matrimony was that of the rest of her
sex; and even good and devout women can be a trifle hard, not to say
inhuman, towards such an offender.

Therefore Lady Piers entered the morning-room with a face not entirely
cordial, and, finding the pretty widow in tears, bowed and said,
"Good-morning, Mrs. Stephen. What can I do for you?"

"He's turned me out!" Mrs. Stephen sobbed.

"Indeed!" Lady Piers was not altogether surprised. "He used no violence,
I hope?"

"I d--don't know what you'd c--call violence, my lady, but he pitched Mr.
Trudgian through the window."

"That seems to border on violence," said Lady Piers with a faint smile.
"But who is Mr. Trudgian?"

"He's my lawyer, and he comes from Penzance."

"I see." Lady Piers paused and added, "Was it not a little rash to
introduce this Mr. Trudgian? In the circumstances,"--she laid a slight
stress here--"I should have thought it wiser to leave the house as quietly
as possible."

"But--but the house is _mine_, my lady . . . every stick of it willed to
me, and the estate too! Mr. Trudgian had drawn up the will, and was there
to read it."

"You don't mean to tell me--" Lady Piers started up from her chair.
"'Tis atrocious!" she exclaimed, and a pink spot showed itself on each of
her delicate cheeks. "Indeed, Mrs. Stephen, you cannot dare to come to me
for help; and if you have come for my opinion, I must tell you what I
think--that you are a wicked, designing young woman, and have met with no
more than your deserts."

"But he called me a dear wife, and he spoke of my loving care."

"Who did? Mr. Roger?"

"My husband did, my lady."

"Oh!" There was a world of meaning in Lady Piers' "oh!" Even a good and
happy wife may be allowed to know something of men's weakness. "And Mr.
Trudgian, I suppose, put that down on parchment?"

Mrs. Stephen gazed for a moment disconsolately out of the window, and rose
to go.

"Nay," Lady Piers commanded, "you must sit down for a while and rest.
Sir John is in London, as you know, and were he at home I feel sure you
would get little condolence from him. But you are weak and over-worn, and
have few friends, I doubt, between this and Porthleven. You cannot walk
so far. Rest you here, and I will send you some food, and order John
Penwartha to saddle a horse. I can lend you a cloak too, and you shall
ride behind him to Porthleven. A _friend_ I cannot find, to escort you;
but John is a sensible fellow, and keeps his