His lordship’s toilet was a lengthy proceeding, for neither his strength nor his temper was equal to the strain. But it was at length accomplished, and, perfumed, shaven, clothed once again in fine linen and silk damask, wrapped in a great furred cloak, Lord Blantyre sat in the wooden armchair and drank the cordial that Pomona had prepared him. He was panting with his exertions, his heart was fluttering, but Pomona’s recipes were cunning; in a little while he felt his pulses calm down and a glow of power return to him, and with the help of his cane and his servant he was able to advance toward the door. “The young woman is outside, waiting to take leave of your lordship,” volunteered the sleek Craik. His master halted, and fixed him with an arrogant eye. “The young woman of the farm,” explained the valet, glibly, “and, knowing your lordship likes me to see to these details, I have brought a purse of gold--twenty pieces, my lord.” He stretched out his hand and chinked the silken bag as he spoke. “For whom is that?” asked Lord Blantyre. The man stared. “For the young woman, my lord.” Lord Blantyre steadied himself with the hand that gripped the speaker’s arm; then, lifting the cane with the other, struck the fellow across the knuckles so sharply that with a howl he let the purse fall. “Pick it up,” said the Wicked Earl. “Put it into your pocket, and remember, for the future, that the servant who presumes to know his master’s business least understands his own.” The litter was brought to the door of his chamber, and they carried him out through the kitchen to the porch; and there, where Pomona stood waiting, he bade them halt and set it down. She leaned toward him to look on him, she told herself, for the last time. Her heart contracted to see him so wan and exhausted. “Good-by, Pomona,” said he, gazing up into her sorrowful eyes, distended in the evening dimness. He had seen a deer look at him thus, in the dusk, out of a thicket. “Good-by, my lord,” said she. “Ah, Pomona,” said he, “I made a sweeter journey the day I came here!” And without another word to her he signed to the men, and they buckled to their task again. Her heart shuddered as she watched the slow procession pass into the shadows. They might have been bearing a coffin. With the instinct of her inarticulate grief, she went to seek the last memory of him in his room. By the light of a flaring tallow candle, she found Lord Blantyre’s man repacking his master’s valise. He looked offensively at her as she entered. “Young woman,” said he, shaking his head, “you have taken a very great liberty.” Then, picking up the coarse white shift and surveying it with an air of intense disgust, ”’Tis a wonder,” quoth he, “his lordship didn’t die of this.” * * * * * “I fear, my fair Julia, that fondly as I should love it, I shall never call you sister.” Julia turned at the fleer and flung a glance of acute anger at her friend.