"Always the same old tale, Guinevere," he said impatiently. "Well, if you are content, I care not. I thought the idea might please you, that is all." "Pleasure has little place in my life," said Lady Bryn Afon; "you know that well, Morveth, and you know also that I am speaking rightly. My conscience can never let me yield to any such plan as you propose. I would die sooner than suffer this Little Miss Primrose of whom you speak to fall under the shadow which weighs down your life and mine! We have rather reason to thank God that we have in our home no child of our own, upon whose young life it must inevitably have fallen." "That thought must needs ever give you comfort!" said the earl bitterly. "Well, I am going to my smoking-room, and will return shortly." And he turned and left the room. Lady Bryn Afon returned to her lonely watch at the stone-mullioned casement, and for some moments her bitter tears splashed down heavily upon the crimson-cushioned ledge, on which she leaned her head. She did not rouse herself from her mournful reverie till ten slow strokes of the clock suddenly broke the stillness of the dark room, and made her spring to her feet, exclaiming; "Morveth! How wicked of me to forget him! It is two full hours since he left me!" She lit a candle hastily, and hurried downstairs and along the deserted corridors which led to her husband's smoking-room. A strong odour of spirits greeted her as she opened the door, and the earl, his handsome face flushed, and his eyes glittering with the unsteady light and wandering expression of the drunkard, was in the act of raising his glass to his lips, with trembling fingers, as she entered. She sprang forward and dashed the glass from his hand, letting the fragments and the liquid fall unheeded on the floor. "Is this the way you keep your promise, Morveth?" she demanded scornfully, her eyes flashing with indignant reproach. "Did you not promise me faithfully this very morn that no strong drink should touch your lips to-day? Are you not for one hour to be trusted alone?" "I could not help it, Guinevere," stammered the earl, in thick, unsteady accents. "I know I promised, but it is no good. The craving is horrible! I have no power to resist it. I did not mean to do it, but the devil himself holds me in his chains!" "You never mean to do it," said his wife bitterly, "and you do it every day! You might have kept your promise and come back to me! But alas, it is my own wicked fault for forgetting you these two full hours in my own torturing thoughts. Yet may I never trust you? Must I needs ever be dogging your footsteps, or pay this price for leaving you in freedom? Come with me, Morveth." "Just one more glass--let me have one more glass, if you love me!" implored the earl, in the whining tone of a child teasing for a new toy. "You are so violent, Guinevere! Why can you not let me take my glass of wine peaceably,