. I'll take the three hundred pounds. And now, my
lady, what do you mean to do about her? She wants to see you."

"See me!" An expression of horror swept over my lady's face. "Not for
ten thousand worlds!"

"Well, now, I call that hard," said Mr. Parmalee. "I don't care what
she's done or what she's been, it's hard! She's sorry now, and no one
can be more than that. I take an interest in that unfortunate party,
my lady; and if you knew how she hankers after a sight of you--how poor
and ill and heart-broken she is--how she longs to hear you say once, 'I
forgive you,' before she dies--well, you wouldn't be so hard."

"Stop--stop!" Lady Kingsland exclaimed.

She turned away, leaning against a tree, her face more ghastly than the
face of a dead woman.

Mr. Parmalee watched her. He could see the fierce struggle that shook
her from head to foot.

"Don't be hard on her!" he pleaded. "She's very humble now, and fallen
very low. She won't live long, and you'll be happier on your own
death-bed, my lady, for forgiving her poor soul!"

She put out her hand blindly and took his.

"I will see her," she said, hoarsely. "May God forgive her and pity
me! Fetch her down here, Mr. Parmalee, and I will see her."

"Yes, my lady; but as I'm rather short of funds, perhaps--"

She drew out her purse and poured its glittering contents into his palm.

"It is all I have now; when you return I will have the three hundred
pounds. You must take her back to New York. She and I must never meet
again--for my husband's sake."

"I understand, my lady. I'll do what I can. I'll take her back, and
I'll trouble you no more."

His last words were drowned in the gallop of Sir Galahad up the avenue.

"It is my husband," my lady exclaimed. "I must leave you. When will
you--and she--return?"

"In two days we will be here. I'll give out she's a sister of mine at
the inn, and I'll send you word and arrange a meeting."

Mr. Parmalee drew down his hat and strode away. Weak, trembling, my
lady leaned for a few moments against a tree, trying to recover
herself, then turned slowly and walked back to the house to meet her
husband.

CHAPTER XXIV.

MISS SILVER BREAKS THE NEWS.

The Grange, the jointure house of the Dowager Lady Kingsland, stood,
like all such places, isolated and alone, at the furthest extremity of
the village. It was a dreary old building enough, weather-beaten and
brown, with primly laid-out grounds, an