“When I have warned you my part in the tragedy is played out, Lady Gwendolyn, so far as you are concerned. I shall have to appear at the inquest, of course; but I shall simply state there that I heard the poor man groan, and found him lying on the bank in a dying state.” “And if they ask you if he spoke?” “Then I shall tell a lie for the first time in my life,” he answered sternly. “I would not do it to save myself, but you----” “Thank you,” she said, in a quiet, firm tone; “that was all I wanted to know. Perhaps one of these days you will understand things better than you do now, Colonel Dacre; meanwhile, I do not think you will reproach yourself much for what you have done this day--for--for”--hesitatingly--“things are not always as they seem. I don’t ask you to shake hands with me, although this is probably the last time we shall ever meet--and we were once friends--but I shall always remember you with gratitude.” “And you will leave England at once?” he said, as the carriage stopped. “Never mind about me; I can take care of myself,” she answered, and, jumping lightly down, she disappeared into the house. Half an hour later a slight figure in black came stealthily out of the Grange; but instead of passing through the great gate, slipped round by the shrubberies and out into the road by a gap in the hedge. But Colonel Dacre, who was watching from his window, saw it plainly in spite of these precautions, and murmured fervently within himself: “Thank Heaven, she has thought better of it, and is gone!” CHAPTER VII. A NOBLE SACRIFICE. Through the lanes, swiftly, but ever so wearily, sped Lady Gwendolyn. Her eyes were dim with unshed tears--she had no time for womanly weakness--her lips were compressed, until they looked like a mere thread; her head drooped on to her bosom. She had never known what shame meant before, and she felt as if she should never be able to look her fellow creatures in the face again. It took her half an hour only to reach Bridgton Hall--this morning. The stable clock was striking seven as she entered the grounds, and made her way hurriedly to the front door. Everything was very quiet, or seemed so to her, recalling the gay music and laughter that had filled the house a few hours back. The butler was yawning in the hall, but did not appear at all surprised to see her. He was getting too much accustomed to the caprices and vagaries of fine ladies to be surprised at anything now. “Lady Lenox was at breakfast,” he said, “and Miss Wyndham and three gentlemen were there; but he fancied Lady Teignmouth had gone to her room. However, he would inquire directly, if Lady Gwendolyn would step into the drawing-room for a moment.” “Thank you, I need not trouble you,” her ladyship replied. “I know Lady Teignmouth’s room, and will go and see for myself.” “Shall I tell Lady Lenox you are here, my lady?” “It is not worth while, as I shall only stay a few minutes.”