“_You! you_ forgive! To such as you, it would be idle to protest my soul is spotless. The man whose name you have soiled by uttering it--my husband--he, in high heaven, knows right well that never so much as thought of mine has wronged him. Vile, evil-minded girl, as false as frail!” “That is sufficient, madam; almost enough, even if I were indeed the thing you take me for.” Here the girl paused to moisten her dry lips, and catch her breath, of which passion had almost deprived her. “Now, look you, I was wrong. I thought my Lady was not so lily-pure as the world took her to be, and I was wrong. I have seen things with my own eyes, and through the eyes of others, that might well entitle me to say: 'I still believe it,' I tell you, Lady Lisgard, I have _proofs_--or what seemed to me to be so, a few minutes back--of the charge that has so moved you, such as would amply justify my disbelief in your denial. But I honestly avow that I was wrong.” “I thank you, Miss Rose Aynton, for your charity.” “Spare your scorn, madam. It is no charity that moves me; nay, far from it. Convinced almost against my will, I own, by your unsupported assertion--your mère 'No,' I have withdrawn an accusation for which I have been patiently preparing evidence this long time--not, indeed, for your hurt, but for my own safety and convenience, and hereby confess it baseless and unjust. Now, on your part, I do beseech you, make amends to _me_. You, too, have had your seeming proofs of my disgrace; you, too, have heard and seen yourself, or through the eyes and ears of others, certain”---- “Add not, lost, wretched girl,” interposed my Lady, “deceit to sin! All that is left you is to pray to Heaven for pardon, and to leave that hospitable roof which you have disgraced.” Rose Aynton's gipsy face grew drawn and pale. She had aimed her blow, and missed; the weapon in which she had put so much trust had proved utterly good for nothing. All her schemes of the last few months were rendered fruitless, and the discoveries to which she had attached such vast importance, and which she had attained to by such mean arts, shewn to be vain and futile. And now that she had humiliated herself by owning this, and thrown herself at this woman's feet, she would not extend so much as a finger-tip to help her. “Lady Lisgard, as I hope for heaven,” cried she in anguish, “I am innocent of that with which you charge me; I am honest as yourself, or Letty. Alas, you shudder, because I dare to compare myself with your pure daughter; you think that I soil that name, too, by uttering it. What shall I say--by what shall I swear, in order to make you believe me?” “I would to Heaven I _could_ believe you, Rose,” returned my Lady sadly, touched in spite of herself by the girl's yearning appeal. “If you could erase this damning blot upon my son's fair name, and give me back my Walter--as I deemed him but an hour ago--I would be so grateful, girl, that you should almost think I loved you.”