sees even more, Amabel; I heard this
morning, from Mrs. Grey, that Hugh had been with you, again, yesterday.
Amabel, is it possible; has Hugh been making love to you?"

Amabel had become very pale. Looking down, she said in a hardly audible
voice; "It is a mistake.--He will see that it is impossible."

Lady Elliston for a moment was silent: the confirming of her own
suspicion seemed to have stupefied her. "Is it impossible?" she then
asked.

"Quite, quite impossible."

"Does Hugh know that it is impossible?"

"He will.--Yesterday, Augustine came in while he was here;--I could not
say any more."

"I see: I see"; said Lady Elliston. Her hand fell to the table now and
she slightly tapped her finger-tips upon it. There was an ominous rhythm
in the little raps. "And this adds to Augustine's hatred," she said.

"I am afraid it is true. I am afraid he does hate him, and how terrible
that is," said Amabel, "for he believes him to be his father."

"By instinct he must feel the tie unreal."

"Yet he has had a father's kindness, almost, from Hugh."

"Almost. It isn't enough you know. He suspects nothing, you think?"

"It is that that is so terrible. He doesn't suspect me: he suspects him.
He couldn't suspect evil of me. It is my guilt, and his ignorant hatred
that is parting us." Amabel was trembling; she leaned forward and
covered her face with her hands.

The very air about her seemed to tremble; so strange, so incredibly
strange was it to hear her own words of helpless avowal; so strange to
feel that she must tell Lady Elliston all she wished to know.

"Parting you? What do you mean? What folly!--what impossible folly! A
mother and a son, loving each other as you and Augustine love, parted
for that. Oh, no," said Lady Elliston, and her own voice shook a little:
"that can't be. I won't have that."

"He would not love me, if he knew."

"Knew? What is there for him to know? And how should he know? You won't
be so mad as to tell him?"

"It's my punishment not to dare to tell him--and to see my cowardice
cast a shadow on Hugh."

"Punishment? haven't you been punished enough, good heavens! Cowardice?
it is reason, maturity; the child has no right to your secret--it is
yours and only yours, Amabel. And if he did know all, he could not judge
you as you judge yourself."

"Ah, you don't understand," Amabel murmured: "I had forgotten to judge
myself; I had forgotten my sin; it was Augustine who made me remember; I