to deliver his errand.

"A country-bred young woman, your ladyship," he said, "comes from Sir
John Oxon--"

"From Sir John Oxon!" cried Anne, starting in her chair.

My Lady Dunstanwolde made no start, but turned a steady countenance
towards the door, looking into the lacquey's face.

"Then he hath returned?" she said.

"Returned!" said Anne.

"After the morning he rode home with me," my lady answered, "'twas said
he went away. He left his lodgings without warning. It seems he hath
come back. What does the woman want?" she ended.

"To speak with your ladyship," replied the man, "of Sir John himself, she
says."

"Bring her to me," her ladyship commanded.

The girl was brought in, overawed and trembling. She was a country-bred
young creature, as the lacquey had said, being of the simple rose-and-
white freshness of seventeen years perhaps, and having childish blue eyes
and fair curling locks.

She was so frightened by the grandeur of her surroundings, and the
splendid beauty of the lady who was so soon to be a duchess, and was
already a great earl's widow, that she could only stand within the
doorway, curtseying and trembling, with tears welling in her eyes.

"Be not afraid," said my Lady Dunstanwolde. "Come hither, child, and
tell me what you want." Indeed, she did not look a hard or shrewish
lady; she spoke as gently as woman could, and a mildness so unexpected
produced in the young creature such a revulsion of feeling that she made
a few steps forward and fell upon her knees, weeping, and with uplifted
hands.

"My lady," she said, "I know not how I dared to come, but that I am so
desperate--and your ladyship being so happy, it seemed--it seemed that
you might pity me, who am so helpless and know not what to do."

Her ladyship leaned forward in her chair, her elbow on her knee, her chin
held in her hand, to gaze at her.

"You come from Sir John Oxon?" she said.

Anne, watching, clutched each arm of her chair.

"Not _from_ him, asking your ladyship's pardon," said the child,
"but--but--from the country to him," her head falling on her breast, "and
I know not where he is."

"You came _to_ him," asked my lady. "Are you," and her speech was
pitiful and slow--"are you one of those whom he has--ruined?"

The little suppliant looked up with widening orbs.

"How could that be, and he so virtuous and pious a gentleman?" she
faltered.

Then did my lady rise with a sudden movement.

"Was he so?"