back, and a dripping figure moaning and sobbing in the trampled
mud at Lady Maxwell's feet. There was silence enough now, and the ring of
faces opposite stared astonished and open-mouthed at the tall old lady
with her grey veiled head upraised, as she stood there in the torchlight
and rated them in her fearless indignant voice.

"I am ashamed, ashamed!" cried Lady Maxwell. "I thought you were men. I
thought you loved my husband; and--and me." Her voice broke, and then
once more she cried again. "I am ashamed, ashamed of my village."

And then she stooped to that heaving figure that had crawled up, and laid
hold tenderly of the arms that were writhed about her feet.

"Come home, my dear," Isabel heard her whisper.

It was a strange procession homeward up the trampled turf. The crowd had
broken into groups, and the people were awed and silent as they watched
the four women go back together. Isabel walked a little behind with her
father and Anthony, who had at last been able to come forward through the
press and join them; and a couple of the torchbearers escorted them. In
front went the three, on one side Lady Maxwell, her lace and silk
splashed and spattered with mud, and her white hands black with it, and
on the other the old nun, each with an arm thrown round the woman in the
centre who staggered and sobbed and leaned against them as she went, with
her long hair and her draggled clothes streaming with liquid mud every
step she took. Once they stopped, at a group of three men. The Rector was
sitting up, in his torn dusty cassock, and Isabel saw that one of his
buckled shoes was gone, as he sat on the grass with his feet before him,
but quiet now, with his hands before him, and a dazed stupid look in his
little black eves that blinked at the light of the torch that was held
over him; he said nothing as he looked at his wife between the two
ladies, but his lips moved, and his eyes wandered for a moment to Lady
Maxwell's face, and then back to his wife.

"Take him home presently," she said to the men who were with him--and
then passed on again.

As they got through the gatehouse, Isabel stepped forward to Mistress
Margaret's side.

"Shall I come?" she whispered; and the nun shook her head; so she with
her father and brother stood there to watch, with the crowd silent and
ashamed behind. The two torchbearers went on and stood by the steps as
the three ladies ascended, leaving black footmarks as they went. The door
w