“But they spoke falsely—falsely! It _was_ Estelle L’Orient who was tried for——what I cannot speak! It was _Estelle L’Orient_, and no other! _Your_ honorable name, my lord, was never dragged down through such mire!—it remains clear of blame!—none bearing it ever came to shame!” “Assuredly not! and none have borne it more blamelessly than my beloved Stella; but, dear one, you talk so wildly that you had best not speak at all—come! drink this, and then lie down and be quiet for a few minutes,” he said, placing to her lips a glass of ice-water that had just been brought in by her maid. She quaffed it, but instead of lying down, she straightened her figure up, put up her hands and pushed the overshadowing black ringlets from her brow, and said: “Yes—I will—I must control myself. There! I am calmer now. Am I not, my friends?” “Yes—the water has done you good. You are better, but you must rest a little while.” “No—let us leave this place—I shall recover sooner without its walls.” “As you please, then, love! Let your maid rearrange your dress. Our traveling carriage waits, and the afternoon wanes; yet before the moon rises over the hills of Dorset, I would welcome you to your new home—Montressor Castle,” said his lordship, affectionately busying himself in tying her little bonnet, and tucking in her stray ringlets. “Ah! _would you_?—would you take Estelle to your ancestral home, where never a dishonored woman trod before?” “Estelle! you almost anger me, love! do not talk so insanely!” said his lordship. But she had dropped her hands idly upon her lap, and with her gaze fastened abstractedly upon them, had fallen into a deep reverie that lasted several minutes, and might have lasted indefinitely longer, had not Lord Montressor gently recalled her attention to the necessity of departure. She started like one aroused from sleep—passed her hand once or twice across her brow, and then answered in a voice, strange and unnatural from its level monotone: “Lord Montressor, will you please to excuse me for to-night? I am not equal to the journey you propose.” “My dearest, the distance is but nine miles over the loveliest of roads, and in the easiest of carriages,” replied his lordship, encouragingly. “No doubt, no doubt; yet I cannot take the road to-day.” “Very well! As you please, dearest! I will then convey you to the ‘Royal Adelaide,’ the best and quietest little hotel in Exeter, where we can remain until you are thoroughly rested and restored. Will that plan suit my Stella?”