“You need not; she quite understands and sympathizes with you. They are just going to sit down to dinner, and we shall go away quietly and comfortably, and catch the eight-o’clock train. You see, dearest, I am not altogether incapable if I am left to myself.” “I never thought you were, my love,” he answered; and paid her such a pretty conjugal compliment that Pauline began to think husbands were not such disagreeable creatures, after all, if properly managed. Lady Gwendolyn had passed a miserable night, only to close her eyes to dream of the inquest, and suffer over again the humiliation of feeling herself suspected, not of actual murder, perhaps, but of having contributed in some way to the wretched man’s doom. Through Colonel Dacre’s stern gravity she had read the same cruel misconstruction, and yet he was so reticent, so careful not to compromise her in any way, she almost felt, too, as if he were a friend. Anyhow, the reminiscent torture made her start up in her bed, again and again calling out that she could not bear it; and she was glad when old Hannah came in to prepare her bath. She was so perfectly unsuspecting that when she found a letter on her breakfast-table later, and recognized Lord Teignmouth’s handwriting, she opened it eagerly, feeling as if it were a bright spot in her gloom. But as she read, the color faded out of her face, and a startled, anguished look came into her eyes. “Even he forsakes me,” she murmured, in a stifled voice; and, sinking down beside the couch, she buried her face in her hands and wept violently, passionately, until the very strength of her emotion exhausted her, and she lay still, wondering in her infinite desolation what she had ever done that fate should be so hard upon her. The answer came at last: “You set up an idol and worshiped it; and in fleeing from temptation a worse chance has overtaken you. Pray, unhappy woman; it is your only hope. The whole world has forsaken you, even your own kin; and, above all, the woman whom you served yesterday by your silence, and whose blame you bore for your brother’s sake. You have no kindred, or friends; you stand alone; and, therefore, need to stand firm, with your head well raised; but how will you bear this terrible solitude for all your pride?” There was no answer to this question, unless she heard it in the storm--voices that went moaning round the house. A sudden peal of thunder shook the roof; the rain came plashing down; and Gwendolyn, poor coward! hid her face again, and stopped her ears. She did not, therefore, either see or hear any one approach, until a warm, strong hand touched hers diffidently; and she lifted her head to let these tender words thrill through and through her: “My darling! love has become my master; and I cannot live without you, as I told you before, so I have come to claim you for my very own!” CHAPTER IX. ALL FOR LOVE.