When Sir Arthur Pembroke received a message from the Lady Catharine Knollys advising him that the latter would receive him at her home, it was left for the impulses, the hopes, the imaginings of that modest young nobleman to establish a reason for the message.  Puzzling all along his rapid way in answer to the summons, Sir Arthur found the answer which best suited his hopes in the faint flush, the brightened eye of the young woman who received him.

“Lady Catharine,” he began, impetuously, “I have come, and let me hope that ’tis at last to have my answer.  I have waited—­each moment has been a year that I have spent away from you.”

“Now, that is very pretty said.”

“But I am serious.”

“And that is why I do not like you.”

“But, Lady Catharine!”

“I should like it better did you but continue as in the past.  We have met on the Row, at the routs and drums, in the country; and always I have felt free to ask any favor of Sir Arthur Pembroke.  Why could it not be always thus?”

“You might ask my very life, Lady Catharine.”

“Ah, there it is!  When a man offers his life, ’tis time for a woman to ask nothing.”

She turned from the open window, her attitude showing an unwonted weakness and dejection.  Sir Arthur still stood near by, his own face frowning and uncertain.

“Lady Catharine,” he broke out at length, “for years, as you know, I have sought your favor.  I have dared think that sometime the day would come when—­my faith!  Lady Catharine, the day has come now when I feel it my right to demand the cause of anything which troubles you.  And that you are troubled is plain enough.  Ever since this man Law——­”

“There,” cried Lady Catharine, raising her hand.  “I beg you to say no more.”

“But I will say more!  There must be a reason for this.”

The face of the young woman flushed in spite of herself, as Pembroke strode closer and gazed at her with sternness.

“Lady Catharine,” said he, slowly, “I am a friend of your family.  Perhaps now I may be of aid to you.  Prove me, and at the last, ask who was indeed your friend.”

“We have had misfortunes, we of the family of the Knollys,” said Lady Catharine.  “This is, perhaps, but the fate of the house of Knollys.  It is my fate.”

“Your fate!” said Sir Arthur, slowly.  “Your fate!  Lady Catharine, I thank you.  It is at least as well to know the truth.”

“Pick out the truth, then, Sir Arthur, as you like it.  I am not on the witness stand before you, and you are not my judge.  There has been forsworn testimony enough already in this town.  Were it not for that, Mr. Law would at this moment be free as you or I.”

Sir Arthur struck his hands together in despair, and turning away, strode down the room.

“Oh, I see it all well enough,” cried he.  “You are mad as any who have hitherto had dealings with this madman from the North.”