"Oh, my lady, my lady, forgive me," she said, sobbing fretfully as she spoke. "I thought but of my own--I did not think of you. Nor of Miss Lesley, though I did love her--yes, I did, and tried my best to save her from that wicked man. Mr. Brooke will tell you what I mean, ma'am. And tell him, if you will be so good, that I was frightened into taking back the stories I had told him about Oliver--but they were _all true_. Everyone of 'em was true. And that I beg he'll forgive me; for a better and a kinder gentleman I never see, nor one that loved poor people more. And Miss Lesley was just like him--but it was my husband, and I thought he'd be hanged for it, and what could I do?" And then, while Lady Alice still hesitated between pity and a feeling of revolt at pity for a woman who had sworn falsely against her dearly beloved husband, Caspar Brooke, a cry was heard from the bedroom, and Mary turned and fled back to the scene of her duties--sad and painful duties indeed, sometimes, when the madman became violent, and likely enough to be very speedily terminated by death. * * * * * "What can I say to you?" said Lady Alice to Maurice Kenyon, a day or two later. "It was your acuteness that brought the matter to light. Now that that poor wretched man is hopelessly insane, we might never have learnt the truth. Is there any way in which I can thank you? any way in which I can give you a reward?" She looked steadily into his face, and saw that he changed color. "There is only one way, Lady Alice," he stammered. "You are not to call me Lady Alice: I like 'Mrs. Brooke' much better. Well?" "I love your daughter," said Maurice bluntly, "and I believe she would love me if you would let her." "_Let_ her?" said Mrs. Brooke, with a smile. "She made you some promises before she came to London----" "Ah, not to become engaged before the year was out. Tell her that I absolve her from that promise, and--ask her again." Maurice found that under these conditions Lesley's answer was all that could be desired. CHAPTER XLI. VALE! "Now that Ethel has gone to the sea-side, I can have you to myself a little while," said Lady Alice to her daughter. "Poor Ethel! But it is delightful to have you here, mamma: it is so home-like and comfortable." "Ah, you will soon have to make a home for somebody else!" Lesley grew red, but smiled. "We won't think of that yet," she said softly. "Mamma, I want to speak to you on a very serious subject." "Well, my darling?" "You won't be angry with me, will you? It is--about Mrs. Romaine." Lady Alice's brow clouded a little. "Well, Lesley?" she said. "Mamma, I can't bear Mrs. Romaine myself. Neither can you. Neither can papa. And it is very unchristian of all of us, to say the least. Because----"