ra, being at home,
was able, though in some trepidation, to tell him what he wanted; and
thus it was that he found himself at Bute Lodge.

Lettice came into the room where he had been waiting, intrepid, and yet
boding something which could not be entirely pleasant for him, and might
be very much the reverse. She did not want to quarrel with Sydney--she
had made many efforts in the past to please him, without much effect,
and had been pained by the increasing interval which separated them from
each other. But she believed that to earn his good word would imply the
forsaking of nearly all that she valued, and the bowing down to images
which she could not respect; and therefore she was content that his good
word should be a thing beyond her reach.

She carried the baby on her left arm, and held out her right to Sydney.
He barely touched her fingers.

"You are back again," she said. "I hope you had a pleasant time, and
that your wife is well."

"She is pretty well, thank you. We should have gone on to Florence if
you had remained there, as we expected. You have taken your fate in your
hands, Lettice, and cut yourself adrift from those who care for you!"

"Not willingly, Sydney. You might believe that at every step I have done
what seemed to be my duty."

"How can one believe that? I only wish I could. Read this letter!"

She looked at him first, and her eyes flashed at his expression of
unbelief. She drew herself up as she took Cora's letter in her hands,
and read it through with a curl of contempt upon her lips. Then she
dropped the paper, and, clasping Milly's child to her breast, looked
long and steadily at her brother.

"Why did you give me that to read?" she said quietly.

"There could be only one reason," he replied; "to ask you if it is
true?"

"You _ask_ me? You expect an answer?"

"I don't see why you should object to say 'yes' or 'no' to a charge
which, if true, must destroy all brotherly and sisterly feeling between
us."

"But you _are_ my brother! Ask me your own questions, and I will answer.
I will not answer that woman's!"

She stood in front of him, by far the more proud and dignified of the
two, and waited for him to begin.

"Did you bring that man with you here from the prison?"

"I brought Mr. Walcott here."

"And is he here now?"

"Yes."

"What more is there to be said? Wretched woman, it is well for you that
your parents are beyond the reach of this disgrace!"

Whether he meant