"It is the child's nurse," said Lady Errington, going to the door. "Wait a moment." Guy turned towards the window so that the servant should not see how upset he was, and Lady Errington, opening the door, kept her face bent over the sleeping child as she placed it in Mrs. Tasker's arms. "He's sound asleep, Nurse," she said quietly, as the old woman took him. "Take him up to the nursery, and I'll come to him in a short time." Her voice was perfectly under control, and Mrs. Tasker never for a moment suspected anything was wrong between her master and mistress as she toiled slowly up the stairs carrying the child tenderly in her stout arms. Lady Errington drew a long breath as Mrs. Tasker disappeared, and then, closing the door quietly, turned once more to her husband, who still stood looking out at the bright sunshine, which seemed to mock his misery by its glare and cheerful brilliancy. "I am waiting for your answer," said his wife's steady voice behind him, whereupon he turned swiftly round, and crossing to where she stood, stern and silent by the table, caught one of her hands before she could prevent him. "Alizon," he said earnestly, "for your own sake, for the sake of our child, listen to me quietly, and I will try and explain things to your satisfaction. I did go to Mrs. Veilsturm's, but I swear by all that is sacred, that I did not remember anything about her. Not even her name. Think for a moment, the whole affair passed in five minutes--your explanation was a hurried one, and you never referred to it again. It is eighteen months ago, and since then her name has never been mentioned between us, so you can hardly wonder that I quite forgot about the woman. Had I remembered, I would not have gone--give me at least that credit. I went innocently enough with Eustace, and Mrs. Veilsturm, I suppose out of revenge for the slight she received from you, was very attentive to me. I did not respond to her advances in any way, and saw as little of her as I could. I was not responsible for the coupling of our names together. You know how the world talks and magnifies the most innocent things into evidences of guilt. The scandal reached the ears of my aunt, and she, innocently enough, wrote that letter to you--a letter which she now bitterly regrets having sent to you. When she told me about it, I explained all, and she asked my pardon for having written the letter. I came down here at once to tell you everything, and I have now done so. On my honour, Alizon, that is the whole affair. I acted wrongly in forgetting about Mrs. Veilsturm's past, and I ask your pardon. Let this misunderstanding cease between us. I love you dearly. I have always loved you, never so much as now. Do not let our lives be blighted like this. I have acted wrongly, and I ask your pardon. You in your turn grant it to me, and let us forget this terrible mistake."