am here."

This reminded Lady Bassett that Mary's time was up. The idea of a
stranger taking her place, and seeing Sir Charles in his present
condition, was horrible to her. "Oh, Mary," said she, piteously,
"surely you will not leave me just now?"

"Do you wish me to stay, my lady?"

"Can you ask it? How can I hope to find such devotion as yours, such
fidelity, and, above all, such secrecy? Ah, Mary, I am the most unhappy
lady in all England this day."

Then she began to cry bitterly, and Mary Wells cried with her, and said
she would stay as long as she could; "but," said she, "I gave you good
advice, my lady, and so you will find."

Lady Bassett made no answer whatever, and that disappointed Mary, for
she wanted a discussion.

The days rolled on, and brought no change for the better. Sir Charles
continued to brood on his one misfortune. He refused to go
out-of-doors, even into the garden, giving as his reason that he was
not fit to be seen. "I don't mind a couple of women," said he, gravely,
"but no man shall see Charles Bassett in his present state. No.
Patience! Patience! I'll wait till Heaven takes pity on me. After all,
it would be a shame that such a race as mine should die out, and these
fine estates go to blackguards, and poachers, and anonymous-letter
writers."

Lady Bassett used to coax him to walk in the corridor; but, even then,
he ordered Mary Wells to keep watch and let none of the servants come
that way. From words he let fall it seems he thought "Childlessness"
was written on his face, and that it had somehow degraded his features.

Now a wealthy and popular baronet could not thus immure himself for any
length of time without exciting curiosity, and setting all manner of
rumors afloat. Visitors poured into Huntercombe to inquire.

Lady Bassett excused herself to many, but some of her own sex she
thought it best to encounter. This subjected her to the insidious
attacks of curiosity admirably veiled with sympathy. The assailants
were marvelously subtle; but so was the devoted wife. She gave kiss for
kiss, and equivoque for equivoque. She seemed grateful for each visit;
but they got nothing out of her except that Sir Charles's nerves were
shaken by his fall, and that she was playing the tyrant for once, and
insisting on absolute quiet for her patient.

One visitor she never refused--Mr. Angelo. He, from the first, had been
her true friend; had carried Sir Charles away from the enemy, and the