upon a chair in an attitude of utter
prostration.

"Molly, Molly," exclaimed her sister reprovingly, while she glanced in
much distress at Miss O'Donoghue, "you are not yourself; you do not
know what you are saying."

"Remember," interposed Sophia in tragic tones, "that you are speaking
of the murderer of my beloved brother." Then she dissolved in tears,
and was obliged to hide her countenance in the folds of a vast
pocket-handkerchief.

"Killing vermin is not murder!" cried Molly fiercely, awakening from
her torpor.

Miss O'Donoghue, who in the most unwonted silence had been watching
the scene with her shrewd eyes, here seized the horrified Sophia by
the elbow and trundled her, with a great deal of energy and
determination, to the door.

"Get out of this, you foolish creature," she said in a stern whisper,
"and don't attempt to show your nose here again till I give it leave
to walk in!" Then returning to the sisters, and looking from Molly's
haggard, distracted face to Madeleine's pale one: "If you take my
advice, my dear," she said, a little drily, to the latter, "you will
not make so many bones about going to see that poor lad in the prison,
and you'll stop wrangling with your sister, for she is just not able
to bear it. We shall start to-morrow, Molly," turning to Lady Landale,
and speaking in the tone of one addressing a sick child, "and
Madeleine will be quite ready as early as you wish."

"My dear aunt," said Madeleine, growing white to the lips, "I am very
sorry if Molly is ill, but you are quite mistaken if you think I can
yield to her wishes in this matter. I could not go; I could not; it is
impossible!"

"Hear her," cried the other, starting from her seat. "Oh, what are you
made of? Is it water that runs in your veins? you that he loves"--her
voice broke into a wail--"you who ought to be so proud to know he
loves you even though your heart be broken! You refuse to go to him,
refuse his last request!... Come to the light," she went on, seizing
the girl's wrists again; "let me look at you. Bah! you never loved
him. You don't even understand what it is to love.... But what could
one expect from you, who abandoned him in the moment of danger. You
are afraid; afraid of the painful scene, the discomfort, the sight of
the prison, of his beautiful face worn and changed--afraid of the
discredit. Oh! I know you, I know you. But mind you, Madeleine de
Savenaye, he wishes to see you, and I swore you would go to