“Madam,” he said, haughtily, “the carriage will be at your disposal at any hour you may see fit to name. I will see,” and a spasm of pain crossed his face, “that our friends are all notified that their presence here on Wednesday will not be acceptable, since, after the cruelties and deceptions brought to light to-day, I must decline the honor of your daughter’s hand and an alliance with your family. “And, oh, Isabel!” he said, suddenly facing the nearly fainting girl, and almost unnerved himself, “may God forgive you for your part in this matter. I deemed you so good and true that I had built my strongest hopes upon spending a happy and useful life with you. The veil has been rudely torn from my eyes, but it is better now than later.” “Forgive me—oh, forgive me!” she cried, with an agonized look; “the loss of your love and respect is more than I can bear.” “I feel less of anger than of sorrow,” he returned; “but there are others whose forgiveness you should seek also,” and he glanced at Mrs. Dredmond. Sir Charles saw her face harden and darken with passion, and, while he sighed over the wickedness of her heart, he yet wondered how he ever could have been so blinded and deceived by her. “Shall I take you to Mrs. Dredmond?” he pleaded, longing for her own sake to have her acknowledge her wrong-doing, and hating to lose all respect for her. “No, I thank you, Sir Charles. Do you think, after this day’s doing, that I could ever bow down to her?” she sneered, trying to brave it out, though her face looked drawn and pinched from the torture she was suffering. He half turned from her in disgust, and saw that Brownie herself was approaching them. She held out her hand to him, and he clasped it warmly—every spark of the resentment which he had cherished since they met in London gone from his heart. She then turned to Mrs. Coolidge and Isabel, saying, in sweet, low tones: “I am sorry you think that I have the least feeling of triumph, for I have not, and I believe there will come a time in the future when you will both feel differently toward me. Now I would like to tell you something, which I once refused to do. Those initials, “E. H.,” which you discovered marked upon so many articles in my room, stand for Elinor Hungerford, which was my mother’s maiden name.” A half hour later, Lord Dunforth, Adrian, and his wife left Vallingham Hall with Lady Ruxley, who insisted that they should spend the day and dine with her. Lady Randal went to her own room and to bed, too ill and heart-broken to sit up. And for the first time in her life the proud Helen Capel was humbled in the dust. As Mrs. Coolidge and Isabel left the drawing-room to seek their own, Sir Charles said to the former: “At what hour shall I order the carriage for you, madam?” “Really you are extremely hospitable, it seems to me. You appear to be very anxious to get rid of us,” she retorted, sharply.