“Dead?”--repeated Mrs. Grahame, only a little more emphatically for the interruption--“sunk into the depths of a grave from which there is no earthly redemption. Mr. Grahame, your and my daughter, Margaret Claverhouse, is now the eldest female representative of our name in your family, and from this moment it will be so understood. Margaret we will retire.” She rose as she spoke, motioning to Margaret to follow her example. As she did so, Evangeline flung herself wildly at her feet. “Have mercy, madam!” she cried. “Helen is still your child. She is my sister--my dear sister. Oh, in mercy, do not discard her! She is our own flesh and blood. You are her mother. Oh, in the face of God, do not forget that though she may have erred--she is but human. Christ forgave, and came to save the erring. Mother, have mercy, as you hope for it at the day of eternal judgment!” Mrs. Grahame drew her dress angrily from the clutch of Evangeline. She stepped back as the face of her half-swooning girl bowed itself upon her feet, and she said sternly-- “Malcolm, raise this raving girl from her self-degradation. Unworthy of her name, she pleads for one who has disgraced herself--and in vain; Evangeline, retire to your room, and there remain until you can meet me in a manner becoming your position as a Grahame.” She turned to Mr. Grahame, and added haughtily, but emphatically-- “My path, you perceive, Mr. Grahame, has been selected. I shall pursue it without swerving from it. I suggest this to you, that you may be able to understand what I deem the proper course for you to adopt.” She swept haughtily out of the room, closely followed by her daughter Margaret. Malcolm lifted his sister Evangeline up; he whispered to her not to make herself a little fool about a thing that could not be helped; and was so far animated by the common promptings of humanity, as to accompany’ her to her chamber, seeing that she had hardly strength to get there alone. Mr. Grahame, in the meanwhile, with contracted brow and in thoughtful abstraction, made his way to his library. He entered it slowly and moodily. The lamp which his servant had lighted had been turned down; the whole of the further parts of the room were in deep shadow. “She has disgraced the name of Grahame,” he muttered between his set teeth; “but how?--how? It is a black mystery; still she has gone--fled! She must be discarded--disowned! How could _we_ receive her again? has she not disgraced the name of Grahame?” And he looked around him loftily and proudly. He uttered a cry of horror. Up on the shadowed cornice he saw written, in letters of lambent flame, the frightful word--forgery! He covered his eyes with his hands; and still, in fiery characters--leaping, coruscating, glittering--he saw the word--_forgery!_ He dared not look into either of the murky corners of the apartment, for in one he expected to see sitting, grinning and gibbering at him like a fiend, his arch accomplice, Chewkle.