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she hope that it might be so. But in any case there was nothing for it but to wait.

She went to her room and dressed herself, not hurriedly, for her habits of caution had taught her to avoid all appearance of surprise or haste, but with swift completeness.

Then ensued another form of anxiety, more terrible even than that she had experienced in the dripping wood. The servants had now risen; doors were opened and shut; and all the sounds of the awakening up in a great household fell on her eager ear. But whether John Beeton was still in the house or not, she could not tell. Perhaps he was waiting to have speech with her husband. This apprehension became insupportable, and she noiselessly crossed the corridor on the side of which lay Sir Richard's room. She listened at the door, but all was silent. He was a late sleeper, but a light one, and there was no little danger of awakening him; but her anxiety to be assured that he had not been disturbed impelled her to run the risk. She softly turned the door-handle and entered the room-it was always kept dark to encourage sleep in the morning, but the light was now streaming through the windows, and the bed was empty-Sir Richard was up and gone.

It could have been no light matter that had made the invalid leave his couch so early. But so untimely a visit from John Beeton might well have caused him to do so; that such was the case seemed the more probable since he had not informed her of his summons. If it had been any other person, connected with their common danger, he would, as usual, have come to her for advice and counsel, but he was well aware of her nervous apprehension of her brother, and was accustomed to deal with him.

John would have something to tell him to-day, however (she could no longer doubt it), that would move her husband exceedingly-provoking a mental excitement which the doctors had especially enjoined him to avoid.

The motive of her brother's visit she could not guess; he could hardly have been otherwise than pleased at the generosity which she had displayed towards his daughter, and yet he was not the man to put himself to inconvenience merely to express the emotion of gratitude; even if it were so (taking that as the most favourable view of affairs), his communication must necessarily reveal the part she had herself played in the matter, and her reason for playing it. Sir Richard would understand at once that it was Hugh's relations with the girl that had caused his mother's interference; and this would not only intensify the bitterness of the prejudice with which he regarded him, but probably cause an open rupture between them.

Whatever mischief John Beeton's visit might make, it was certain by this time was made, and could neither be averted nor

mitigated by her interference; all that remained to her was to meditate, a thankless task to which she was only too well accustomed and it was the cruellest part of her cruel lotbetween father and son.

As she thus reviewed the probable position of affairs, she heard hasty footsteps in the passage that led to her elder son's apartment, and then a knock at his door. Her heart stood still at the thought that it might be her husband himself, but the next moment, in answer to Hugh's gruff 'Who's there?' she recognised the voice of the footman.

'Please, sir, Sir Richard wishes to see you at once in the library.'

'What the deuce is the matter?' was the irritable response; then in graver tones, 'Is anyone with him?'

'Only Beeton, sir, from the Spinney Cottage.'

The footman, doubtless, concluded the poacher's visit was in connection with the game, in which his young master Hugh, though no sportsman, took a certain feudal interest. He had said only Beeton,' from the genuine conviction that the matter in hand could be of no serious importance.

Hugh answered nothing, a circumstance which for his mother's ear had no little significance: it was seldom that he submitted in silence to anything that gave him inconvenience.

She waited till the servant had retired, and then knocked at her son's door.

'Well-what now?' The tone was one of subdued irritation; of anger, as she rightly concluded, controlled by fear.

'It is I, Hugh; I want to speak with you.'

He appeared at once, already half-dressed; his face was pale; his eyes full of terrified anxiety.

'John Beeton is here with your father.'

'Yes; what is it all about?'

'You know better than I do,' she answered reproachfully. His face flushed to the forehead with rage and shame.

'I know that he is a lying blackguard, who will do anything for money. He promised '-there he stayed his speech, though he went on muttering something to himself; probably imprecations.

'Never mind what he promised, Hugh, Promise me on your word of honour that you will never speak to Jenny Beeton again as long as you live.'

He hesitated; not that he had any scruple to overcome; but because even in that hour of peril he was looking for his quid pro quo, as the spoilt child looks for his sweetmeats.

She understood him only too well.

'If you will pass your word to me, I will go down to your father, instead of you.'

That's something like a mother,' he exclaimed, with an air of intense relief. Of course I'll promise not to see the girl again; she may go to the devil for all I care.'

It was Lady Trevor's intention to have learnt from Hugh all he had to tell about his relations-since it seemed he had had such-with John Beeton, but at this juncture the servant again appeared, with the message that Mr. Hugh was to come at once, a summons he delivered with no little embarrassment.

It is possible, if Hugh Trevor had known the nature of the task his mother had imposed upon herself, that even he would have felt some compunction; as it was, he only experienced relief that no time had been allowed to her for further questioning. His position was that of a criminal accused of a grave offence, concerning which he feels disinclined to be communicative even to his solicitor, a man who could be relied on to make a better case for him than he could do for himself. He little guessed that his advocate was weighed down less by the suspicion of his misdoing than by the consciousness of her own.

Her courage, however, had risen with the occasion, and she had all her woman's wits about her. Even on the threshold of that terrible ordeal she had the presence of mind to step aside into her boudoir, and write a letter, in a hand that showed little signs of the emotions that shook her very soul within her, to Mr Smug; this she carefully sealed and confided to the footman, with instructions that it was to be delivered immediately, and then with a firm step resumed her way to the library.

