s treatment
to her on her return. Though she had suffered much, her spirit was
unbroken. Sir Hugh was, in truth, responsible for her reception in
England. Had he come forward like a brother, all might have been well.
But it was too late now for Sir Hugh Clavering to remedy the evil he had
done, and he should be made to understand that Lady Ongar would not
become a suppliant to him for mercy. She was striving to think how "rich
she was in horses, how rich in broidered garments, and in gold," as she
sat solitary over her breakfast; but her mind would run off to other
things, cumbering itself with unnecessary miseries and useless
indignation. Had she not her price in her hand?

Would she see the steward that morning? No, not that morning. Things
outside could go on for a while in their course as heretofore. She
feared to seem to take possession with pride, and then there was that
conviction that it would be well to husband her resources. So she sent
for Mrs. Button, and asked Mrs. Button to walk through the rooms with
her. Mrs. Button came, but again declined to accept her lady's
condescension. Every spot about the house, every room, closet and
wardrobe, she was ready to open with zeal; the furniture she was
prepared to describe, if Lady Ongar would listen to her; but every word
was spoken in a solemn voice, very far removed from gossipping. Only
once was Mrs. Button moved to betray any emotion. "That, my lady, was my
lord's mother's room, after my lord died--my lord's father that was; may
God bless her." Then Lady Ongar reflected that from her husband she had
never heard a word either of his father or his mother. She wished that
she could seat herself with that woman in some small upstairs room, and
then ask question after question about the family. But she did not dare
to make the attempt. She could not bring herself to explain to Mrs.
Button that she had never known anything of the belongings of her own
husband.

When she had seen the upper part of the house, Mrs. Button offered to
convoy her through the kitchens and servants' apartments, but she
declined this for the present. She had done enough for the day. So she
dismissed Mrs. Button, and took herself to the library. How often had
she heard that books afforded the surest consolation to the desolate.
She would take to reading; not on this special day, but as the resource
for many days and months, and years to come. But this idea had faded and
become faint, before s