“Well, you see, my dear Lady Lisgard, although Sir Richard issues these foolish edicts, it is you who are responsible for them; and I have no doubt this Derrick has been told as much. At least, I hear, that over his cups he has declared he will never leave Mirk till he has had a sight of this Queen of all the Roosias (as he terms you), who holds herself so---- Pardon me, _ma mère;_ I was wrong to repeat this fellow's impertinence. Heaven help us! Why, my Lady has fainted!” Arthur Haldane spoke the truth. For the moment, Lady Lisgard's mind was freed from all its anxieties, of whatever nature they might be. The young man sprang down the bank, and dipping his handkerchief in the stream, applied its wet folds to her forehead. Gradual and slow the lifeblood flowed again, and with it thought, although confused and tangled. “Save me, save my Walter!” murmured she. “Tell him I will die first. He shall never look upon my face.” “He never shall, _ma mère_ said the young man soothingly, while he chafed my Lady's stiffened fingers. “Keep him away!” cried she, endeavouring to rise; “he is tearing off my wedding-ring. Help! help!” “No, no, it is not he; it is I, Arthur Haldane--a well-meaning fool, but who has worked a deal of mischief. I have told you all I know, and I wish my tongue had been cut out first. It makes my heart bleed to see you thus distressed.” “Then give me comfort, Arthur,” groaned my Lady; “you have warned me well, but what is the use of warning without advice. How shall I make him cease to persecute us? Gold will not buy him. I have heard of such a man, who, being bribed, cried but the more 'Give, give;' as the whirlpool swallows ship after ship, and yet gapes for more---for navies.” “Bribe him? No, Heaven forbid! That, indeed, would be the very way to keep him what he is--to make that chronic which is now, let us hope, but a passing ailment. But I would take care, if I were you, that nothing further he done to irritate him. He may-revenge himself--I only say he _may_--by doing Walter some ill turn. And, above all, you must persuade Mistress Forest to give him his _congé_. If once you get her to say 'No,' of her own freewill, he will soon tire of haunting the Abbey; while, if his race-horse does not do the great things expected of him--and what race-horse ever did?--he will soon tire of Mirk itself.” My Lady shook her head. “Come, ma mère, there is no need for despondency about this fellow's going--nor, indeed, for much apprehension if he stays--and, moreover, I really think the matter lies in your own hands; at all events, you have more influence over your waiting-maid than any one else, and my advice is that you speak to her at once.”