Mrs. Walker did not notice the girl’s tone of alarm. The honor of having an earl in her house, no matter what his errand might be, out-weighed every other thought in her mind. She had only time to draw one deep breath of gratification before the drawing-room door was opened and Lord St. Austell was announced. He walked in with a firm step and dignified manner--“every inch a nobleman” was the description Mrs. Walker afterwards gave of him. With a curt bend to the lady, who came forward very ready to overflow with an effusive welcome, he asked shortly: “My daughter is here, I believe, madam?” “Yes, papa,” said a tremulous voice behind him. He turned and saw Lady Marion standing near the door, with a very white face. Then, with only a glance at her, he again addressed the lady of the house. “Can I have a few words with my daughter alone, madam?” Nothing could be more courteous than his words and attitude, nothing more contemptuous than his tone and manner. It was impossible to mistake the fact that he took at a glance the measure, social and moral, of the person he was addressing. No upbraidings, no explanations were necessary. Mrs. Walker retired at once with some incoherent words which sounded like an apology, and the earl turned at once again to his daughter. “Last week you begged of me,” he began at once, without any preface, “two letters from General Wenlock as autographs, you said. Who did you give them to?” No answer. “Was it to Amos Goodhare?” Another pause. Then, in a stifled voice, poor Lady Marion answered, “No, papa.” “Who was it to, then?” He was perfectly quiet. Rees, who was listening, with bated breath, behind the reed curtain, could only just distinguish the words. Again Lady Marion made no answer. The earl spoke again, after a short silence, in very measured tone. “Your uncle Charles will be a ruined man by this time to-morrow unless we find out into what hands those letters have got. They have been used for purposes of forgery.” The girl uttered a low cry and hid her face in her hands. “Will you tell me now?” “I cannot.” She lifted a countenance like that of a dead person, staring wildly, blankly, before her. “Then I know. It was Rees Pennant!”