ooking
eagerly forward to the time when this deceit can be over, and I can
rejoin my friend once more. I am so glad, my dear Mrs. Hart, that you
came in. It is such a relief to have some one to whom I can unburden
myself. I am very miserable, and I imagine all the time that the
servants suspect me. You will, of course, keep this a profound
secret, will you not, my dear Mrs. Hart? and help me to play this
wretched part, which my love for Zillah has led me to undertake?"

Hilda's tone was that of an innocent and simple girl who found
herself in a false position. Mrs. Hart listened earnestly without a
word, except occasionally. The severe rigidity of her features never
relaxed. What effect this story, so well told, produced upon her,
Hilda could not know. At length, however, she had finished, and Mrs.
Hart arose.

"You will keep Zillah's secret?" said Hilda, earnestly. "It is for
the sake of Lord Chetwynde."

"You will never find me capable of doing any thing that is against
his interests," said Mrs. Hart, solemnly; and without a bow, or an
adieu, she retired. She went back to her own room to ponder over this
astonishing story.

Meanwhile, Hilda, left alone to herself, was not altogether satisfied
with the impression which had been made on Mrs. Hart. She herself had
played her part admirably--her story, long prepared in case of some
sudden need like this, was coherent and natural. It was spoken
fluently and unhesitatingly; nothing could have been better in its
way, or more convincing; and yet she was not satisfied with Mrs.
Hart's demeanor. Her face was too stern, her manner too frigid; the
questions which she had asked spoke of suspicion. All these were
unpleasant, and calculated to awaken her fears. Her position had
always been one of extreme peril, and she had dreaded some visitor
who might remember her face. She had feared the doctor most, and had
carefully kept out of his way. She had not thought until lately of
the possibility of Mrs. Hart's recovery. This came upon her with a
suddenness that was bewildering, and the consequences she could not
foretell.

And now another fear suggested itself. Might not Lord Chetwynde
himself have some suspicions? Would not such suspicions account for
his coldness and severity? Perhaps he suspected the truth, and was
preparing some way in which she could be entrapped and punished.
Perhaps his mysterious business in London related to this alone. The
thought filled her with alar