Conrade, the only person who had the advantage of a previous view, stood up on the box, and before making his descent, shouted out, “Oh, Aunt Rachel, your F. U. thing is as bad as the Sepoys.  But we have saved the two little girls that they were whipping to death, and have got them in the carriage.”

While this announcement was being delivered, Alison Williams, the nearest to the door, had emerged.  She lifted out the little muffled figure of Lovedy, set her on her feet, and then looking neither to the right nor left, as if she saw and thought of no one else, made but one bound towards Colonel Keith, clasped both hands round his arm, turned him away from the rest, and with her black brows drawn close together, gasped under her breath, “O, Colin, Colin, it is Maria Hatherton.”

“What! the matron?”

“Yes, the woman that has used these poor children like a savage.  O, Colin, it is frightful.”

“You should sit down, you are almost ready to faint.”

“Nothing! nothing!  But the poor girls are in such a state.  And that Maria whom we taught, and—­” Alison stopped.

“Did she know you?”

“I can’t tell.  Perhaps; but I did not know her till the last moment.”

“I have long believed that the man that Rose recognised was Mauleverer, but I thought the uncertainty would be bad for Ermine.  What is all this?”

“You will hear.  There!  Listen, I can’t tell you; Lady Temple did it all,” said Alison, trying to draw away her arm from him, and to assume the staid governess.  But he felt her trembling, and did not release her from his support as they fanned back to the astonished group, to which, while these few words were passing, Francis, the little bareheaded white-aproned Mary Morris, and lastly Lady Temple, had by this time been added; and Fanny, with quick but courteous acknowledgment of all, was singling out her cousin.

“Oh, Rachel, dear, I did not mean it to have been so sudden or before them all, but indeed I could not help it,” she said in her gentle, imploring voice, “if you only saw that poor dear child’s neck.”

Rachel had little choice what she should say or do.  What Fanny was saying tenderly and privately, the two boys were communicating open-mouthed, and Mrs. Curtis came at once with her nervous, “What is it, my dear; is it something very sad?  Those poor children look very cold, and half starved.”

“Indeed,” said Fanny, “they have been starved, and beaten, and cruelly used.  I am very sorry, Rachel, but indeed that was a dreadful woman, and I thought Colonel Keith and Mr. Grey would tell us what ought to be done.”

“Mr. Grey!” and Mrs. Curtis turned round eagerly, with the comfort of having some one to support her, “will you tell us what is to be done?  Here has poor dear Rachel been taken in by this wicked scheme, and these poor—­”

“Mother, mother,” muttered Rachel, lashed up to desperation; “please not out here, before the servants and every one.”