oistened her white lips. However she had sinned,
he felt vaguely, as he knelt beside her, that hers would be a terrible
expiation. Mat O'Brien stood a little behind, talking half to himself
and half to Michael.

'Ah, he is a handy chap,' he soliloquised; 'he must have a wife of his
own, I'm thinking. Poor lass! she does look mortal bad. I have frighted
her pretty nearly to death, but it is her own fault. I never would have
hurt a hair of her head. She is as handsome as ever, and as
hard-hearted, too. I used to tell her she was made of stone--not a bit
of love, except for the children. She is coming to, sir,' he continued
excitedly; 'I was half afraid she was dead, lying so still.'

'Yes, she is recovering consciousness,' replied Michael quietly; 'but
it is rather a serious fainting fit, and I must ask you to leave her to
me, Mr. O'Brien. There is my card. I shall be at Rutherford, and will
try to see you to-morrow--no, not to-morrow, there is the
christening--but the next day. I will come over to Vineyard Cottage;
there, we are stopping. Please send a porter to me.' And then Michael
turned again to his patient.

She had opened her eyes and was looking at him as though she were dazed.
'Where am I? what has happened? why are you giving me brandy, Captain
Burnett?'

'You have been ill,' he returned coolly; 'are you subject to these
fainting fits? I want you to try and stand, and then I will help you to
my fly. Porter, will you take those parcels, please. Now, Mrs. Blake, do
you think you can walk?'

'I will try,' she replied in an exhausted voice, but just at that moment
Mat O'Brien passed. 'Oh, I remember,' she gasped; 'the madman! It was he
who frightened me so, Captain Burnett,' looking at him with a return of
the old terror in her face and a sort of wildness in her eyes. 'You did
not believe that improbable story? How can I, a widow, have a living
husband?' And she laughed hysterically.

'Will you permit me to assist you?' was Michael's sole answer, as he
lifted her from the seat; 'can you fasten your bonnet? I was obliged to
give you air.' But as her trembling hands could not perform the office,
he was compelled to do it himself. 'Now you can come,' he went on in a
quiet, authoritative voice, that was not without its effect on her, and
half leading, half supporting her, he placed her at last safely in the
fly. But as he seated himself beside her, and they drove off, in the
gathering dusk of the March evening, h