“No—I said that I was called by another name besides that. Estel is _really_ my name, else I should not certainly have called myself by it; but it is my baptismal—not my surname. I am known in the world as the Viscountess Montressor.” “The Viscountess Montressor! Good Heaven!” exclaimed Barbara, in amazement. “And you did not suspect this?” “No, Madam, by my sacred honor, I did not.” “And yet, he who conferred upon me his name and title, was your passenger to this place, landed here with you this morning?” “That is very true, Madam. Lord Montressor engaged passage for himself and two servants, in my vessel, for Havana, and his lordship came ashore this morning for a day’s sport in the woods—that is all that I know! I am completely mystified, my lady,” said Miss Brande, in augmented astonishment. “Do you think, Miss Brande,” inquired Lady Montressor, with a look of deep interest, “that his lordship knows or suspects the identity of the party to whom you have let your house?” “I do not know, Madam, since it is not impossible that _he_, also, may have concealed something from me; but I should judge from appearances that he knew nothing of your ladyship’s presence in the neighborhood.” “Forgive the necessity that compels me to question you, Miss Brande, and pray tell me, did you ever mention to his lordship the name of the lessee of your property?” “No, Madam, I never did.” “Then I will beseech you never to do it; for, if once Lord Montressor heard the name of ‘Estel,’ it would furnish him with the only clue he needs to my identity and retreat.” “Forgive me, in your turn, dear lady, but all this is very inexplicable!” “Ah! it is so, indeed, to you! And I appear to invite your faith, without giving you my confidence! Is it not so? Well! I will explain! and you, if you will have patience, will hear a sorrowful story. But, first,” said Lady Montressor, even in this anxious hour considerate of the convenience of others, “have you breakfasted?” “Yes, Madam.” “And can you give me half an hour?” “I am at Lady Montressor’s service for half the day, if she will command me,” said Barbara, who felt her heart painfully attracted to her interesting tenant. “Listen, then, Miss Brande! Do you ever see the English papers?” “Seldom, or never, my lady.” “Then you have seen no account of a wretched English woman of rank, who was struck in her pride of place—struck at her highest culmination of fortune and happiness—struck down, down, down, to a bottomless pit of black dishonor and despair! You have heard of no such woman?” “No, no, no; Great Heaven, no!” exclaimed Barbara, shuddering. “Look at her, then, Miss Brande. She stands before you,” said Lady Montressor, rising, and fixing her eyes upon the shocked face of Barbara.