Vincent vaulted the five-barred gate as he spoke, and walked across the field. Mrs. Everett watched him until he was out of sight. Then she turned slowly, and went back to the Court. She entered the grounds a little before the breakfast hour. Ann, now Mrs. Henessey, was out in the avenue gathering daffodils, which grew in clumps all along a great border. She raised her head when she saw Mrs. Everett approaching. "You out?" she cried. "I thought I was the only early bird. Where have you been?" "For a walk," replied the widow. "The morning is a lovely one, and I was not sleepy." She did not wait to say anything more to Ann, but went into the house. The breakfast-room at the Court had French windows. The day was so balmy that, early as it was still in the year, these windows stood open. As Mrs. Everett stepped across the threshold, she was greeted by Margaret. "How pale and tired you look!" said Mrs. Awdrey, in a compassionate voice. Mrs. Everett glanced round her, she saw that there was no one else present. "I am sick at heart, Margaret," she said, fixing her sad eyes on her friend's face. Margaret went up to her, put her slender hand on her shoulder, and kissed her. "Why won't you rest?" she said; "you never rest; even at night you scarcely sleep; you will kill yourself if you go on as you have been doing of late, and then----" "Why do you stop, Margaret?" said Mrs. Everett. "When he comes out you won't be there," said Margaret--tears brimming into her eyes. "I often see the meeting between you and him," she continued. "When he comes out; when it is all over; he won't be old, as men go, and he'll want you. Try and think of the very worst that can happen--his innocence never being proved; even at the worst he'll want you sorely when he is a free man again." "He won't have me. I shall be dead long, long before then; but I must prove his innocence. I have an indescribable sensation that I am near the truth while I am here, and that is why I came. Margaret, my heart is on fire--the burning of that fire consumes me." At this moment the Squire entered the room; he looked bright, fresh, alert, and young. He was now a man of extremely rapid movements; he came up to Mrs. Everett and shook hands with her. "You have your bonnet on," he said. "Yes, I have been out for a walk," she replied. "And she has come in dead tired," said Margaret, glancing at her husband. "Please go to your room now, Mrs. Everett," she continued, "and take off your things. We are just going to breakfast, and I shall insist on your taking a good meal." Mrs. Everett turned toward the door. When she had left the room Margaret approached her husband's side. "I do believe she is right," she cried suddenly; "I believe her grief will kill her in the end." "Whose grief, dearest?" asked Awdrey, in an absent-minded manner.