uch tormented to feel. Her last
hope was gone; Anthony had betrayed his friend.

The week crept by, and Saturday came. She went out soon after dinner to
see a sick body or two in an outlying hamlet; for she had never forgotten
Mrs. Dent's charge, and, with the present minister's approval, still
visited the sick one or two days a week at least. Then towards sunset she
came homewards over some high ground on the outskirts of Ashdown Forest.
The snow that had fallen before Christmas, had melted a week or two ago;
and the frost had broken up; it was a heavy leaden evening, with an angry
glow shining, as through chinks of a wall, from the west towards which
she was going. The village lay before her in the gloom; and lights were
beginning to glimmer here and there. She contrasted in a lifeless way
that pleasant group of warm houses with their suggestions of love and
homeliness with her own desolate self. She passed up through the village
towards the Hall, whither she was going to report on the invalids to Lady
Maxwell; and in the appearance of the houses on either side she thought
there was an unaccustomed air. Several doors stood wide open with the
brightness shining out into the twilight, as if the inhabitants had
suddenly deserted their homes. Others were still dark and cold, although
the evening was drawing on. There was not a moving creature to be seen.
She passed up, wondering a little, through the gatehouse, and turned into
the gravel sweep; and there stopped short at the sight of a great crowd
of men and women and children, assembled in dead silence. Some one was
standing at the entrance-steps, with his head bent as if he were talking
to those nearest him in a low voice.

As she came up there ran a whisper of her name; the people drew back to
let her through, and she passed, sick with suspense, to the man on the
steps, whom she now recognised as Mr. James' body-servant. His face
looked odd and drawn, she thought.

"What is it?" she asked in a sharp whisper.

"Mr. James is here, madam; he is with Lady Maxwell in the cloister-wing.
Will you please to go up?"

"Mr. James! It is no news about Mr. Anthony--or--or Mr. Hubert!"

"No, madam." The man hesitated. "Mr. James has been racked, madam."

The man's voice broke in a great sob as he ended.

"Ah!"

She reeled against the post; a man behind caught her and steadied her;
and there was a quick breath of pity from the crowd.

"Ah, poor thing!" said a woman's voice