ain what I suspect, I would have
advised you never to mention it to Lord Chetwynde. It was an awful
thing to bring it all up to him."

"Then you know all about it?" asked Zillah, wonderingly.

"Of course. Every body knows the sorrow of his life. It has been
public for the last twenty years. I heard all about it when I was a
little girl from one of the servants. I could have advised you to
good purpose, and saved you from sorrow, if you had only confided in
me."

Such were Hilda's words, and Zillah felt new self-reproach to think
that she had not confided in her friend.

"I hope another time you will not be so wanting in confidence," said
Hilda, as she retired. "Do I not deserve it?"

"You do, you do, my dearest!" said Zillah, affectionately. "I have
always said that you were like a sister--and after this I will tell
you every thing."

Hilda kissed her, and departed.

Zillah waited impatiently to see Hilda again. She was anxious to know
what effect these papers would produce on her. Would she scout them
as absurd, or believe the statement? When Hilda appeared again to
relieve her, all Zillah's curiosity was expressed in her face. But
Hilda said nothing about the papers. She urged Zillah to go and
sleep.

"I know what you want to say," said she, "but I will not talk about
it now. Go off to bed, darling, and get some rest. You need it."

So Zillah had to go, and defer the conversation till some other time.
She went away to bed, and slept but little. Before her hour she was
up and hastened back.

"Why, Zillah," said Hilda, "you are half an hour before your time.
You are wearing yourself out."

"Did you read the papers?" asked Zillah, as she kissed her.

"Yes," said Hilda, seriously.

"And what do you think?" asked Zillah, with a frightened face.

"My darling," said Hilda, "how excited you are! How you tremble! Poor
dear! What is the matter?"

"That awful confession!" gasped Zillah, in a scarce audible voice.

"My darling," said Hilda, passing her arm about Zillah's neck, "why
should you take it so to heart? You have no concern with it. You are
Guy Molyneux's wife. This paper has now no concern with you."

Zillah started back as though she had been stung. Nothing could have
been more abhorrent to her, in such a connection, than the suggestion
of her marriage.

"You believe it, then?"

"Believe it! Why, don't you?" said Hilda, in wondering tones. "You
_do_, or you would not feel so. Why did you ask t