us clique who frequented the Countess of Huntingdon's Chapel,
of which Mrs. Travers was an esteemed member, were filled with horror;
and the terrible event was alluded to, or rather made the basis of the
sermon, in the Vineyards Chapel that evening.

In many hearts there was awakened real sympathy for the stricken mother,
and the sad condition of the girl who must feel that she had, even if
unwittingly, been the cause of the duel.

Lady Betty, when she was told by Mr. Cheyne of what had happened,
suddenly recovered from her indisposition, and sent off several
three-cornered notes to her friends to say the lamentable occurrence
had, of course, separated her from the _unhappy_ girl, to whom she was
no real relation, and with whom she was sure the dear departed Mr.
Longueville would not wish her to have any further dealings. It was not
to be expected that a woman of rank and family could be mixed up with
one of low birth who had made herself notorious.

Graves, who was commissioned to despatch these notes, one of which was
addressed to Lord Basingstoke, handed them to Zach, to whom she said:

"There have been letters given to your hand that have never been
delivered. Let me tell you that you may deliver these or not, as you
choose, you little spy!"

And Zach grinned, and said:

"Give me a crown, and I'll take them safe enough."

"I'd as lief give you a crack on the crown of your head!" said Graves
wrathfully; "you little wretch!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.

It was late on that memorable Sunday evening when Griselda watched her
opportunity, and rising from her bed, dressed, and went downstairs.

Only the servant was in the house, for the Herschels were gone to the
evening service in the Octagon Chapel, and had not yet returned.

Griselda let herself quietly out, and, with slow and faltering steps,
reached the door of the house, where, as everyone believed, Leslie
Travers lay dying of his wounds.

It was with a trembling hand that she knocked at the door, which was
after a pause opened by old Giles.

"I am come," she faltered, "to see Mrs. Travers."

Giles shook his head.

"My lady can see no one," he said; "she is in sore trouble."

"Tell me, please, how the gentleman is who was--who was wounded in a
duel."

"As bad as he can be," was the short reply; "he won't live till
morning."

"I want to see Mrs. Travers, if only for a moment--I want to see Mrs.
Travers. I am Miss Mainw