se by anything he might say.
"Do not think so; think of her misery. How could she endure it by
herself?"

"Think of her guilt, Edith!"

"I will leave others to think of that. But, father, her guilt will
not stain me. Are we not bound to remember what injury she might
have done to us, and how we might still have been ignorant of all
this, had not she herself confessed it--for our sakes--for our sakes,
father?"

And then Sir Peregrine gave way. When this argument was used to him,
he was forced to yield. It was true that, had not that woman been as
generous as she was guilty, he would now have been bound to share her
shame. The whole of this affair, taken together, had nearly laid him
prostrate; but that which had gone the farthest towards effecting
this ruin, was the feeling that he owed so much to Lady Mason. As
regarded the outer world, the injury to him would have been much more
terrible had he married her; men would then have declared that all
was over with him; but as regards the inner man, I doubt whether he
would not have borne that better. It was easier for him to sustain
an injury than a favour,--than a favour from one whom his judgment
compelled him to disown as a friend.

But he had given way, and it was understood at The Cleeve that Mrs.
Orme was to remain by Lady Mason's side during the trial. To the
general household there was nothing in this that was wonderful. They
knew only of the old friendship. To them the question of her guilt
was still an open question. As others had begun to doubt, so had
they; but no one then presumed that Sir Peregrine or Mrs. Orme had
any doubt. That they were assured of her innocence was the conviction
of all Hamworth and its neighbourhood.

"He never goes back from his word, you know," Mrs. Orme had said;
and then she kissed Lady Mason, and went her way. She had never left
her without a kiss, had never greeted her without a warm pressure of
the hand, since that day on which the secret had been told in Sir
Peregrine's library. It would be impossible to describe how great
had been the worth of this affection to Lady Mason; but it may
almost be said that it had kept her alive. She herself had said but
little about it, uttering but few thanks; but not the less had she
recognised the value of what had been done for her. She had even
become more free herself in her intercourse with Mrs. Orme,--more
open in her mode of speech,--had put herself more on an equality with
her frien