"You believe it not? What would you then say did I tell you, proud maiden, I have seen this lady? I know her, have heard her speak of him; I trust you may never have cause to feel bitterly the truth of what I tell you." "And what proof have I of the ingenuous nature of your story? May I not think it a lure to work on my jealousy, and gain you back the love of which I judged you unworthy?" "Miss Ravensworth, you are severe: to prove this is not an idle fiction, but stern truth--sad reality, I will show you the young lady's portrait, the acknowledged mistress of the Earl; and it is said she only became so on a promise of marriage, should there be any liability of its becoming known." As he spoke Captain L'Estrange handed an exquisitely painted miniature likeness of Juana to Ellen's hands. She glanced on it with an apathetic look, as if doubtful whether to believe it, or no. "And what proof have I this lady is Lord Wentworth's choice beyond your prejudiced word? Do not think me rude, or uncourteous in questioning your veracity; but I am a lawyer's daughter, and have been accustomed to require proofs for everything." "And there then they lie," said L'Estrange, handing her a number of letters. "Behold my proofs: I am a better lawyer than you took me for: these are letters from the Earl to Juana Ferraras; read them and then judge for yourself." "I forbear to ask you how you gained possession of these letters," said Ellen, as she took them--"certainly never meant for your eye, nor for mine either, and I should ill deserve Lord Wentworth's trust could I demean myself to play the part of a base spy, and peruse them in order to gain an insight into his private life. To his God he alone stands, or falls; if he has failings he is but mortal, and fallible as you and I; and with all his errors I love him too well to play the traitor in the camp. So perish all calumnies on his name!" With these words she threw them behind the small fire, seldom found too warm in Scotland's early summer, and watched them consume away. When they were all reduced to ashes, turning round to Captain L'Estrange, who stood in stupid astonishment at another miscarriage in his plans, she said: "If you think to shake my trust thus you are sadly mistaken: it only proves how little you know Ellen Ravensworth; nay, how little you know woman's heart at all. When she loves, it is not the immaculate being of the poet's fancy she loves, but man--with all his failings, with all his faults. Not an unfallen angel, but man, fallen as he is; and thus, instead of lessening my passion you have but fed it, and fanned the flame. I love him seven-fold more. I do not love the error, but the erring; and perhaps it remains for me to wean his mind from such sordid affections to the pure fire of hallowed love, to point the way to better things; and by God's help I may have the opportunity of so doing, whatever may be our future relations in life."