“Dearest Mistress, I think it is Poor You who are most to be pitied. Great Heaven, he will be here to-night, or to-morrow at latest! To-morrow--in the midst of all the merry-making about Sir Richard.” “Yes, Sir Richard!” exclaimed my Lady bitterly. “The poor bastard that thinks he is a baronet! But let him come, let him come, I say.” My Lady rose from her seat with clenched fingers and flashing eyes. “I will defend my children with my life--nay, more, with my honour. If I perjure myself to save them from shame and ruin, will not God pardon me? Who is there to witness against them save this man alone? And is not my word--my oath--as good as his?” She stepped to the little bookcase that ran round the room; and from the corner of it, half-hidden by the framework, took down a dusty volume--one of a long series, but the remainder of which were in the library. It was the _Annual Register_ for the year 1832. Under the head of “Shipping Intelligence,” where the tersest but most pregnant of all summaries is always to be found--the deaths of hundreds of poor souls, the misery of thousands of survivors, and the sudden extinction of a myriad human hopes, all recorded in a single sentence--was written: “In the storm of the 14th September, the emigrant vessel, _North Star_, foundered off the South Headland with all hands on board--supposed to have sprung a leak.” Then a few weeks later, the following paragraph: “From the _North Star_, emigrant ship, supposed to have been lost on the night of the 14th of last month, with all hands on board, there came on shore at Coveton, lashed to a spar, a solitary survivor, a young woman. Although much exhausted and bruised, she had received no vital injury, and her recovery is said to be assured. Her case excites much interest in the locality in question.” The “solitary survivor!” continued my Lady thoughtfully. “Who is there to gainsay it, save this man?” “Your own heart, dearest mistress,” answered the waiting-maid solemnly. “That would not permit you to deny him, even if your conscience would. Could you meet him to-morrow face to face”---- “No, no,” exclaimed my Lady shuddering; “I never could. I was mad to think of such a thing--so mad, that I trust the wickedness of the thought may be forgiven.--I am to drive into Dalwynch this afternoon about--what was it, Mary?” “About your watch, which ought to have come home last evening, my Lady.” “Yes, my watch. There is not any time to lose.” “Indeed not, dear mistress: not an hour, I should say, if I were in your place. I tremble to look out of window, lest I should see him coming yonder over the Windmill Hill.” “Yes, fixed as fate, and furious with her who has deceived him. Poor fellow, who can blame him? I can see him now.” “Heaven forbid!” exclaimed the waiting-maid, fleeing to the window. “Haste, haste away, or there will be murder done!”