“How came you here?” asked the journalist. “Did not I tell you to remain in Hyde Park till you were wanted?” “I have come,” answered Giles firmly, “to speak to Miss Inglett. I have a just duty to perform to her, to clear her mind of the clouds I have brought over it. Miss Inglett, I was utterly wrong in supposing that his lordship was—was—what I let you believe him to be, my father. I did him a grievous wrong, I imagined it possible that the best and most blameless of men had been guilty of the basest conduct. And now that your father is dead—” “Dead!” echoed Arminell. Saltren looked at his uncle. He had supposed that Welsh had broken the news to the girl. “Yes,” said he, and his voice, which before was firm, gave way for a moment. “Your father is dead.” “Dead!” again repeated Arminell, and put her hands to her brow. She was being stunned by repeated blows, as Saltren had been stunned. “Dead! Impossible.” “Miss Inglett, it is as well that you should know all, and know it at once, for action must be taken immediately. Your father has met with an accident—he has been found dead after a fall. I shall return immediately by the express to Orleigh. I go to my mother at Chillacot. You must allow my uncle at once to escort you to Lady Hermione; place yourself under her protection, and confide to her all the particulars of your leaving home. I will see Lady Lamerton, and she shall telegraph to you at Lady Hermione’s to return to the Park. I will wire at once, in your name, to your mother, to send your lady’s-maid to you at your aunt’s in Portland Place. Your maid will find you there, and attend you home to Orleigh. It is possible that by this means your running away from home with me may remain unknown. You left Orleigh on Saturday, by to-night your maid will be with you in Portland Place, and I shall be seen this evening at Orleigh, where I shall make it a point of showing myself. It is therefore not likely that suspicions of my ever having left may arise. There is no time to be lost. You will hear, all too soon, the particulars of your father’s death—about myself I will not speak. I should be ashamed to say a word in self-justification, and my self-reproach is beyond the power of words to express.” Arminell turned herself about, as though rotating on a pivot, holding her temples with both hands, and elbows extended. “Yes,” said Mr. Welsh, “this is well considered. Giles, it shall be as you say. I will take Miss Inglett at once to Portland Place, unless she prefers that I should go to her ladyship, and prepare her; and then Miss Inglett can follow. That probably will be the least painful course.” Arminell still swung herself from side to side. She was pale as ashes, and her eyes full of trouble and terror. “I will go home directly, uncle,” said Giles. “I have acted not like a fool only, but wickedly, and I must face the consequences.” Arminell remained stationary, and released her temples. “What was that you said?” she asked.