both Tyrrel and I."

Then the time being on a dangerous line they parted. But Ethel could
think of nothing and talk of nothing but the frightful change in her
friend, and the unceasing misery which had produced it. Tyrrel shared
all her indignation. The slow torture of any creature was an intolerable
crime in his eyes, but when the brutality was exercised on a woman, and
on a countrywoman, he was roused to the highest pitch of indignation.
When Wednesday arrived he did not leave the house, but waited with
Ethel for the message they confidently expected. It came about five
o'clock--urgent, imperative, entreating, "Come, for God's sake! He will
kill me."

The carriage was ready, and in half an hour they were at Mostyn Hall. No
one answered their summons, but as they stood listening and waiting,
a shrill cry of pain and anger pierced the silence. It was followed by
loud voices and a confused noise--noise of many talking and exclaiming.
Then Tyrrel no longer hesitated. He opened the door easily, and taking
Ethel on his arm, suddenly entered the parlor from which the clamor
came. Dora stood in the center of the room like an enraged pythoness,
her eyes blazing with passion.

"See!" she cried as Tyrrel entered the room--"see!" And she held out
her arm, and pointed to her shoulder from which the lace hung in shreds,
showing the white flesh, red and bruised, where Mostyn had gripped her.
Then Tyrrel turned to Mostyn, who was held tightly in the grasp of
his gardener and coachman, and foaming with a rage that rendered his
explanation almost inarticulate, especially as the three women servants
gathered around their mistress added their railing and invectives to the
general confusion.

"The witch! The cat-faced woman!" he screamed. "She wants to go to her
mother! Wants to play the trick she killed Basil Stanhope with! She
shall not! She shall not! I will kill her first! She is mad! I will
send her to an asylum! She is a little devil! I will send her to hell!
Nothing is bad enough--nothing----"

"Mr. Mostyn," said Tyrrel.

"Out of my house! What are you doing here? Away! This is my house! Out
of it immediately!"

"This man is insane," said Tyrrel to Dora. "Put on your hat and cloak,
and come home with us."

"I am waiting for Justice Manningham," she answered with a calm
subsidence of passion that angered Mostyn more than her reproaches.
"I have sent for him. He will be here in five minutes now. That
brute"--pointing to Mo