“Why did you not tell me?—­all this time!”

“I could not.  I dared not.  You might not have liked to put Reginald out of his rights.”

“Oh, Percival; how can you so misjudge me?” she asked, in tones of pain.  “I would have guarded the secret as jealously as you.  I must still do it for Maude.”

“Poor Maude!” he sighed.  “Her mother forgave me before she died—­”

“She knew it, then?”

“Yes.  She learned—­”

Sounds of drumming on the door, and the countess-dowager’s voice, stopped Lord Hartledon.

“I had better face her,” he said, as he unlocked it.  “She will arouse the household.”

Wild, intemperate, she met him with a volley of abuse that startled Lady Hartledon.  He got her to a sofa, and gently held her down there.

“It’s what I’ve been obliged to do all along,” said Thomas Carr; “I don’t believe she has heard ten words of my explanation.”

“Pray be calm, Lady Kirton,” said Hartledon, soothingly; “be calm, as you value your daughter’s memory.  We shall have the servants at the doors.”

“I won’t be calm; I will know the worst.”

“I wish you to know it; but not others.”

“Was Maude your wife?”

“No,” he answered, in low tones.  “Not—­”

“And you are not ashamed to confess it?” she interrupted, not allowing him to continue.  But she was a little calmer in manner; and Val stood upright before her with folded arms.

“I am ashamed and grieved to confess it; but I did not knowingly inflict the injury.  In Scotland—­”

“Don’t repeat the shameful tale,” she cried; “I have heard from your confederate, Carr, as much as I want to hear.  What do you deserve for your treachery to Maude?”

“All I have reaped—­and more.  But it was not intentional treachery; and Maude forgave me before she died.”

“She knew it!  You told her?  Oh, you cruel monster!”

“I did not tell her.  She did as you have just done—­interfered in what did not concern her, in direct disobedience to my desire; and she found it out for herself, as you, ma’am, have found it out.”

“When?”

“The winter before her death.”

“Then the knowledge killed her!”

“No.  Something else killed her, as you know.  It preyed upon her spirits.”

“Lord Hartledon, I can have you up for fraud and forgery, and I’ll do it. 
It will be the consideration of Maude’s fame against your punishment, and
I’ll make a sacrifice to revenge, and prosecute you.”

“There is no fraud where an offence is committed unwittingly,” returned Lord Hartledon; “and forgery is certainly not amongst my catalogue of sins.”

“You are liable for both,” suddenly retorted the dowager; “you have stuck up ‘Maude, Countess of Hartledon,’ on her monument in the church; and what’s that but fraud and forgery?”

“It is neither.  If Maude did not live Countess of Hartledon, she at least so went to her grave.  We were remarried, privately, before she died.  Mr. Carr can tell you so.”