what difference will one
day make? He must know it when the property is given up."

Then there was a knock at the door, and a girl entered with a
decanter, two wine-glasses, and a slice or two of bread and butter.
"You must drink that," said Mrs. Orme, pouring out a glass of wine.

"And you?"

"Yes, I will take some too. There. I shall be stronger now. Nay, Lady
Mason, you shall drink it. And now if you will take my advice you
will go to bed."

"You will come to me again?"

"Yes; directly it is over. Of course I shall come to you. Am I not to
stay here all night?"

"But him;--I will not see him. He is not to come."

"That will be as he pleases."

"No. You promised that. I cannot see him when he knows what I have
done for him."

"Not to hear him say that he forgives you?"

"He will not forgive me. You do not know him. Could you bear to look
at your boy if you had disgraced him for ever?"

"Whatever I might have done he would not desert me. Nor will Lucius
desert you. Shall I go now?"

"Ah, me! Would that I were in my grave!"

Then Mrs. Orme bent over her and kissed her, pressed both her hands,
then kissed her again, and silently creeping out of the room made her
way once more slowly down the stairs.

Mrs. Orme, as will have been seen, was sufficiently anxious to
perform the task which she had given herself, but yet her heart sank
within her as she descended to the parlour. It was indeed a terrible
commission, and her readiness to undertake it had come not from any
feeling on her own part that she was fit for the work and could do
it without difficulty, but from the eagerness with which she had
persuaded Lady Mason that the thing must be done by some one. And
now who else could do it? In Sir Peregrine's present state it would
have been a cruelty to ask him; and then his feelings towards Lucius
in the matter were not tender as were those of Mrs. Orme. She had
been obliged to promise that she herself would do it, or otherwise
she could not have urged the doing. And now the time had come.
Immediately on their return to the house Mrs. Orme had declared that
the story should be told at once; and then Lady Mason, sinking into
the chair from which she had not since risen, had at length agreed
that it should be so. The time had now come, and Mrs. Orme, whose
footsteps down the stairs had not been audible, stood for a moment
with the handle of the door in her hand.

Had it been possible she also would now hav