at each other. Still the feeling of
caste was strong in the servant. She had drawn an ottoman up to the
couch, and placed herself on that; but not until she had taken the shawl
from the carpet, and placed it around her mistress, did she thus sit
down, as it were, at her feet.

"Where did you come from, Hannah Yates?"

"From America. I came from the ship three days ago."

At the word America the old countess shrank back, and held out her
hands, as if to avoid a blow. After a little she spoke again, but it was
now with a voice sharp with pain.

"Yates, did you in America ever know anything of my child?"

The anguish in that voice startled Hannah Yates, and her old face
whitened. How much did the mistress know? If little, perfect candor
might kill her. She had not come there to wound an old woman with the
horrors that had darkened her life; so she answered, cautiously:

"Yes, I saw Lady Hope more than once after she came to America."

"Thank God!" exclaimed the countess. "I may now learn how and when she
died."

"I was not with her when she died," answered the servant, in a low
voice.

"But you saw her before?"

"Yes, I saw her often."

"And the child?"

"Yes; the child was with me a good deal."

"Yates, was my child happy in that strange land?"

"How can I answer that, my lady?"

"Did you see Hope there?"

"Once, only once, and that for a moment."

"And you can tell me no particulars. You have no information to give me
with regard to the woman who is Lord Hope's wife?"

"Of her I know but little. Remember, my lady, I am but a servant."

"You were my child's nurse. I never looked on you as a common servant,
but rather as a faithful friend. So did my poor child. When I learned
she was in the same country with you and her foster-brother, my heart
was somewhat at rest. But her letters were so studied, so
unsatisfactory; yet there was nothing in them of sadness or complaint.
Only this, Yates, she never mentioned her husband, not once! I should
hardly have known that he was with her but for the letter in which he
told me that I was a childless old woman."

Mrs. Yates drew a long, heavy sigh. She understood now that the secret
of that awful tragedy in New York had been kept from her old mistress,
and resolved that it never should reach her--never while her will could
keep back the horrible truth.

"My lady," she said, with an effort, "there is one thing which
our--which my young mistress bade me brin