"No--no," she sighed, with a voice that trembled. "No--no! the lamb and the lion do not go together yet in this poor world. No--no--no. I wonder what tears have to do in my eyes; ah, God in the skies! if you ever do miracles, do one for this woman, and save her child! Praying and crying are strange fancies for me--I must go away, but first," she said, still holding Mrs. Vincent fast--"a woman is but a woman after all--if it is more honourable to be a wicked man's wife than to have gone astray, as you call it, then there is no one in the world who can breathe suspicion upon me. Ask this other good woman here, who knows all about me, but fears me, like you. Fears me! What do you suppose there can be to fear, Mr. Vincent, you who are a scholar, and know better than these soft women," said Mrs. Hilyard, suddenly dropping the widow's hand, and turning round upon the young minister, with an instant throwing off of all emotion, which had the strangest horrifying effect upon the little agitated company, "in a woman who was born to the name of Rachel Russell, the model English wife? Will the world ever believe harm, do you imagine, of such a name? I will take refuge in my ancestress. But we go different ways, and have different ends to accomplish," she continued, with a sudden returning gleam of the subdued horror--"Good-night--good-night!" "Oh, stop her, Arthur--stop her!--Susan will be at Carlingford when we get there; Susan will go nowhere else but to her mother," cried Mrs. Vincent, as the door closed on the nocturnal visitors--"I am as sure--as sure----! Oh, my dear, do you think I can have any doubt of my own child? As for Susan going astray--or being carried off--or falling into wickedness--Arthur!" said his mother, putting back her veil from her pale face, "now I have got over this dreadful night, I know better--nobody must breathe such a thing to me. Tell her so, dear--tell her so!--call her back--they will be at Carlingford when we get there!" Vincent drew his mother's arm through his own, and led her out into the darkness, which was morning and no longer night. "A few hours longer and we shall see," he said, with a hard-drawn breath. Into that darkness Mrs. Hilyard and her companion had disappeared. There was another line of railway within a little distance of Lonsdale, but Vincent was at pains not to see his fellow-travellers as he placed his mother once more in a carriage, and once more caught the eye of the man whose curious look had startled him. When the grey morning began to dawn, it revealed two ashen faces, equally speechless and absorbed with thoughts which neither dared communicate to the other. They did not even look at each other, as the merciful noise and motion wrapped them in that little separate sphere of being. One possibility and no more kept a certain coherence in both their thoughts, otherwise lost in wild chaos--horrible suspense--an uncertainty worse than death. CHAPTER XVIII.