“Do not let me detain you at table, my dear Letty,” said she, breaking a solemn pause. “Miss Aynton was so good as to make my coffee this morning, and therefore it is only fair that she should perform the same kind office now.” Glad enough of this excuse to leave the room--a movement felt by all to be very difficult of imitation--Letty rushed up stairs to indulge in a good cry in her own bedroom, “the upper system of fountains” only having been yet in play. Sir Richard gloomily stalked away towards the stables; Walter lounged into the hall, lit a cigar, and paced to and fro upon the terrace beneath the windows of the breakfast-room, with both his hands in his pockets. Whiffs of his Havana, and scraps of the opera tune which he was humming, came in at the open window, to those who yet remained. My Lady had much too good taste to dislike the smell of good tobacco, and the air which he had chosen was a favourite one with her; perhaps Master Walter hummed it upon that account. He was to leave the Abbey next day to join his regiment--although not immediately. It was only natural he should wish to spend a few days in London after he had had so much of the quiet of Mirk, and yet my Lady grudged them. How pleasant everything about him was; how dull the Abbey would be without him; what a sad pity it was that he and Sir Richard got on so ill. If she were to die, would they not turn their hacks on one another for ever, and he brothers no more; and if something worse than Death were to happen to her----No, she would not think of that. Had not all that could be done to avert such utter ruin been done that very morning? There was surely no immediate peril now--no necessity for such excessive caution and self-restraint as she had been obliged of late months to exercise; it was something to have breathing-space and liberty. “I hope you are coming with us to the picnic, Lady Lisgard, now that that horrid man has gone?” said a cold quiet voice. My Lady, looking out of window at her favourite son, and lost in gloomy depths of thought, had entirely forgotten that she had invited Miss Rose Aynton to bear her company. She did not venture to look upon her questioner's face, though she felt that it was fixed on hers, reading Heaven knew what. How had she dared to think of liberty with this domestic spy under her very roof! What should she answer to this dreadful question? Something this girl must know, or must suspect, or she would never have ventured thus to allude a second time to the man Derrick, after her rebuff in the morning. Above all things, she would follow Mistress Forest's advice, and get Miss Aynton out of Mirk Abbey. She had intended to speak to her respecting what had just occurred at the breakfast-table; that would also offer an opportunity to say something more.