“Suffer me to relieve you, my child,” said the Rector, gently, but rather awkwardly, officiating as lady’s maid and unfastening and removing the vail and wreath from her brow. “There, let me draw your easy chair to the table. Do you hear me, dear child?” he inquired, uneasy at beholding her look of apathetic despair. “Oh! yes, yes, I hear, understand, and thank you, for this and for all. I know—I remember, that but for you, I should have passed this night—that was to have been my wedding-night,—in prison,” she murmured in a deep heart-thrilling tone. “‘_In prison!_’” Mrs. Oldfield had heard these fearful words, and involuntarily echoed them! “Do not mind her, my dear Madam—she—I mean, don’t mind her,” whispered Mr. Trevor, to his hostess, whose astonishment had returned with a vengeance. Estelle, had she been less absorbed in her profound sorrow, might have noticed the shocked and scandalized expression of the old lady’s countenance; but as it was, the severe regards of Mrs. Oldfield fell harmlessly upon her whom despair had rendered invulnerable. “Come, my child, you must really force yourself to take something. Endeavor now to swallow some tea and toast, for the sake of one in whose name I speak to you,” said the Rector, gently placing his charge at the table. Silently and mechanically Estelle did all that was required of her, though the act of swallowing was almost impossible. And now the deferential care of the two clergymen for their fair charge again modified Mrs. Oldfield’s ill suspicions of her guest. Directly after tea, at the suggestion of Mr. Oldfield, the bell was rung, and the little bright-eyed maid, Sarah Copley, was summoned to show Lady Montressor to her chamber. Mrs. Oldfield gave some directions in a low voice, aside to her Abigail, who courtesied, lighted a night-lamp, and stood ready to attend her ladyship. Silently and mechanically Estelle arose and bowing good-night to the circle, followed her attendant from the parlor. When they had disappeared, Mr. Oldfield told the story of Lady Montressor’s arrest at the altar, and the subsequent developments relating to her school history. But no logic or eloquence of the narrator, no palliating or explaining of the circumstances, could serve to lessen in Mrs. Oldfield’s estimation the moral turpitude of her whom this rigorous judge persisted in regarding as a sinner of the deepest dye. And the anxious and distressed rector had the utmost difficulty in obtaining a promise that the unhappy lady, while she remained their guest, should be attended and served with the consideration due her rank. But this promise once given, however reluctantly, he knew would be faithfully performed.