to her.  She observed that since her arrival a new name in new paint—­her own name—­was attached to the carts, and that the letters were big and glaring.  She wished that this had not been done, or, at any rate, that the letters had been smaller.  Then she began to think that it might be well for her to let the farm to a tenant; not that she might thus get more money, but because she felt that the farm would be a trouble.  The apples had indeed quickly turned to ashes between her teeth!

On the first Sunday that she was at Ongar Park she went to the parish church.  She had resolved strongly that she would do this, and she did it; but when the moment for starting came, her courage almost failed her.  The church was but a few yards from her own gate, and she walked there without any attendant.  She had, however, sent word to the sexton to say that she would be there, and the old man was ready to show her into the family pew.  She wore a thick veil, and was dressed, of course, in all the deep ceremonious woe of widowhood.  As she walked up the centre of the church she thought of her dress, and told herself that all there would know how it had been between her and her husband.  She was pretending to mourn for the man to whom she had sold herself; for the man who through happy chance had died so quickly, leaving her with the price in her hand!  All of course knew that, and all thought that they knew, moreover, that she had been foully false to her bargain, and had not earned the price!  That, also, she told herself.  But she went through it, and walked out of the church among the village crowd with her head on high.

Three days afterward, she wrote to the clergyman, asking him to call on her.  She had come, she said, to live in the parish, and hoped to be able, with his assistance, to be of some use among the people.  She would hardly know how to act without some counsel from him.  The schools might be all that was excellent, but if there was anything required she hoped he would tell her.  On the following morning the clergyman called, and, with many thanks for her generosity, listened to her plans, and accepted her subsidies.  But he was a married man, and he said nothing of his wife, nor during the next week did his wife come to call on her.  She was to be left desolate by all, because men had told lies of her!

She had the price in her hands, but she felt herself tempted to do as Judas did—­to go out and hang herself.

Chapter XIII

A Visitor Calls At Ongar Park

It will be remembered that Harry Clavering, on returning one evening to his lodgings in Bloomsbury Square, had been much astonished at finding there the card of Count Pateroff, a man of whom he had only heard, up to that moment, as the friend of the late Lord Ongar.  At first he had been very angry with Lady Ongar, thinking that she and this count were in some league together, some league of which he would greatly