nate, Lady Kirton,
or on some scores I might reproach you. Maude loved my brother, and you
knew it; I loved Miss Ashton, and you knew that; yet from the very hour
the breath was out of my brother's body you laid your plans and began
your schemes upon me. I was weak as water in your hands, and fell into
the snare. The marriage was your work entirely; and in the fruits it has
brought forth there might arise a nice question, Lady Kirton, which of us
is most to blame: I, who erred unwittingly, or you who--"

"Will you have done?" she cried.

"I have nearly done. I only wish you to remember that others may have
been wrong, as well as myself. Dr. Ashton warned us that night that the
marriage might not bring a blessing. Anne, it was a cruel wrong upon
you," he added, impulsively turning to her; "you felt it bitterly, I
shamefully; but, my dear wife, you have lived to see that it was in
reality a mercy in disguise."

The countess-dowager, not finding words strong enough to express her
feelings at this, made a grimace at him.

"Let us be friends, Lady Kirton! Let us join together silently in
guarding Maude's good name, and in burying the past. In time perhaps even
I may live it down. Not a human being knows of it except we who are here
and Dr. Mair, who will for his own sake guard the secret. Maude was my
wife always in the eyes of the world; and Maude certainly died so: all
peace and respect to her memory! As for my share, retribution has held
its heavy hand upon me; it is upon me still, Heaven knows. It was for
Maude I suffered; for Maude I felt; and if my life could have repaired
the wrong upon her, I would willingly have sacrificed it. Let us be
friends: it may be to the interest of both."

He held out his hand, and the dowager did not repulse it. She had caught
the word "interest."

"_Now_ you might allow me Maude and that income!"

"I think I had better allow you the income without Maude."

"Eh? what?" cried the dowager, briskly. "Do you mean it?"

"Indeed I do. I have been thinking for some little time that you would be
more comfortable in a home of your own, and I am willing to help you to
one. I'll pay the rent of a nice little place in Ireland, and give you
six hundred a-year, paid quarterly, and--yes--make you a yearly present
of ten dozen of port wine."

Ah, the crafty man! The last item had a golden sound in it.

"Honour bright, Hartledon?"

"Honour bright! You shall never want for anything as long as