"Let us be friends, Lady Kirton! Let us join together silently in guarding Maude's good name, and in burying the past. In time perhaps even I may live it down. Not a human being knows of it except we who are here and Dr. Mair, who will for his own sake guard the secret. Maude was my wife always in the eyes of the world; and Maude certainly died so: all peace and respect to her memory! As for my share, retribution has held its heavy hand upon me; it is upon me still, Heaven knows. It was for Maude I suffered; for Maude I felt; and if my life could have repaired the wrong upon her, I would willingly have sacrificed it. Let us be friends: it may be to the interest of both." He held out his hand, and the dowager did not repulse it. She had caught the word "interest." "_Now_ you might allow me Maude and that income!" "I think I had better allow you the income without Maude." "Eh? what?" cried the dowager, briskly. "Do you mean it?" "Indeed I do. I have been thinking for some little time that you would be more comfortable in a home of your own, and I am willing to help you to one. I'll pay the rent of a nice little place in Ireland, and give you six hundred a-year, paid quarterly, and--yes--make you a yearly present of ten dozen of port wine." Ah, the crafty man! The last item had a golden sound in it. "Honour bright, Hartledon?" "Honour bright! You shall never want for anything as long as you live. But you must not"--he seemed to search for his words--"you must undertake not to come here, upsetting and indulging the children." "I'll undertake it. Good vintage, mind." "The same that you have here." The countess-dowager beamed. In the midst of her happiness--and it was what she had not felt for many a long day, for really the poor old creature had been put about sadly--she bethought herself of propriety. Melting into tears, she presently bewailed her exhaustion, and said she should like some tea: perhaps good Mr. Carr would bring her a teaspoonful of brandy to put into it. They brought her hot tea, and Mr. Carr put the brandy into it, and Anne took it to her on the sofa, and administered it, her own tears overflowing. She was thinking what an awful blow this would have been to her own mother. "Little Maude shall be very dear to me always, Val," she whispered. "This knowledge will make me doubly tender with her." He laid his hand fondly upon her, giving her one of his sweet sad smiles in answer. She could at length understand what feelings, in regard to the children, had actuated him. But from henceforth he would be just to all alike; and Maude would receive her share of correction for her own good. "I always said you did not give me back the letter," observed Mr. Carr, when they were alone together later, and Val sat tearing up the letter into innumerable bits. "And I said I did, simply because I could not find it. You were right, Carr, as you always are." "Not always. But I am sorry it came to light in this way."