But one more task I charge thee with to-day, For unto Proserpine then take thy way, And give this golden casket to her hands. MORRIS. Late on that Sunday afternoon, a muffled and masked figure came through the house into the court behind, and after the first shock Aurelia was relieved to see that it was too tall, and moved too gracefully, to belong to Loveday. “Why, child, what a colour you have!” said Lady Belamour, taking off her mask. “You need no aids to nature at your happy age. That is right, children,” as they curtsied and kissed her hand. “Go into the house, I wish to speak with your cousin.” Lady Belamour’s unfailing self-command gave her such dignity that she seemed truly a grand and majestic dame dispensing justice, and the gentle, shrinking Aurelia like a culprit on trial before her. “You have been here a month, Aurelia Delavie. Have you come to your senses, and are you ready to sign this paper?” “No, madam, I cannot.” “Silly fly; you are as bent as ever on remaining in the web in which a madman and a foolish boy have involved you?” “I cannot help it, madam.” “Oh! I thought,” and her voice became harshly clear, though so low, “that you might have other schemes, and be spreading your toils at higher game.” “Certainly not, madam.” “Your colour shows that you understand, in spite of all your pretences.” “I have never used any pretences, my lady,” said Aurelia, looking up in her face with clear innocent eyes. “You have had no visitors? None!” “None, madam, except once when the Lady Arabella Mar forced her way in, out of curiosity, I believe, and her brother followed to take her away.” “Her brother? You saw him?” Each word came out edged like a knife from between her nearly closed lips. “Yes, madam.” “How often?” “That once.” “That has not hindered a traffic in letters.” “Not on my side, madam. I tore to fragments unread the only one that I received. He had no right to send it!” “Certainly not. You judge discreetly, Miss Delavie. In fact you are too transcendent a paragon to be retained here.” Then, biting her lip, as if the bitter phrase had escaped unawares, she smiled blandly and said, “My good girl, you have merited to be returned to your friends. You may pack your mails and those of the children!” Aurelia shuddered with gladness, but Lady Belamour checked her thanks by continuing, “One service you must first do for me. My perfumer is at a loss to understand your translation of the recipe for Queen Mary’s wash. I wish you to read and explain it to her.” “Certainly, madam.” “She lives near Greenwich Park,” continued Lady Belamour, “and as I would not have the secret get abroad, I shall send a wherry to take you to the place early to-morrow morning. Can you be ready by eight o’clock?”