Strange to say, Lady Bassett interfered, with a sort of majestic horror. She held up her hand, and said, “Do not dare to lay a finger on her!” Then Mary burst into tears, and said she would sign the paper. While she was signing it, Sir Charles's step was heard in the corridor. He knocked at the door just as she signed. Reginald had signed already. Lady Bassett put the paper into the manuscript book, and the book into the bureau, and said “Come in,” with an appearance of composure belied by her beating heart. “Here is Mrs. Meyrick, my dear.” In those few seconds so perfect a liar as Mary Meyrick had quite recovered herself. “If you please, sir,” said she, “I be come to ast if you will give us a new lease, for ourn it is run out.” “You had better talk to the steward about that.” “Very well, sir,” and she made her courtesy. Reginald remained, not knowing exactly what to do. “My dear,” said Lady Bassett, “Reginald has come to bid us good-by. He is going to visit Mr. Rolfe, and take his advice, if you have no objection.” “None whatever; and I hope he will treat it with more respect than he does mine.” Reginald shrugged his shoulders, and was going out, when Lady Bassett said, “Won't you kiss me, Reginald, as you are going away?” He came to her: she kissed him, and whispered in his ear, “Be true to me, as I will be to you.” Then he left her, and she felt like a dead thing, with exhaustion. She lay on the sofa, and Sir Charles sat beside her, and made her drink a glass of wine. She lay very still that afternoon; but at night she slept: a load was off her mind for the present. Next day she was so much better she came down to dinner. What she now hoped was, that entire separation, coupled with the memory of the boy's misdeeds, would cure Sir Charles entirely of his affection for Reginald; and so that, after about twenty years more of conjugal fidelity, she might find courage to reveal to her husband the fault of her youth at a time when all its good results remained to help excuse it, and all its bad results had vanished. Such was the plan this extraordinary woman conceived, and its success so far had a wonderful effect on her health. But a couple of days passed, and she did not hear either from Reginald or Mr. Rolfe. That made her a little anxious. On the third day Compton asked her, with an angry flush on his brow, whether she had not sent Reginald up to London. “Yes, dear,” said Lady Bassett. “Well, he is not gone, then.” “Oh!” “He is living at his nurse's. I saw him talking to an old gypsy that lives on the farm.” Lady Bassett groaned, but said nothing. “Never mind, mamma,” said Compton. “Your other children must love you all the more.” This news caused Lady Bassett both anxiety and terror. She divined bad faith and all manner of treachery, none the less terrible for being vague. Down went her health again and her short-lived repose.