When the service was over she took the more secluded way home; those of the servants who had attended returning as usual by the road.  On reaching the turning where the three paths diverged, the faintness which had been hovering over her all the evening suddenly grew worse; and but for a friendly tree, she might have fallen.  It grew better in a few moments, but she did not yet quit her support.

Very surprised was the Rector of Calne to come up and see Lady Hartledon in this position.  Every Sunday evening, after service, he went to visit a man in one of the cottages, who was dying of consumption, and he was on his way there now.  He would have preferred to pass without speaking:  but Lady Hartledon looked in need of assistance; and in common Christian kindness he could not pass her by.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Hartledon.  Are you ill?”

She took his offered arm with her disengaged hand, as an additional support; and her white face turned a shade whiter.

“A sudden faintness overtook me.  I am better now,” she said, when able to speak.

“Will you allow me to walk on with you?”

“Thank you; just a little way.  If you will not mind it.”

That he must have understood the feeling which prompted the concluding words was undoubted:  and perhaps had Lady Hartledon been in possession of her keenest senses, she might never have spoken them.  Pride and health go out of us together.  Dr. Ashton took her on his arm, and they walked slowly in the direction of the little bridge.  Colour was returning to her face, strength to her frame.

“The heat of the day has affected you, possibly?”

“Yes, perhaps; I have felt faint at times lately.  The church was very hot to-night.”

Nothing more was said until the bridge was gained, and then Maude released his arm.

“Dr. Ashton, I thank you very much.  You have been a friend in need.”

“But are you sure you are strong enough to go on alone?  I will escort you to the house if you are not.”

“Quite strong enough now.  Thank you once again.”

As he was bowing his farewell, a sudden impulse to speak, and set the matter that was troubling her at rest, came over her.  Without a moment’s deliberation, without weighing her words, she rushed upon it; the ostensible plea an apology for her mother’s having spoken to him.

“Yes, I told Lady Kirton she was labouring under some misapprehension,” he quietly answered.

“Will you forgive me also for speaking of it?” she murmured.  “Since my mother came home with the news of what you said, I have been lost in a sea of conjecture:  I could not attend to the service for dwelling upon it, and might as well not have been in church—­a curious confession to make to you, Dr. Ashton.  Is it indeed true that you know nothing of the matter?”

“Lady Kirton told me in so many words that I had entered an action against Lord Hartledon for breach of promise, and laid the damages at ten thousand pounds,” returned Dr. Ashton, with a plainness of speech and a cynical manner that made her blush.  And she saw at once that he had done nothing of the sort; saw it without any more decisive denial.