"Hush, Louise," she said to the girl. "You've no call to talk in that way now. You must excuse her," she added to the ladies. "She's had a bad bringing up." "I can't--believe you," Edith faltered. "Tell me--exactly." "Well, it was in this way," the girl rejoined, speaking in the prosaic tone in which her countrywomen are accustomed to discuss matters that inspire ours with too much disgust to be mentioned. "Menteith came after me, and my sister wanted money, so she made me believe that he couldn't marry me because there was a law, to prevent it. She said he loved me, and if I loved him well enough, it would be a noble thing to disregard the law, and he gave her seventy-five pounds for that. I found her letter to Menteith about it, and I've got it here," tapping the bosom of her gown. "He took me abroad when he wanted to get rid of me, and left me in Paris with five pounds in my pocket; but it was enough to bring me back. I was sick when I landed at Dover, and they sent me to the workhouse; and when I got well again I told them I had friends in Morningquest, and they gave me a little help to get there; but I had to tramp most of the way, and I was weak--I couldn't have got as far as I did if I hadn't wanted to kill them both." "Now, hush!" said Nurse Griffiths. "The Lord saved you from such a sin." "The Lord!" said the girl derisively. "If the Lord had been inclined to help me, he wouldn't have waited till I came to murder. It wasn't the Lord saved _me_." "She will say that, and I can't cure her," Nurse Griffiths declared. "But I'm afraid you're feeling the heat, ma'am, and you are not very strong," she added, addressing Edith, who was clinging to the porch for support, looking strangely haggard. "Won't you come in and sit down a bit?" "No, thank you, it is nothing," Edith answered steadily, recovering herself. "Will you come and sit down with me on that seat?" she said to Louise, indicating a rustic bench under an old pear tree at the end of the garden. "I want to talk to you." Nurse Griffiths and Angelica remained in the porch. "Who is that lady, Miss?" the nurse asked when Edith was out of hearing. "Lady Menteith," Angelica answered. The woman threw up her hands. "O Lord! have mercy upon her--and upon us! What a cruel, cruel shame! She's showing her the letter. Eh! it's enough to kill her. You generally know all the mischief that's going, Miss! Why did you bring her here?" "I wish I had known this, then," said Angelica, whose heart was thumping painfully. "If any harm comes of it, I shall always think it was my fault." "Well, there's no call to do that if you didn't know," the woman answered. "I see she was a great lady myself, but I never thought it was _her_. Eh! but it's the dirty men makes the misery." On the way back, Edith stopped the carriage at the telegraph office, and despatched a message to her husband to come to her, "Come at once."