“Yes, madam. After I lost my situation as music teacher I was married to a young gentleman, just from Oxford, where he had been educated. He was only twenty years old, and we were married by license. He worked to support us, having talent as an artist, and we struggled along together until his father discovered our marriage and separated us, declaring the marriage null and void, his son being under twenty-one years of age. We were married in good faith; we loved each other; and Rufus was good, although he made oath that he was of age in order to secure the marriage license. His father threatened to prosecute him for perjury if he did not give me up; and he gave me up.” “And who is this precious youth?” asked Mrs. Wroat. Lally replied by telling her story precisely as it had occurred, excusing the conduct of her young husband as well as she could, and displaying in every look and word how passionately she still loved him. “So the young man is poor, but of good birth and connections, and university bred?” commented Mrs. Wroat. “Well, Lally, my opinion is that your husband is not free from you, but that he will have to have recourse to law to secure his freedom. We’ll consult my London lawyer when we get up to town, and we’ll see about the young man. I’m afraid he’s a poor stick; but we’ll see--we’ll see. I haven’t changed my mind about adopting you, and I shall immediately assume a guardianship over you. You will quit Mrs. Blight’s service to-morrow. Peters, how soon can we go back to town?” “At the end of the week, ma’am, if you like,” responded Peters, brightening. “So be it then. Pack your trunk, Lally. You will finish your stay in this house as my adopted daughter and future heiress, and to-morrow you and Peters shall go out shopping--” Mrs. Wroat paused, as a knock was heard at the door. “Open the door, Peters,” commanded the old lady. “It’s Laura Blight.” Before Peters could obey, the door opened from without, and Mrs. Blight, her chains tinkling and her red silk gown rustling, came into the room as airily as the rotund proportions of her figure would permit. Her glances fell upon Lally, who was still sitting at the feet of her great-aunt, and Mrs. Blight’s face showed her surprise and displeasure. “I didn’t hear the piano, dear Aunt Wroat,” she exclaimed, “and I feared my governess might not have obeyed my order and come in to you. Miss Bird, I fear you forget your place. You are not a guest in this house--you are merely a hired servant. If you try, like a treacherous viper, to creep into the good graces of my poor unsuspecting relative, I shall dismiss you in the morning. You are to play upon the piano, and then go to your room.” The old lady’s yellow and bony hand was stretched out and laid caressingly on Lally’s black hair.