“I beg you will not consider my feelings in the least, madam,” answered the duke, with a slight smile of amusement; “and I hope you will allow Mr. Setter to remain,” he added.

“Oh, in course! I have no objection, if you have none.”

“Pray go on and say what you have to say,” urged the duke.

“Then, first of all, I have to tell you that I know why you have come here.  You have come to inquire about Miss Salome Levison, the great banker’s heiress.”

“You are speaking of the Duchess of Hereward, madam,” interrupted the duke, in a stern voice.

“No, I’m not.  I am speaking of Miss Salome Levison.  She is not the Duchess of Hereward.  I don’t know but one Duchess of Hereward, and her you are ashamed to own,” spitefully added Mrs. Brown.

“You are a woman, aged and insane, and therefore entitled to our utmost indulgence,” said the duke, putting the strongest control upon himself.  “But tell me now, what was your business with the Lady of Lone, upon whom you called at Elmthorpe House on Tuesday afternoon?”

“I went from your true wife, whom you had betrayed into prison, to your false wife, to let her know what you were, and to tell her that there was but one step between herself and ruin!”

“Good Heaven! you did that!” exclaimed the duke, utterly thrown off his guard.

“Yes, I did!  And I showed the young lady your real wife’s marriage lines, all regularly signed and witnessed by the rector of St. Margaret’s and the sexton, and the pew-opener!  I did!  And there were letters in your own handwriting, and photographs, the very print of you, which I took along with the marriage lines, to prove my words when I told her that you had been married for over a year, and had lived in my house with your wife all that time!”

“Heaven may forgive you for that great wrong, woman; but I never can!  And—­the lady believed you?”

“Of course she did!  How could she help it, when she saw all the proofs?  It almost killed her.  Indeed, and I think it did quite craze her!  But she saw her duty, and she had the courage to do it!  She knew as she ought to leave you, before the false marriage could go any further.  So she left you.  I do really respect her for it!”

“In the name of Heaven, where did she go?  Tell me that!  Tell me where to find her, and I may be able to pardon the great wrong you have done us under some insane error,” said the husband of the lost wife, striving to control his indignation.

“Indeed, then,” exclaimed Mrs. Brown, defiantly, “I am not asking any pardon at all from you, Mr. Scott.  It ain’t likely as I’ll want pardon from Heaven for doing my duty, much less from you, Mr. John Scott.  Oh, yes!  I know you are called the Duke of Hereward; and no doubt you are the Duke of Hereward; but I knew you as Mr. John Scott, and nobody else; and I knew a deal too much of you as him.  But as to wanting your pardon—­that’s a good one!”