air of a useful occupation, and
being pursued as a task, it will suit me better than a lighter one.

In September, quiet Grassdale was again alive with a party of ladies and
gentlemen (so called), consisting of the same individuals as those
invited the year before last, with the addition of two or three others,
among whom were Mrs. Hargrave and her younger daughter. The gentlemen
and Lady Lowborough were invited for the pleasure and convenience of the
host; the other ladies, I suppose, for the sake of appearances, and to
keep me in check, and make me discreet and civil in my demeanour. But
the ladies stayed only three weeks; the gentlemen, with two exceptions,
above two months: for their hospitable entertainer was loth to part with
them and be left alone with his bright intellect, his stainless
conscience, and his loved and loving wife.

On the day of Lady Lowborough's arrival, I followed her into her chamber,
and plainly told her that, if I found reason to believe that she still
continued her criminal connection with Mr. Huntingdon, I should think it
my absolute duty to inform her husband of the circumstance--or awaken his
suspicions at least--however painful it might be, or however dreadful the
consequences. She was startled at first by the declaration, so
unexpected, and so determinately yet calmly delivered; but rallying in a
moment, she coolly replied that, if I saw anything at all reprehensible
or suspicious in her conduct, she would freely give me leave to tell his
lordship all about it. Willing to be satisfied with this, I left her;
and certainly I saw nothing thenceforth particularly reprehensible or
suspicious in her demeanour towards her host; but then I had the other
guests to attend to, and I did not watch them narrowly--for, to confess
the truth, I feared to see anything between them. I no longer regarded
it as any concern of mine, and if it was my duty to enlighten Lord
Lowborough, it was a painful duty, and I dreaded to be called to perform
it.

But my fears were brought to an end in a manner I had not anticipated.
One evening, about a fortnight after the visitors' arrival, I had retired
into the library to snatch a few minutes' respite from forced
cheerfulness and wearisome discourse, for after so long a period of
seclusion, dreary indeed as I had often found it, I could not always bear
to be doing violence to my feelings, and goading my powers to talk, and
smile and listen, and play the attentiv