Her jealousy, rage, and grief seemed to have overpowered her; Justina was almost beside herself. I entreated her to retire, but it was of no avail. “Not till Warden Scott tells me what he thinks of his wife writing those letters with a view to seducing the affections of a married man,” she persisted. Mr. Scott turned the letters over carelessly. “They are not from my wife,” he quietly replied. “Do _you_ dare to say so?” exclaimed Justina to Lady Amabel. “Certainly. I never wrote one of them. I have never written a letter to Harry since he was married. I have never had any occasion to do so.” The widow turned towards me with an ashen-grey face, which it was pitiful to behold. “Whose are they, then?” she whispered, hoarsely. “I do not know, my dear,” I replied; “surely it matters little now. You will be ill if you excite yourself in this manner. Let me conduct you back to your room;” but before I could do so she had fallen in a fit at my feet. Of course, all then was hurry and confusion, and when I returned to the drawing-room I found Lady Amabel crying in her husband’s arms. “Oh, Warden dear,” she was saying, “I shall never forgive myself. This all comes of my wretched flirting. It’s no good your shaking your head; you know I flirt, and so does every one else; but I never meant anything by it, darling, and I thought all the world knew how much I loved you.” “Don’t be a goose!” replied her husband, as he put her gently away from him; “but if you think I’m going to let you remain in this house after what that d----’d woman---- Oh, here is General Wilmer! Well, General, after the very unpleasant manner in which your niece has been entertaining us, you will not be surprised to hear that I shall take my wife away from Durham Hall to-night. When Lady Trevor comes to her senses you will perhaps kindly explain to her the reason of our departure, for nothing under such an insult should have prevented my paying my last respects to the memory of a man who never behaved otherwise than as a gentleman to either of us.”