much curiosity, and some
concern.

In that moment of weakness the poor lady, who had been so roughly
handled, saw a woman close to her, and being a little kind to her; so
what did she do but throw her arms round Ryder's neck and burst out
sobbing as if her heart would break.

Then that unprincipled woman shed a tear or two with her, half
crocodile, half impulse.

Mrs. Gaunt not only cried on her servant's neck; she
justified Ryder's forecast by speaking unguardedly: "I've been
insulted--insulted--insulted!"

But, even while uttering these words, she was recovering her pride: so
the first "insulted" seemed to come from a broken-hearted child, the
second from an indignant lady, the third from a wounded queen.

No more words than this; but she rose, with Ryder's assistance, and
went, leaning on that faithful creature's shoulder, to her own bedroom.
There she sank into a chair and said, in a voice to melt a stone, "My
child! Bring me my little Rose."

Ryder ran and fetched the little girl; and Mrs. Gaunt held out both arms
to her, angelically, and clasped her so passionately and piteously to
her bosom, that Rose cried for fear, and never forgot the scene all her
days; and Mrs. Ryder, who was secretly a mother, felt a genuine twinge
of pity and remorse. Curiosity, however, was the dominant sentiment. She
was impatient to get all these convulsions over, and learn what had
actually passed between Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt.

She waited till her mistress appeared calmer; and then, in soft,
caressing tones, asked her what had happened.

"Never ask me that question again," cried Mrs. Gaunt, wildly. Then, with
inexpressible dignity, "My good girl, you have done all you could for
me; now you must leave me alone with my daughter, and my God, who knows
the truth."

Ryder courtesied and retired, burning with baffled curiosity.

Towards dusk Thomas Leicester came into the kitchen, and brought her
news with a vengeance. He told her and the other maids that the Squire
had gone raving mad, and fled the country. "O lasses," said he, "if you
had seen the poor soul's face, a-riding headlong through the fair, all
one as if it was a ploughed field; 't was white as your smocks; and his
eyes glowering on 't other world. We shall ne'er see that face alive
again."

And this was her doing.

It surprised and overpowered Ryder. She threw her apron over her head,
and went off in hysterics, and betrayed her lawless attachment to every
woman i