Their sole friend: the only man
cognizant of the trouble they had yet to battle with; who alone might
whisper a word of something like consolation.

Lady Hartledon seemed to improve. Whether it was the country, or the sort
of patched-up peace that reigned between her and her husband, she grew
stronger and better, and began to go out again and enjoy life as usual.
But in saying life, it must not be thought that gaiety is implied; none
could shun that as Lady Hartledon now seemed to shun it. And he, for
the first time since his marriage, began to take some interest in his
native place, and in his own home. The old sensitive feeling in regard to
meeting the Ashtons lingered still; was almost as strong as ever; and he
had the good sense to see that this must be overcome, if possible, if he
made Hartledon his home for the future, as his wife now talked of doing.

As a preliminary step to it, he appeared at church; one, two, three
Sundays. On the second Sunday his wife went with him. Anne was in her
pew, with her younger brother, but not Mrs. Ashton: she, as Lord
Hartledon knew by report, was too ill now to go out. Each day Dr. Ashton
did the whole duty; his curate, Mr. Graves, was taking a holiday. Lord
Hartledon heard another report, that the curate had been wanting to
press his attentions on Miss Ashton. The truth was, as none had known
better than Val Elster, Mr. Graves had wanted to press them years and
years ago. He had at length made her an offer, and she had angrily
refused him. A foolish girl! said indignant Mrs. Graves, reproachfully.
Her son was a model son, and would make a model husband; and he would
be a wealthy man, as Anne knew, for he must sooner