not to have seen him."

We talked about him. There was nothing she liked more than speaking of
him to me. We were out, I should think, at least three hours, and then
my mother felt faint, and we went back.

The good rector met us and shook hands very kindly with us, but he was
pale and agitated, not like himself in the least. Patience was there,
and Emma; the other servants were huddled in groups, and I knew
something very terrible had happened--something--but what?

The rector said Lady Tayne was tired, and must have some wine. My mother
took it, and was placed upon her couch once more. She turned to the
footman and asked if my father had returned. The answer was--no. Then
the rector said he wished to speak to her alone. He held a letter in his
hands, and his face was as pale as death. She looked up at him and said,
quickly:

"Is it bad news?"

"Yes," he answered, gravely; "it is very bad news. Laura, go away and
leave your mother with me."

But my mother clung to me.

"No, if I have anything to suffer," she cried, "let Laura stay with
me--I can bear anything with her."

"Let me stay?" I asked.

He covered his face with his hands, and was silent for some minutes. I
wonder if he was praying Heaven to give him strength--he had to give my
mother her death blow. I can never remember how he told her--in what
language or fashion--but we gathered the sense of it at last; my father
had left home, and had taken Miss Reinhart with him!

The blow had fallen--the worst had come. Oh, Heaven! if, sleeping or
waking, I could ever forget my mother's face--if I could close my eyes
without seeing its white, stony horror! The very tone of her voice was
changed.

"Doctor Dalkeith!" she asked, "is this horrible thing true--true?"

"Unhappily, Lady Tayne," he replied.

"You say that my husband, Sir Roland has left me, and has gone
away--with--this person?"

"I am afraid it is but too true," he replied.

"Has he ceased to love me, that he has done this?"

"My dear Lady Tayne, I know nothing but the facts--nothing else. Your
servants sent for me to break it to you, for they could not bear to do
it themselves."

"My servants," she said, mechanically. She still held the flowers we had
gathered in her hand, the lovely sprays of mignonette! suddenly they
fell to the floor, and in a strange, hoarse voice, my mother cried: "I
must follow him!"

Oh, wondrous power of love! My mother, who had been crippled and
helpless so lon