It was terrible to see my Lady's look of woe, as, rising from her chair, she paced the room, and now prayed Heaven for aid, and now stood listening to the mirth that still broke in from out of doors by fits, and now gazed fixedly upon the little leaden case within her hand, as though there were some magic help in that. “Farewell, Lucy,” murmured she; “the last words that I ever thought to hear him say, which, having said, he dropped, to save my life, into the wave. And now I see him storm-tossed in the sea of sin, certain to sink, without a plank but this poor ancient love of his to which to cling, and yet I may not stretch a finger forth to aid him. Ah me, what base return! Why did I not cleave to him, although I thought him dead, as he to me? Why was I not faithful to his memory, as he to mine? Why say: 'In three years' time, Sir Robert, if your fancy still holds firm, I will be yours?' Why not repeat that 'No' I gave him first? Then, earning my own living as I was born to earn it, I might have lived on alone until this day, when, meeting with my poor lost Ralph once more, I could, without a blush of shame, cry 'Husband!' and be to him indeed the guardian angel his love paints I was. Heaven knows, I wish it for his sake alone. I wish for nothing for myself but Death--yes, that would be best of all, a thousand times.” My Lady's once plump face looked pinched and worn, almost as though the Shadow for which she sighed was really nigh; her anxious eyes, not softened by her tears, peered timorous as a hare's to left and right, as though the tenantless room held some one who could read her secret soul. Then sitting down upon the sofa, with her hands clenched before her, she stared out upon the twilight, deepening down upon the windmill on the hill. But presently, “Forgive me these black thoughts,” prayed she with inward shudder. “If, as they say, the place reserved for the wicked is filled with those who have promised themselves to do some good, and have not done it, then haply those who in their minds revolve some deadly sin which they do not commit, may be forgiven. I will not, with God's blessing, thus transgress again. I _know_ that that is wrong, and prompted by the devil; but which is right and which is wrong in this” (once more her eyes fell piteously upon the locket in her hand)--“Lord help me in this trial.” Here Walter's ringing voice was heard upon the lawn beneath: “Never mind pulling up the rings, Letty; they are the best burglar-trap a householder can lay; only bring in the mallets and balls.” “My Walter!” exclaimed my Lady, starting up with haste. “Have I forgotten _you_, then? My proud Sir Richard, too, disgraced, dishonoured, shall men call you bastard? My sweet Letty--never, never, never!” As though she dared not trust herself to think, she kept repeating that sad word: then thrusting the dear token in the centre of the wood and coals that were laid in the fireplace ready for the match, she set all alight.