She stood wavering between conflicting impulses. She longed to go with this dove-like creature whom she had saved from death; her heart clung to her--how could she leave her? But again, would she be concealed from the terrible St. Udo Brand's possible persecutions at the Marquis of Ducie's residence? Who would think to look for her in Lady Juliana's companion? Her heart pleaded. "Stay--oh, stay!" So, all blinded to the future stealing surely on, Margaret flung herself back into the whirlpool which, gradually circling inward, would inevitably bring her face to face with that which she most dreaded. "I will go with you, Lady Juliana," she said. When the bricklayer came home to dinner he found the grand people all gone, after showing but meager gratitude for his kindness. Hautville Park was near Lambeth, within pleasant distance of London; and in due time, in the dying crimson of departed sunlight, the carriage arrived at its stately gates, and Margaret found herself introduced as companion to its spotless mistress, Lady Juliana Ducie. She had not been there more than three weeks, when one day the maid brought in a letter to my lady's boudoir. My lady was lying _a la_ convalescent on her sofa, and Margaret was reading to her. My lady had taken her time to get over her railway fright, and had taxed her companion's strength considerably, by her exactions, but she professed herself very fond of Miss Blair for all her trouble, and they agreed excellently together thus far. "Hand me that letter, Bignetta. No, give it to Miss Blair and go away, she can read it to me." Margaret took the letter, inserted her finger to break the seal; glanced at the seal, and withdrew her finger as if it had been stung, glanced at the writing, and slowly became stern and pale. "Why don't you open it and read its contents?" cried my lady. "Are you tired of reading all the condolence that comes to me, or do you think it is some insolent bill?" "Lady Juliana," said Margaret, "I cannot read this letter. I--I know the writer." She covered her face with her hands. "Why, what can you mean?" exclaimed my lady, getting upon her elbows to possess herself of the letter, and to look curiously at her companion. "Who is it?" She looked at her own name on the back, and gave a delighted cry. "Captain Brand! So he deigns to remember me at last! Ah, won't I make him suffer, for being so derelict in his duty these last three weeks! Careless creature! he never thinks of me, except when he sees me." She laid down the letter and returned to the charge. "How came you, Miss Blair, to be so well informed about Captain Brand's writing?" she demanded. Margaret was eyeing her in speechless consternation. She had thought at first that this missive was an inquiry from the writer concerning herself; she had feared she was found out. But what darker suspicion was this which was entering her mind.