.

At the door she paused, and the gruesome reflection crossed her mind Under what circumstances-altered as they will be for the worse-shall I next leave this room?' She dismissed it, however, with an effort, and entered with a quick step and haughty carriage.

During her momentary pause no sound had reached her from within; whatever quarrel had taken place, a truce had ensued between the unseen combatants, and their silence seemed somehow more significant of evil than high words could have been.

It was not from fear of the man she had so shrunk from meeting that Lady Trevor's gaze, after one hasty glance, fixed itself upon Sir Richard to the exclusion of his companion-her love was stronger than her fear, and she perceived at once that the excitement which her husband had undergone had had a serious effect upon him.

He was seated in his chair with his chin sunk in his hand; but what could be seen of his face was deadly pale, and his eyes, fixed on the floor, remained there, as though unconscious of her entrance. In a second or two, however, he raised them, and a look of unspeakable relief crossed his brow and every feature. Ah, Nannie, is it you?' he said, with a tender smile,

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like some patient in a hospital, who, in expectation of the operator, looks up and sees in place of him some loved and welcome form. Then his face clouded over, and a sharp pain smote it like a lightning flash, and she knew that he was his unhappy self again.

'I sent for Hugh,' he said, in a voice that sounded strangely to her, and filled her with vague alarm. 'What delays him?'

A hoarse chuckle of contempt broke from the looker-on; she turned and faced him at once.

'Who is this man?' she said, with her foreign accent, and surveying him disdainfully from head to foot. It struck her even in that supreme moment that if she were only as much changed as he from what each had been in the old days her secret was safe.

He had been handsome in his youth, with a certain air of cheerful audacity (with which he had often faced the Bench' in Petty Sessions), and when in good humour had possessed a smile which more than one young person of the other sex had found irresistible. Now he looked uncomely and sullen to the last degree, struggling too (like Sir Richard himself, as it seemed to her, with a shudder) with some mental distraction, which she could not understand; he was, in fact, as often happens to those who have sacrificed on the previous night to Bacchus in a village pothouse, stale drunk.

'My name's John Beeton,' he answered doggedly; 'your husband knows me well enough, if you don't.'

And what is it you want here?'

The poacher looked towards the squire, as if for guidance; he beheld a face transfigured with terror, staring at Lady Trevor and himself; the situation, as she perceived, had only just become intelligible to her husband; his recognition of it, to any intelligent observer, would have been almost a revelation, and was, at best, a side-light of a most dangerous kind.

'What is it I want here?' snarled the poacher, pointing to Sir Richard. 'Ask him. The thing has happened before, as he can tell yer. It's not the first time as you Trevors have shamed us. I want my daughter, Jenny.'

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE INTERVIEW.

THE question that John Beeton had asked- -as was to be read in Sir Richard's face, through its film of pain and shame-might, indeed, under other circumstances, have been a terrible one. But to Lady Trevor it was welcome. What had happened to bring her brother there, she did not know; but she held the key of the last lock of the situation. Moreover, she could afford—

when the time came-to be frank about it; and it is only they who live a life of duplicity who can appreciate the privilege of being at liberty to tell the truth. As the visitor had said 'ask him,' she turned to her husband, with an incredulous 'What does the man mean?'

'It is Hugh,' he answered; not angrily, nor even gravely (as she expected), but in low and broken tones that filled her with alarm. There was an accent of despair in them, easily to be accounted for, if it had referred to the person accused, but, as she perceived at once, it did not do so, but was the outcome of sheer physical exhaustion. For the moment it was impossible to attend to him, to gauge the extent of the mischief it was only too plain had been effected by the other's ill news; the best and only service she could do for him was to prove it unfounded. That she could look for no assistance from him in the contest before her dispirited her not one whit. She had now her husband to defend as well as her son, and her courage had grown with her resentment.

'You hear what Sir Richard says, ma'am?' growled the poacher. He has sent for the young gentleman, and he has not put in an appearance: and for a very good reason; he is not in the house at all.'

Sir Richard here made a fresh sign of remonstrance.

'Oh, yes; I know the footman said he was; but the footman knows how to lie; he has learnt that before from his young master.'

I have just parted from my son, Hugh, myself, sir,' said Lady Trevor coldly.

'Indeed! Then why did he not come with you?' inquired the other contemptuously.

'Because I have forbidden him to come.'

'Then it's the first time I've heard of his doing anything he was bid. Come, come, ma'am, this won't do. I have had it out with Sir Richard, and he has thrown up the sponge; there is not a word to be said for the scoundrel; if you knew as much as your husband does you would be as humble, leastways to me, at all events.'

'Be so good, then, as to say to me all you have said to him.' 'Well, I don't wish to be hard on a lady, you see ; and the matter-as far as it can be so-has been arranged for.'

'In other words, you have been getting money under false pretences, Mr. Beeton.'

'Oh, you say that, do you? You had better take care, my lady, for my temper, like your own, to judge by your face, is rather short. You little know what you are asking, when you say, "Tell me all." I must get your husband's leave first, for one thing. What do you say, Sir Richard?'

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