They found the rooms ready, and the landlady herself led them up the stairs. A bright fire was burning, and everything presented a cheerful appearance. The Duchess took off her gloves, and Mrs. Lenoir assisted her to remove her hat and cloak, and removed her own hat and veil. Then, for the first time on that night, the girl saw Mrs. Lenoir's face in full, clear light. She started back, with an exclamation of alarm. "I have seen you before!" "Yes, my dear--but do not avoid me; I implore you to listen to me! It is not I who am deceiving you--indeed, indeed, it is not! I am here for your good." "I do not understand," said the Duchess, looking vaguely around. "Mr. Temple said that a lady-relative would meet me at the station. Are you not a relative of his?" "I am not in any way related to the man who has been paying his addresses to you----" "Of the gentleman, you mean," interrupted the Duchess, with a pride that was made pitiable by the doubt and suspicion that was mingled with it. "As you will, my child. I will speak of him presently. There is something nearer to my heart, which will break if you do not listen to what I have to say." "I cannot listen," said the Duchess, "until you prove in some way that you are not deceiving me." "Thank God, I have the proof with me. On the night you saw me lying senseless in the snow, this gentleman you call Mr. Temple was with you." "Yes, and when I left you he promised to help you home." "He kept his promise, and learned where I live. I had never seen him before, nor had he ever seen me; we were utter strangers to each other. Yet to-day, this very morning, he came to me, and proposed that I should enter into a plot to betray you! He proposed that I should present myself to you as his aunt, as a lady who was favourable to his elopement with you, and that in this capacity I should accompany you here. For your good I consented--to save you I am here. Say that you believe me." "Part of what you say must be true; but you said you have the proof with you--what proof, and what are you going to prove?" "That this man is no gentleman--that he is a villain--and that his name is not Temple. On my knees--on my knees!--I thank God that it is in my power to save you from the fatal precipice upon which you are standing! Trust me--believe in me; I am a woman like yourself, and my life has been a life of bitter, bitter sorrow!" She was on her knees before the Duchess, clasping the girl's hands, and gazing imploringly into her face. Her strange passion, the earnestness of her words, her suffering gentle face, were not without their effect upon the frightened girl; but some kind of stubbornness to believe that her hopes of becoming a lady were on the point of being overturned rendered her deaf to the appeal in any other way than it affected herself. The threatened discovery was so overwhelming as to leave no room for pity or sympathy for the woman kneeling before her. "Where is your proof?" asked the Duchess.