‘I am not going from here till my husband comes for me--nor till I know what this means,’ said Lady Car. She was trembling all over, and her heart so beating that every wild throb shook her frame. But she was not afraid of her son’s violence. And other steps were drawing near. As Lady Car leaned upon a corner of the rock supporting herself, there gradually appeared up the ascent a young woman in very fine, but flimsy attire, her face flushed with crying and quarrelling, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief like a ball all gathered up in her hand. The impression of bright colour and holiday dress so inconsistent with the violent scene through which she had been passing, and the probable tragical circumstances in which the unhappy girl stood, threw a sort of grotesque misery into the midst of the horror. ‘Oh!’ cried the new comer, ‘he called you his mother, he did! If you are his mother, it’s you most as I ought to see.’ ‘Hold your cursed tongue,’ cried Tom beside himself, ‘and get off with you! I’ve told you so before. You’re not fit to speak to my----to a lady. Go! go.’ ‘You think it grand to say that,’ cried the girl, evidently emboldened by the presence of a third party, ‘but you may just give it up. I’m not ashamed to speak to any lady. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. I’ve got my marriage lines to show, and my wedding ring on my finger. Look at that, ma’am,’ she cried, dragging a glove off a red and swollen hand. It was with tears, and trouble, and excitement that she was so swollen and red. She thrust her hand with indeed a wedding ring upon it in Lady Car’s face. ‘Look at that, ma’am; there can’t be no mistake about that.’ ‘I must sit down; I cannot stand,’ said Carry. ‘Come here, if you please, and tell me who you are.’ ‘She’s not fit to come where you are. I told you to go,’ said Tom. ‘Go, and I’ll send somebody to settle--you’ve no business here.’ ‘If she’s your mother, Frank, I won’t deceive nobody. I’m Mrs. Francis Lindores, and I’ve got my marriage lines to show for it. I’m not ashamed to look anybody in the face. I’ve got my marriage li----’ ‘Mrs.---- what?’ said Lady Car. ‘Mrs. Francis Lindores. I never thought but what he meant honourable, and my own mother was at the wedding and everything right. He wants to say now that it’s no marriage; but it is--it is. It’s in the register all right where we signed in the vestry. Oh Frank, I know you’re only talking to frighten me, but your mother will make it all right.’ Lady Car and her son exchanged but one glance--on her part, a look of anguished inquiry searching his face for confirmation of this tremendous statement--on his, the look of a fierce but whipped hound, ready to tear anyone asunder that came near him, yet abject in conscious guilt. The mother put her hand to her breast as if to hide where the bullet had gone in. She said in a voice interrupted by her quickened breathing,