As she meditated, examining each thrust that had been made on either side, she regretted bitterly her foolish speeches; and then her heart grew sick within her as she came upon a barb, which, flung without aim, hung from a smarting wound. As the maiden had suggested, what should prevent reckless Shane from marching off to church some day with pretty Norah, and returning to crave a blessing? The very thought of such a fatal proceeding caused my lady to rise from her seat with a bound, and wring her hands in anguish. 'What have I done--what have I done?' she groaned, 'that an earthly purgatory should be my lot? Did I fail in my duty to my lord? Was I not too indulgent a wife, screening his unfaithfulness, enduring insult without end from that dreadful woman?' Then she reflected how his death had not brought peace to her; how relentless Time had administered secret scourgings, whilst she appeared to be sitting--a noble, envied widow--between two growing sons. Was her torment to go on increasing, instead of wearing itself out with its own rigour? What would be the end? That early sin which took place so long ago--could any one declare that she was aught but an unwilling agent in it? Might the trace of it never be washed clean? Was suicide the only means of escape from an agony to which on earth there seemed no term? If, driven by despair, she were to hurry unbidden into the presence of her Maker, might she not hope to be forgiven? If your cross is too heavy for your strength, sure you may be pardoned for casting it aside! As she writhed, a prey to phantoms of retrospect, she felt that her sin was not a faded one of long ago; that it continued still, and that while she permitted it to roll on unchecked, numbers at compound interest were being chalked to her account. That dreadful secret which had blanched her hair! Years had woven such confusing complications round it, that were she, taking her courage in both hands, to speak out now, it would be only to transfer a burthen, not destroy it. No, no! Ten times no! The time for setting right the wrong was past--past, irretrievably. Instead of moaning over it, it were better to concentrate all attention upon this matter of Shane and Norah. At all hazards, the billing and cooing of that couple must be stopped while there was time. Shane was the late earl's eldest son, and Mrs. Gillin----! And Norah was sixteen years old, bred a Protestant by my lord's special desire. Could his wife be misled in her suspicions? The conduct of Mrs. Gillin in the matter was most amazing. My lady surveyed it from all points of view. Truly she was racked by many torments. Até was at work. The orders of the dread goddess were being carried out by the Eumenides. CHAPTER XII. A MOTHER'S WILES.