ying in a wreck. Her hair was falling over
her shoulders; her gown was torn where Rawdon had wrenched the
brilliants out of it. She heard him go downstairs a few minutes after
he left her, and the door slamming and closing on him. She knew he
would never come back. He was gone forever. Would he kill
himself?--she thought--not until after he had met Lord Steyne. She
thought of her long past life, and all the dismal incidents of it. Ah,
how dreary it seemed, how miserable, lonely and profitless! Should she
take laudanum, and end it, to have done with all hopes, schemes, debts,
and triumphs? The French maid found her in this position--sitting in
the midst of her miserable ruins with clasped hands and dry eyes. The
woman was her accomplice and in Steyne's pay. "Mon Dieu, madame, what
has happened?" she asked.

What had happened? Was she guilty or not? She said not, but who could
tell what was truth which came from those lips, or if that corrupt
heart was in this case pure?

All her lies and her schemes, an her selfishness and her wiles, all her
wit and genius had come to this bankruptcy. The woman closed the
curtains and, with some entreaty and show of kindness, persuaded her
mistress to lie down on the bed. Then she went below and gathered up
the trinkets which had been lying on the floor since Rebecca dropped
them there at her husband's orders, and Lord Steyne went away.

CHAPTER LIV

Sunday After the Battle

The mansion of Sir Pitt Crawley, in Great Gaunt Street, was just
beginning to dress itself for the day, as Rawdon, in his evening
costume, which he had now worn two days, passed by the scared female
who was scouring the steps and entered into his brother's study. Lady
Jane, in her morning-gown, was up and above stairs in the nursery
superintending the toilettes of her children and listening to the
morning prayers which the little creatures performed at her knee.
Every morning she and they performed this duty privately, and before
the public ceremonial at which Sir Pitt presided and at which all the
people of the household were expected to assemble. Rawdon sat down in
the study before the Baronet's table, set out with the orderly blue
books and the letters, the neatly docketed bills and symmetrical
pamphlets, the locked account-books, desks, and dispatch boxes, the
Bible, the Quarterly Review, and the Court Guide, which all stood as if
on parade awaiting the inspection of their chief.

A book of