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'Take me to her, Mary. I hope her ladyship
is growing sensible.'
'She is very kind, very sweet. She has changed so much of late.'
Mary went with him to the door of her ladyship's sitting-room, and there
left him to go in alone. She went to the library--that room over which a
gloomy shadow seemed to have hung ever since that awful winter afternoon
when Mary found Lady Maulevrier lying on the floor in the twilight. But
it was a noble room, and in her studious hours Mary loved to sit here,
walled round with books, and able to consult or dip into as many volumes
as she liked. To-day, however, her mind was not attuned to study. She
sat with a volume of Macaulay open before her: but her thoughts were not
with the author. She was wondering what those two were saying in the
room overhead, and finding all attempts at reading futile, she let her
head sink back upon the cushion of her deep luxurious chair, and sat
with her dreamy eyes fixed on the summer landscape and her thoughts with
her lover.
Lady Maulevrier looked very wan and tired in the bright morning light,
when Mr.


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