And this scene was but a type of a score of other such scenes then transpiring in the boudoirs and drawing-rooms of Devon, Dorset, and Somerset, where this subject was discussed as far as the news had spread. But, notwithstanding the ladies had characterized the idea as “preposterous,” the fact was now forced upon their convictions, that Lord Montressor did mean to spread the aegis of his powerful name and protection over Estelle during her terrible ordeal. It became known, as every thing even of the most secret nature does, in some mysterious manner, that Lord Montressor had called upon Sir Parke Morelle in behalf of his daughter. * * * * * Lord Montressor in fact suffered one night to pass, during which he hoped Sir Parke Morelle might recover from the first madness of rage into which he had been thrown by this terrible shock to his pride and affection, and then his Lordship had called at Hyde Hall and requested a private audience with the Baronet. He was shown into the superb library where he found Sir Parke reclining in a luxurious arm-chair with a reading stand beside him, and engaged in reading, or in pretending to do so. Lord Montressor advanced with serene gravity, offering his hand. Sir Parke arose to welcome him, and stood, slightly bent, trembling and leaning for support with one hand upon the chair. The Baronet had aged twenty years in less than twenty hours. “Good-morning, Sir Parke.” “Good-morning, my lord. Pray be seated.” Lord Montressor waived his hand, nodded, took the indicated chair, and when Sir Parke Morelle had resumed his seat, said,— “I called this morning, Sir Parke, believing that you would be pleased to hear favorable news relating to Lady Montressor.” The Baronet’s face suddenly blanched, his lips worked, his brow gathered, but his over-mastering pride soon controlled every betrayal of emotion, and he inquired, coolly— “News relating to——_whom_, my lord?” “To your daughter, sir.” “Your Lordship labors under some serious mistake. _I have no daughter_,” said the Baronet, sternly. “No daughter? That is very sorrowful, if true; you lately gloried in the loveliest daughter in all Devon.” “We will not speak of her, if you please, my lord,” said the baronet haughtily. “Be it so, I will drop the subject of _your daughter_; but will you, sir, on your part, be so courteous as to permit me to speak for a few moments of, _my wife_?” “I was not aware, Lord Montressor, that you _had_ a wife.” “Then I have the honor of informing you of that fact. Yes, sir, I have the loveliest wife, as _you_ had the loveliest daughter, in all Devon; I have not lost her; and it is of _her_ that I come here to talk.” “My lord! with all deference to your lordship, I must inform you that _I_ do not _know_ Lady Montressor; nor is it convenient just at present to form her ladyship’s acquaintance. We are about to leave England for some time, my lord.”