So Zillah had to go, and defer the conversation till some other time. She went away to bed, and slept but little. Before her hour she was up and hastened back. "Why, Zillah," said Hilda, "you are half an hour before your time. You are wearing yourself out." "Did you read the papers?" asked Zillah, as she kissed her. "Yes," said Hilda, seriously. "And what do you think?" asked Zillah, with a frightened face. "My darling," said Hilda, "how excited you are! How you tremble! Poor dear! What is the matter?" "That awful confession!" gasped Zillah, in a scarce audible voice. "My darling," said Hilda, passing her arm about Zillah's neck, "why should you take it so to heart? You have no concern with it. You are Guy Molyneux's wife. This paper has now no concern with you." Zillah started back as though she had been stung. Nothing could have been more abhorrent to her, in such a connection, than the suggestion of her marriage. "You believe it, then?" "Believe it! Why, don't you?" said Hilda, in wondering tones. "You _do_, or you would not feel so. Why did you ask the Earl? Why did you give it to me? Is it not your father's own confession?" Zillah shuddered, and burst into tears. "No," she cried at last; "I do not believe it. I will never believe it. Why did I ask the Earl! Because I believed that he would dispel my anxiety. That is all." "Ah, poor child!" said Hilda, fondly. "You are too young to have trouble. Think no more of this." "Think of it! I tell you I think of it all the time--night and day," cried Zillah, impetuously. "Think of it! Why, what else can I do than think of it?" "But you do not believe it?" "No. Never will I believe it." "Then why trouble yourself about it?" "Because it is a stain on my dear papa's memory. It is undeserved--it is inexplicable; but it is a stain. And how can I, his daughter, not think of it?" "A stain!" said Hilda, after a thoughtful pause. "If there were a stain on such a name, I can well imagine that you would feel anguish. But there is none. How can there be? Think of his noble life spent in honor in the service of his country! Can you associate any stain with such a life?" "He was the noblest of men!" interrupted Zillah, vehemently. "Then do not talk of a stain," said Hilda, calmly. "As to Lord Chetwynde, he, at least, has nothing to say. To him General Pomeroy was such a friend as he could never have hoped for. He saved Lord Chetwynde from beggary and ruin. When General Pomeroy first came back to England he found Lord Chetwynde at the last extremity, and advanced sixty thousand pounds to help him. Think of that! And it's true. I was informed of it on good authority. Besides, General Pomeroy did more; for he intrusted his only daughter to Lord Chetwynde--"