He looked at that suffering face, then covered his eyes with his hands and groaned.

“What is this, Herman?  Are you sorry that I have come?  Do you no longer love me?  What is the matter?  Oh, speak to me!”

“The matter is—­ruin!  I am a felon, my lady!  And it were better that you had been crushed to death in that railway collision than lived to rejoin me here!  I am a wretch, too base to live!  And I wish the earth would open beneath our feet and swallow us!”

The lady stepped back, appalled, and before she could think of a reply, the door opened and Mrs. Brudenell, who had been, awakened by the disturbance, sailed into the room.

“It is my mother!” said the young man, struggling for composure.  And rising, he took the hand of the stranger and led her to the elder lady, saying: 

“This is the Countess of Hurstmonceux, madam; I commend her to your care.”

And having done this, he turned and abruptly left the room and the house.

CHAPTER IX.

THE VICTIM.

  Good hath been born of Evil, many times,
    As pearls and precious ambergris are grown,
    Fruits of disease in pain and sickness sown,
  So think not to unravel, in thy thought,
    This mingled tissue, this mysterious plan,
  The Alchemy of Good through Evil wrought.

  —­Tupper.

“But one more day, Hannah! but one more day!” gayly exclaimed Nora Worth, as she busied herself in setting the room in order on Friday morning.

“Yes, but one more day in any event!  For even if the weather should change in this uncertain season of the year, and a heavy fall of snow should stop Mrs. Brudenell’s journey, that shall not prevent Mr. Brudenell from acknowledging you as his wife on Sunday! for it is quite time this were done, in order to save your good name, which I will not have longer endangered!” said the elder sister, with grim determination.

And she spoke with good reason; it was time the secret marriage was made public, for the young wife was destined soon to become a mother.

“Now, do not use any of these threats to Herman, when he comes this morning, Hannah!  Leave him alone; it will all be right,” said Nora, as she seated herself at her spinning-wheel.

Hannah was already seated at her loom; and there was but little more conversation between the sisters, for the whir of the wheel and the clatter of the loom would have drowned their voices, so that to begin talking, they must have stopped working.

Nora’s caution to Hannah was needless; for the hours of the forenoon passed away, and Herman did not appear.

“I wonder why he does not come?” inquired Nora, straining her eyes down the path for the thousandth time that day.

“Perhaps, Nora, the old lady has been blowing him up, also,” suggested the elder sister.

“No, no, no—­that is not it!  Because if she said a word to him about his acquaintance with me, and particularly if she were to speak to him of me as she spoke to me of myself, he would acknowledge me that moment, and come and fetch me home, sooner than have me wrongly accused for an instant.  No, Hannah, I will tell you what it is:  it is his mother’s last day at home, and he is assisting her with her last preparations,” said Nora.