Louvaine," said the Countess, suddenly, "have you discovered that
you are a very foolish young man?"

Aubrey flushed red, and remained silent.

"It seems to me," she continued, "that you speak truth, and that you
have been no worser than foolish. Yet, so being, you must surely guess
that for your own sake, no less than for the Earl's, you must leave this
house, and that quickly."

He had not guessed it, and it came upon him like a bomb-shell. Leave
Oxford House! What was to become of him?

"And if you will take my advice, you will not essay to win into any
other service. Tarry as still as you can some whither, till matters be
blown over, and men begin to forget the inwards of this affair: not in
Town. Have you no friend in the country that would take you in for a
while? 'Tis for your own good, and for my Lady Lettice' sake, that I
give you this counsel."

"Lie hidden in the country!" Aubrey's tones were perfectly aghast.
Such an expectation had never visited his least coherent dreams.

"Mr Louvaine," said Lady Oxford in a kinder voice, "I can see that you
have never reckoned till this moment whither your course should lead
you, nor what lay at the end of the road you traversed. I am sorry for
you, rather than angered; for I believe you thought no ill: you simply
failed to think at all, as so many have done before you. Yet is it the
truest kindness not to cover your path by a deluding mist, but to point
out to you plainly the end of the way you are going. Trust me, if this
witness in mine hand were traced to you by them in power, they should
not take your testimony for truth so easily as I may. I know you, and
the stock whence you come; to them, you were but one of a thousand,
without favour or distinction. Maybe you think me hard; yet I ensure
you, you have no better friend, nor one that shall give you truer
counsel than this which I have given. Go you into the country, the
further from London the better, and lie as quiet as you may, till the
whole matter be blown over, and maybe some time hence, it shall be
possible to sue you a pardon from his Majesty to cover all."

"Some time!" broke from Aubrey's lips.

"Ay, and be thankful it is no worse. He that leaps into a volcano,
counting it but a puddle, shall not find it a puddle, but a volcano.
You have played with firebrands, Mr Louvaine, and must not marvel nor
grumble to feel the scorching of your fingers."

Aubrey's silence was the issue of shee