Vane’s face flushed at the thought of the humiliation she would undergo in such a case; and she registered a vow that she would never permit it to happen. Margery must go and at once. Margery remained standing at the door as Vane walked down the path. She did not move as, in a dim way, she saw Miss Charteris settle herself in the dainty carriage, nor did she stir as the ponies started briskly from the gate. But, as the sound of their hoofs died away in the distance, she awoke with a shuddering sigh to the grossness of the insults that had been offered her. Suddenly her strength failed, and, with a groan, she sunk back on her chair, burying her face in her hands. The thought of her loneliness had been bitter, her lover’s false vows had rankled in her breast; but the weight of Vane’s humiliating words crushed her. It was almost greater than she could bear. She tried to banish all tender recollection of Stuart from her, to think of him only as the one man who had darkened the glory of life for her, as the man who had plucked the sweet blossom of her love only to trample it under foot; but she could not succeed. Her mind would go back to those happy walks, those brief moments of gladness when they met, till it wandered to that day in Weald Wood, when, with her hand clasped in his, she had sworn to love him always, no matter what came between them. Yes, she loved him--would love him to the end; though he had deceived and injured her, though he had treated her with such scant courtesy and degraded her shamefully, her love was still the same. She shook back her wealth of red-gold curls and rose to her feet; she was growing calmer. She reflected that she had yet to plan her future. She pushed the chair to the doorway and sunk into it. The sun was sinking behind the woods; the air was soft and balmy--its touch seemed like a kiss upon her cheek. The musical note of a bird twittered its “good-night” amid the leaves, the babble of the distant brook, soothed her. She leaned her weary head against the door, and began to think. One idea stood out clearly--she must leave Hurstley. She dared not even picture to herself a future in the village, where her eyes would rest on Stuart smiling on that cold, cruel woman--where she must sit down beneath a repetition of insult that had already roused her spirit almost to madness. No, there was no other course open to her--she must go, and soon. Ah, if she could but rush away at once, and let the veil of darkness cover her humiliation! But whither and to whom could she go? Reuben could not take her with him. Mrs. Bright would welcome her for a while; but she could not meet Robert--poor Robert!