"Tell me," Lady Elliston said abruptly, and Amabel today, more than of sweetness and softness, was conscious of her strength, "have you been having a bad time since I saw you? Has anything happened? Has anything come between you and Augustine? I saw him this morning, and he's been suffering, too: I guessed it. You must be frank with me, Amabel; you must trust me: perhaps I am going to be franker with you, to trust you more, than you can dream." She inspired the confidence her words laid claim to; for the first time in their lives Amabel trusted her unreservedly. "I have had a very bad time," she said: "And Augustine has had a bad time. Yes; something has come between Augustine and me,--many things." "He hates Hugh," said Lady Elliston. "How can you know that?" "I guessed it. He is a clever boy: he sees you absorbed; he sees your devotion robbing him; perhaps he sees even more, Amabel; I heard this morning, from Mrs. Grey, that Hugh had been with you, again, yesterday. Amabel, is it possible; has Hugh been making love to you?" Amabel had become very pale. Looking down, she said in a hardly audible voice; "It is a mistake.--He will see that it is impossible." Lady Elliston for a moment was silent: the confirming of her own suspicion seemed to have stupefied her. "Is it impossible?" she then asked. "Quite, quite impossible." "Does Hugh know that it is impossible?" "He will.--Yesterday, Augustine came in while he was here;--I could not say any more." "I see: I see"; said Lady Elliston. Her hand fell to the table now and she slightly tapped her finger-tips upon it. There was an ominous rhythm in the little raps. "And this adds to Augustine's hatred," she said. "I am afraid it is true. I am afraid he does hate him, and how terrible that is," said Amabel, "for he believes him to be his father." "By instinct he must feel the tie unreal." "Yet he has had a father's kindness, almost, from Hugh." "Almost. It isn't enough you know. He suspects nothing, you think?" "It is that that is so terrible. He doesn't suspect me: he suspects him. He couldn't suspect evil of me. It is my guilt, and his ignorant hatred that is parting us." Amabel was trembling; she leaned forward and covered her face with her hands. The very air about her seemed to tremble; so strange, so incredibly strange was it to hear her own words of helpless avowal; so strange to feel that she must tell Lady Elliston all she wished to know. "Parting you? What do you mean? What folly!--what impossible folly! A mother and a son, loving each other as you and Augustine love, parted for that. Oh, no," said Lady Elliston, and her own voice shook a little: "that can't be. I won't have that." "He would not love me, if he knew." "Knew? What is there for him to know? And how should he know? You won't be so mad as to tell him?" "It's my punishment not to dare to tell him--and to see my cowardice cast a shadow on Hugh."