d truth. Did I,
dear Maud?'

Again I acquiesced.

All this time he was fumbling among the papers in his coatpocket.

'That is satisfactory. So I expected you to say,' he murmured. 'I expected
no less.'

On a sudden a frightful change spread across his face. He rose like a
spectre with a white scowl.

'Then how do you account for that?' he shrieked in a voice of thunder, and
smiting my open letter to Lady Knollys, face upward, upon the table.

I stared at my uncle, unable to speak, until I seemed to lose sight of him;
but his voice, like a bell, still yelled in my ears.

'There! young hypocrite and liar! explain that farrago of slander which you
bribed my servant to place in the hands of my kinswoman, Lady Knollys.'

And so on and on it went, I gazing into darkness, until the voice itself
became indistinct, grew into a buzz, and hummed away into silence.

I think I must have had a fit.

When I came to myself I was drenched with water, my hair, face, neck, and
dress. I did not in the least know where I was. I thought my father was
ill, and spoke to him. Uncle Silas was standing near the window, looking
unspeakably grim. Madame was seated beside me, and an open bottle of ether,
one of Uncle Silas's restoratives, on the table before me.

'Who's that--who's ill--is anyone dead?' I cried.

At last I was relieved by long paroxysms of weeping. When I was
sufficiently recovered, I was conveyed into my own room.

CHAPTER LVIII

_LADY KNOLLYS' CARRIAGE_

Next morning--it was Sunday--I lay on my bed in my dressing-gown, dull,
apathetic, with all my limbs sore, and, as I thought, rheumatic,
and feeling so ill that I did not care to speak or lift my head. My
recollection of what had passed in Uncle Silas's room was utterly confused,
and it seemed to me as if my poor father had been there and taken a
share--I could not remember how--in the conference.

I was too exhausted and stupid to clear up this horrible muddle, and merely
lay with my face toward the wall, motionless and silent, except for a great
sigh every now and then.

Good Mary Quince was in the room--there was some comfort in that; but I
felt quite worn out, and had rather she did not speak to me; and indeed for
the time I felt absolutely indifferent as to whether I lived or died.

Cousin Monica this morning, at pleasant Elverston, all-unconscious of my
sad plight, proposed to Lady Mary Carysbroke and Lord Ilbury, her
guests, to drive over to ch