would be satisfied with a view from the window, herself unseen.  However, from that moment all had been taken out of the hands of Loveday, and she verily believed the Colonel had made following his sister an excuse for catching a sight of Miss Delavie, for he had been monstrously smitten even with the glimpse he had had of her in the carriage.  And now, as his sister had cut short what he had to say, he had written her a billet.  And Loveday held out a perfumed letter.

Aurelia’s eyes flashed, and she drew herself up:  “You forget, Loveday, I promised to receive no letters!”

“Bless me, ma’am, they, that are treated as my lady treats you, are not bound to be so particular as that.”

“O fie, Loveday,” said Aurelia earnestly, “you have been so kind, that I thought you would be faithful.  This is not being faithful to your lady, nor to me.”

“It is only from my wish to serve you, ma’am,” said Loveday in her fawning voice.  “How can I bear to see a beautiful young lady like you, that ought to be the star of all the court, mewed up here for the sake of a young giddy pate like his Honour, when there’s one of the first gentlemen in the land ready to be at your feet?”

“For shame! for shame!” exclaimed Aurelia, crimson already.  “You know I am married.”

“And you will not take the letter, nor see what the poor gentleman means?  May be he wants to reconcile you with my lady, and he has power with her.”

Aurelia took the letter, and, strong paper though it was, tore it across and across till it was all in fragments, no bigger than daisy flowers.  “There,” she said, “you may tell him what I have done to his letter.”

Loveday stared for a minute, then exclaimed, “You are in the right, my dear lady.  Oh, I am a wretch—­a wretch—­” and she went away sobbing.

Aurelia hoped the matter was ended.  It had given her a terrible feeling of insecurity, but she found to her relief that Madge was really more trustworthy than Loveday.  She overheard from the court a conversation at the back door in which Madge was strenuously refusing admission to some one who was both threatening and bribing her, all in vain; but she was only beginning to breathe freely when Loveday brought, not another letter, but what was less easy to stop, a personal message from “that poor gentleman.”

“Loveday, after what you said yesterday, how can you be so—­wicked?” said Aurelia.

“Indeed, miss, ’tis only as your true well-wisher.”

Aurelia turned away to leave the room.

“Yes, it is, ma’am!  On my bended knees I will swear it,” cried Loveday, throwing herself on them and catching her dress.  “It is because I know my lady has worse in store for you!”

“Nothing can be worse than wrong-doing,” said Aurelia.