_General Wyatt_, in a loud and anxious tone.--"Margaret, Margaret! Don't bring Constance in here! Go away!" At the moment he reaches the door by which he came in, two ladies in black enter the parlour by the other door, the younger leaning weakly on the arm of the elder, and with a languidly drooping head letting her eyes rove listlessly about over the chairs and sofas. With an abrupt start at sight of Bartlett, who has mechanically turned toward them, the elder lady arrests their movement. III. MRS. WYATT, CONSTANCE, _and the others_. _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Oh, in mercy's name!" The young lady wearily lifts her eyes; they fall upon Bartlett's face, and a low cry parts her lips as she approaches a pace or two nearer, releasing her arm from her mother's. _Constance._--"Ah!" She stops; her thin hands waver before her face, as if to clear or to obstruct her vision, and all at once she sinks forward into a little slender heap upon the floor, almost at Bartlett's feet. He instantly drops upon his knees beside her, and stoops over her to lift her up. _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Don't touch her, you cruel wretch! Your touch is poison; the sight of you is murder!" Kneeling on the other side of her daughter, she sets both her hands against his breast and pushes him back. _General Wyatt._--"Margaret, stop! Look! Look at him again! It isn't _he_!" _Mrs. Wyatt._--"Not he? Don't tell me! What?" She clutches Bartlett's arm, and scans his face with dilating eyes. "Oh! it isn't, it isn't! But go away,--go away, all the same! You may be an innocent man, but she would perish in your presence. Keep your hands from her, sir! If your wicked heart is not yet satisfied with your wicked work--Excuse me; I _don't_ know what I'm saying! But if you have any pity in your faithless soul--I--oh, _speak_ for me, James, and send him--implore him to go away!" She bows her face over her daughter's pale visage, and sobs.