"I have been some little time," he explained, "the forms were mislaid. But what is the meaning of this, Miss Mary? Surely it is late for Lady Dashwood to be abroad." Mayfield spoke calmly enough, but his eyes looked troubled. He glanced from one to the other of the group anxiously. "I came to see Mary," Lady Dashwood said coldly. In some magical way she had recovered her self-possession. She was cold and collected, a veritable _grande dame_ in the presence of an inferior. "I had received certain information as to what has recently taken place here. It seems that Sir George Dashwood is under obligations to you, and that as these obligations have not been satisfied, you have put the law in motion. In the language of unfortunate people in a lower walk of life, you have 'put the bailiffs in.' It probably occurred to you that this would cause Miss Dashwood a deal of suffering!" Mayfield bowed with exaggerated politeness. "We have known each other a long time, Lady Dashwood," he said. "We have had some business transactions together, and you have never been at any great pains to conceal your opinion of me. Therefore, I should gain nothing by an endeavour now to appear in a more favourable light in your eyes. To be candid, when I set the law in motion, I was not blind to the fact that my action would cause Miss Dashwood a certain anxiety." "Shameless!" Lady Dashwood cried, "more shameless than I expected." "Smoke them out!" came shrilly from the lips of the old woman, "Burn the rats out! Put the firewood and the candle together and burn out the vermin! Burn Horace Mayfield! Burn him and the other rascals in a pile together!" Mayfield started, he seemed as if about to say something, then apparently he changed his mind, and ignored the speaker altogether. "As you please," he said, "I shall be glad to have your views on the matter." CHAPTER XVII. BREATHING TIME "I had no intention of seeing you," Lady Dashwood said. "To think that you are the son of my dearest friend! It is well that she died before she knew. I came here to see Mary, because I knew exactly how you had played on her feelings. For purposes of your own, you have been diving into the family history. Many things you have discovered, but many things remain a secret to this day. Clever as you are, you have no inkling of the shameful truth. If I chose to speak now, I could disperse several of your pleasant dreams. I took an oath by the bedside of a dying man to say nothing, and I have regretted my promise ever since. A promise like that is a sacred thing; to break it is a deadly sin. Yet there are some promises that God never intends one to keep. Mine is one of them. So long as I alone suffer, it matters little. But when others are to suffer for my silence, others whom I love more than I love myself, then it is time to break the vow and let the world know everything. By my silence I doom yonder beloved child to lifelong misery. If you cared for her----"