it, had fallen into
a reverie. She was sure she had done right, yet, without doubt, the girl
would feel it keenly. What matter? "Women must weep," it was part of
their lives. Whoever paused or cared for a woman's tears? Women had wept
before and would weep again. She looked round on the superb home where
she reigned mistress, and laughed with scorn as she tried to picture the
farmer's niece queen of these ancient walls.

Right? Most certainly she had done right; let weak minds and weak hearts
think as they would. The golden sunset, the rosy clouds, the soft, sweet
song of the birds, the fragrance of the thousand blooming flowers, the
faint whisper of the odorous wind appealed to her in vain. What was a
bleeding heart and weeping eyes to her?

Yet she was but a woman; and these sweet voices of nature could not
leave her quite unsoftened. She wondered where Lance was. She remembered
him a fair-haired, laughing, defiant boy, playing there under the trees
when the red light fell. She started suddenly when one of her
well-trained footmen opened the door, and said a lady wished to see her.
The countess looked at him in haughty vexation.

"Why do you bring a message so vague? I see no lady who gives neither
card nor name."

"I beg pardon, my lady," said the man, humbly. "I did not forget. The
lady herself said you did not know her, but that her business was most
important."

"You must say that I decline to see any one who gives neither name nor
card," said the countess. Then, seeing the man look both anxious and
undecided, she added, sharply: "Is it a lady?"

He looked greatly relieved.

"It is, my lady. She is young and beautiful," he would have added, if he
had dared.

"You would surely be able to discriminate between a lady and--a person
of any other description?" said the countess.

The man bowed.

"The lady wishes me to add that her business was of great importance,
and that she had traveled some distance to see you."

"Show her in here," said the countess.

The red light of the setting sun had moved then, and fell over her in
great gleams on her dark velvet dress, on her exquisite point lace, and
fine, costly gems. She looked regally proud, haughty, and unbending--the
type of an English aristocratic matron, true to her class, true to her
order, intolerant of any other. As she stood in the heart of the rosy
light the door opened, and this time the countess of Lanswell was
startled out of her calm. There e