"You might have let me know," Mary said reproachfully. "It would have saved a deal of anxiety. And I am quite sure that in his heart you know that----" "You loved the man who is lying upstairs," Grace said gently. Mary's pale face flushed; a yearning look came into her eyes. "You have finished the confession for me," she cried. "I did not know, I could not guess till I saw that dreadful paper. And then it came to me that a great blank would come into my life if Ralph died. He said that I should learn my lesson, and I have done so. It has not taken me long to learn the difference between the false and the true, and that love is everything, and money and position are nothing by the side of it. And then as if some veil had been lifted from my eyes, I saw that I had cared for Ralph all the time. He told me once that I should come to him on my knees and ask forgiveness. I am ready to do it now." The girl's voice rose loud and clear; she looked very sweet and womanly in her self-abnegation. She felt all the better for her confession, as if a weight had been lifted from her soul. Lady Dashwood would have said nothing in reply, but the door opened at the same moment and the nurse came in. "Mr. Darnley is conscious, my lady," she said. "He asked for you. It will do no harm if you see him for one moment. He seems troubled to think that he is in your room----" Mary darted for the door. Before anybody could interfere she was half-way up the stairs. In the darkened room Ralph lay; he could catch the rustle of a dress; he noted the faint fragrance of a woman's hair. Then Mary was kneeling by the bedside, her cool, wet face pressed to Ralph's hot flushed one. "I have come to you," she said. "My darling, I have come to you. My lesson has been learned. My eyes have been opened. And I love you, Ralph. I have come to tell you, and make my confession. On my knees, dear, on my knees, dear heart, as you prophesied, I make it!" CHAPTER LVIII. "THE KING IS DEAD.----" Mr. George Dashwood was of opinion that things at the Hall were not as they used to be in the old days. In the first place he had been compelled to walk up from the station after ordering a trap to meet him on his return from Longtown, and now he could see no sign of dinner. He had come downstairs in a temper, and had looked into the dining-room as he passed. It was eight o'clock to the moment; there was no sign of dinner. The banks of ferns and the great silver bowls of roses were there, but nothing else. Dashwood forgot for the moment that he was no longer master of the house, and rang the bell. Slight came in presently. He was still wearing his morning coat. "What is the meaning of this?" Dashwood demanded. "I ordered a trap to meet me at the station and no trap appears. Then I came back here to dinner, of which I see no sign. Have the servants left the house in a body?" "No, sir," Slight replied. "We have had a trying day. In the first place the police----"