"Far be it from me to wrong the purity of one so fair," answered the other, bowing lowly, with as much sarcasm in his manner as he durst shew. "Mrs. Tremenhere has a husband to judge her--I leave all to him." And with this last bitter phrase of doubtful meaning, he quitted the room. Poor Minnie could not speak; she was thunderstruck, and crushed with presentiment and fear. "This has been a most inexplicable affair," said Lord Randolph, as the door closed. "Can you devise any means for discovering the authors, dear Mrs. Tremenhere? I am, indeed, truly distressed at your annoyance; but, believe me, there will be, there can be, no unpleasant results--it has been some foolish jest." "Jest!" she exclaimed, looking up; she was very pale. "It is more than that; there is some villainy in it, and that man is the author." There was a garden attached to the back of the house, through the door of which, leading into a lane, Burton passed out as he had entered, conducted by the servant, whose physiognomy had not deceived the acute Dalby. At the same moment Mary Burns rapped at the front; and our readers will not fail to remember the occupant of the hired brougham who had followed, and was witness to the arrival of all except Burton. Mary Burns went up immediately to the drawing-room, when her servant told her Mrs. Tremenhere was there. In an instant this latter was at her side--the presence of that girl seemed so great a protection--her coming, the only means of elucidating this painful mystery. Lord Randolph bowed rather uneasily as Minnie presented him. He wished much that he had sooner quitted the house. Yet, when he looked at her, he could not but feel deep commiseration for her, she was so agitated; in a few brief words she explained all to Mary, it would be impossible to describe her anxious state. Without the slightest hesitation she pronounced that Marmaduke Burton was the author of it for some vile purpose. It was not alone fear which agitated Minnie. There was a sense of degraded delicacy in it, that she should be drawn into even a fictitious intrigue with any man. She blushed deeply when this feeling came over her in all its force; especially when Lord Randolph said, meaning well, but certainly not advising wisely, "I should seriously counsel Mrs. Tremenhere not to name this affair to her husband, he has shewn himself so prone to jealousy; and _I_ will take means to silence the servant who admitted us--thus the affair will die away quietly." "Not name it to Miles!" exclaimed Minnie. "Pardon me, my lord, he shall instantly be made acquainted with it; and as one who, I trust, has too much reliance on me to suspect me of wrong. Let him seek those who cast so unworthy an imputation upon me."