She read the note of farewell over and over. She crumpled it, and smoothed it, again and again. With all its incoherence, it was sufficiently decided. And so the very same day in which she had fulminated her final decree against the heir of Trevethlan--a decree which she hoped would crush him to the ground--that very day her daughter had thrown herself into his arms. She was check-mated just when she thought the next move would give her the game. Henry Trevethlan was already well avenged. In the midst of her agitation, word was brought her that Michael Sinson had begged the favour of an audience. She had seen very little of her protégé since her arrival in town. She fancied he might be of some service in her present strait, and granted the permission he sought. Ignorant of Miss Pendarrel's flight, he came cringing into the presence of his patroness, with the idea that Everope was safe, and that he might claim the reward of his treachery. "Now, sir," his mistress said as he entered, "what is your business with me?" The young man was embarrassed. He had well considered what he was about to say, yet, when the time came to speak, his words were not ready. "You know, ma'am," he said, hesitating and confused, "the pains I have taken in exposing the person who had unlawful possession of Trevethlan Castle." "Well, sir!" "You know, ma'am, that I did not scruple to bring discredit on some of my own kindred, in order that right might be done." "You have been well paid," Mrs. Pendarrel said. "Excuse me, ma'am," Sinson proceeded. "I have been reproached and abused by my relations, and all the country people turn away from me. It is not easy for me to show my face in Kerrier or Penwith. But right is done at last. You have the castle firm and safe. Do you remember, ma'am, what I told you of the late owner and Miss Mildred?" Esther started, supposing the speaker was going to give her some intelligence respecting the elopement. "In a week or a fortnight," Michael continued, "there will be no trace of the old family at Trevethlan. The steward is now preparing to quit. Mr. Randolph is wandering somewhere in poverty and want. Do you suppose, ma'am, that he has forgotten that walk on the cliff, with--with your daughter?" Mrs. Pendarrel was surprised. She could not imagine to what end so strange an introduction was tending. She listened in silence. "No, ma'am," said her protégé. "Love will not grow cold in ruin."