'Aunt! you do not believe this of me! You must know me better!' Then she stopped, perceiving Miss Curran's startled visage in the doorway, which my lady could not, having her back turned to it. 'Believe it? Yes, I do,' cried the exasperated countess; 'I believe that you----' 'No! Hold your tongue! If you have no respect for yourself or me, have some for Sara!' Doreen exclaimed, as she hurried to the door. My lady was filled with remorse, and bit her lips. Her temper had got the better of her prudence; and regret followed swiftly upon angry words. 'Doreen!' she cried, in a sudden desire to make good in some sort the mischief which was done; 'Doreen, at least be careful with your correspondence; see that no one intercepts it; that no one tampers with your letters!' 'My letters are my own,' Doreen retorted over her shoulder, haughtily. 'Don't you ever dare to touch them.' Then passing her arm round the waist of trembling Sara, she led her away to enjoy a delightful duet of tears in private. My lady remained for a long while looking straight before her, bewailing much the unexpected turn which things had taken. It was unwise, considering what lay at the bottom of her heart, to have goaded the damsel as she had done. A high mettled steed resents the curb. Now all that had been said about clandestine correspondence, and so on, was strictly true; was only what it behoved a judicious relative to place in its true light before an impulsive girl, who might come to find her reputation gone before she was aware there was a stain on it. Yet her heart smote the countess when she marked the look of horrified dismay which dawned in her niece's face during the last harangue. It is an ill thing to corrupt a mind which is innocent. Unhappily this is a wicked world, in which it is necessary for us to note certain sinful details for our own safety's sake. Yet it is not a pleasing job to impart such intelligence for the first time, especially when ill-temper bids us make the worst of it. Lady Glandore knew perfectly well that there could be nothing in the letters from the married man, except treason; and that she had done wrong in suggesting something else. Doreen, she thought, was not a girl to break off the correspondence in consequence of this new light. Indignant, strong in the purity of her motives, she would only hate her aunt and cling the more persistently to the married man and all the other scatter-brained young persons, and plunge more deeply into danger, through bravado.