So she led the way through a marble hall, pillared in different colours, rich and rare, with portraits of ancient Contes and Contessas on the walls, up a magnificent stone stair with a carved balustrade, to a suite indeed, where, at the entrance, Sibby was found very happy at her welcome from Mrs. Mount, who was equally glad to receive a countrywoman.

There was a sitting-room with a balcony looking out on the bay, a study and bedroom beyond for Clement on one side, and on the other charmingly fitted rooms for Geraldine, for her nieces, and her maid; and Mrs. White left them, telling them the dinner hour, and begging them to call freely and without scruple for all and everything they could wish for.  Nothing would be any trouble.

“We have even an English doctor below there,” she said, pointing to the roofs of the village.  “There are so many accidents that Mr. White thought it better to be provided, so we have a little hospital with a trained nurse.”

It was all very good, very kind, yet the very family likeness to Lilias Merrifield and Jane Mohun made Geraldine think how much more simple in manner one of them would have been without that nouveau riche tone of exultation.

“Here is a whole packet of letters,” ended Mrs. White, “that came for you these last two or three days.”

She pointed to a writing-table and went away, while the first letters so amazed Geraldine that she could think of nothing else, and hastened to summon Clement.

It was from Gerald, posted by the pilot from on board the steamer, very short, and only saying—-

“DEAREST CHERIE,

“I know you will forgive me, or rather see that I do not need pardon for rescuing my sister.  Anywhere in England she would be in danger of being reclaimed to worse than death.  Dolores will tell you all the situation, and I will send a letter as soon as we arrive at New York.  No time for more, except that I am as much as ever

“Your own, my Cherie’s own,
“GERALD.”

There followed directions how to send letters to him through the office of the ‘Censor’.

Then she opened, written on the same day, a letter from Dolores Mohun, sent in obedience to his telegram, when he found that time for details failed him.  It began—-

“DEAR MRS. GRINSTEAD,

“I know you will be shocked and grieved at the step that your nephew has taken, but when you understand the circumstances, I think you will see that it was unavoidable for one of so generous and self-sacrificing a nature.  I may add, that my aunt Lily is much touched, and thoroughly approves, and my uncle Jasper says imprudence is better than selfishness.”

After this little preamble ensued a full and sensible account of Ludmilla’s situation and sufferings at the circus, and the history of her escape, demonstrating (to the writer’s own satisfaction) that there was no other means of securing the poor child.