superbly.

And Ryder shrank back into herself directly.

"Child," said Mrs. Gaunt, "you have done me a great service, and my
husband too; for if this dastardly act had been done in his name, he
would soon have been heartily ashamed of it, and deplored it. Such
services can never be quite repaid; but you will find a purse in that
drawer with five guineas; it is yours; and my lavender silk dress, be
pleased to wear that about me, to remind me of the good office you have
done me. And now, all you can do for me is to leave me; for I am very,
very unhappy."

Ryder retired with the spoil, and Mrs. Gaunt leaned her head over her
chair, and cried without stint.

* * * * *

After this, no angry words passed between Mr. and Mrs. Gaunt; but
something worse, a settled coolness, sprung up.

As for Griffith, his cook kept her place, and the priest came no more to
the Castle; so, having outwardly gained the day, he was ready to forget
and forgive; but Kate, though she would not let her servant speak ill of
Griffith, was deeply indignant and disgusted with him. She met his
advances with such a stern coldness, that he turned sulky and bitter in
his turn.

Husband and wife saw little of each other, and hardly spoke.

Both were unhappy; but Kate was angriest, and Griffith saddest.

In an evil hour he let out his grief to Caroline Ryder. She seized the
opportunity, and, by a show of affectionate sympathy and zeal, made
herself almost necessary to him, and contrived to establish a very
perilous relation between him and her. Matters went so far as this, that
the poor man's eye used to brighten when he saw her coming.

Yet this victory cost her a sore heart and all the patient self-denial
of her sex. To be welcome to Griffith she had to speak to him of her
rival, and to speak well of her. She tried talking of herself and her
attachment; he yawned in her face: she tried smooth detraction and
innuendo; he fired up directly, and defended her of whose conduct he had
been complaining the very moment before.

Then she saw that there was but one way to the man's heart. Sore, and
sick, and smiling, she took that way: resolving to bide her time; to
worm herself in any how, and wait patiently till she could venture to
thrust her mistress out.

If any of my readers need to be told why this she Machiavel threw her
fellow-conspirators over, the reason was simply this: on calm reflection
she saw it was not her