. The secret is yours, not your
father's?"

"Do not ask me! If the sin is not mine, the atonement--the bitter
atonement--is, at least. Everard, look at me--see! I love you with
all my heart. I would not tell you a lie. I never committed a deed, I
never indulged a thought of my own, you are not free to know. I never
saw this man until that day in the library. Oh, believe this and trust
me, and don't ask me to break my oath!"

"I will not! I believe you; I trust you. I ask no more. Get rid of
this man, and be happy once again. We will not even talk of it longer;
and--will you come with me to my mother's, Harrie? I dine there, you
know, to-day."

"My head aches. Not to-day, I think. What time will you return?"

"Before ten. And, as I have a little magisterial business to transact
down in the village, it is time I was off. Adieu, my own love! Forget
the harsh words, and be my own happy, radiant, beautiful bride once
more."

She lifted her face and smiled--a smile as wan and fleeting as
moonlight on snow.

Sir Everard hastened to his room to dress, striving with all his might
to drive every suspicion out of his mind.

And she--she flung herself on the sofa, face downward, and lay there as
if she never cared to rise again.

"Papa, papa!" she wailed, "what have you done--what have you done?"

All that day Lady Kingsland kept her room. Her maid brought her what
she wanted. Sir Everard returned at the appointed hour, looking gloomy
and downcast.

His evening at his mother's had not been a pleasant one--that was
evident. Perhaps some vague hint of the darkening mystery had already
reached The Grange.

"My mother feels rather hurt, Harrie," he said, somewhat coldly, "that
you did not accompany me. She is unable to call on you, owing to a
severe cold. Mildred is absorbed in waiting upon her, and desires to
see you exceedingly. I promised them we would both dine there tomorrow
and spend the evening."

"As you please, Everard," she said, wearily. "It is all the same to
me."

She descended to breakfast next morning carefully dressed to meet the
fastidious eye of her husband. But she ate nothing. A gloomy
presentiment of impending evil weighed down her heart. Her husband
made little effort to rouse her--the contagious gloom affected him, too.

"It is the weather, I dare say," he remarked, looking out at the bleak,
wintery day, the leaden sky, the wailing wind. "This February gloom is
eno