"And how did he look?"

"I did not see his face." And then there was silence between them for a few minutes, during which Mrs. Orme stood at the back of Lady Mason's chair, with her hand on Lady Mason's shoulder. "Shall I go now, dear?" said Mrs. Orme.

"You will find that you will be stronger and better able to bear it when it has been done." "Stronger! Why should I wish to be stronger? How will he bear it ?"

"It will be a blow to him, of course." "It will strike him to the ground, Mrs. Orme. I shall have murdered him. I do not think that he will live when he knows that he is so disgraced."

"He is a man, and will bear it as a man should do. Shall I do any thing for you before I go?"

"Stay a moment. Why must it be to-night?" "He must not be in the court to-morrow. And what difference will one day make? He must know it when the property is given up." Then there was a knock at the door, and a girl entered with a decanter, two wine-glasses, and a slice or two of bread-and-butter. "You must drink that," said Mrs. Orme, pouring out a glass of wine.

"And you?"

"Yes, I will take some too. There. I shall be stronger now. Nay, Lady Mason, you shall drink it. And now if you will take my advice you will go to bed."

"You will come to me again?"

"Yes; directly it is over. Of course I shall come to you. Am I not to stay here all night?" "But him-I will not see him. He is not to come."

"That will be as he pleases."

"No. You promised that. I can not see him when he knows what I have done for him." "Not to hear him say that he forgives you?" "He will not forgive me. You do not know him. Could you bear to look at your boy if you had disgraced him forever?"

"Whatever I might have done he would not desert me. Nor will Lucius desert you. Shall I go now?"

"Ah me! Would that I were in my grave!" Then Mrs. Orme bent over her and kissed her, pressed both her hands, then kissed her again, and silently creeping out of the room made her way once more slowly down stairs.

Mrs. Orme, as will have been seen, was sufficiently anxious to perform the task which she had given herself, but yet her heart sank within her as she descended to the parlor. It was indeed a terrible commission, and her readiness to undertake it had come not from any feeling on her own part that she was fit for the work and could do it without difficulty, but from the eagerness with which she had persuaded Lady

the story should be told at once; and then Lady Mason, sinking into the chair from which she had not since risen, had at length agreed that it should be so. The time had now come, and Mrs. Orme, whose footsteps down the stairs had not been audible, stood for a moment with the handle of the door in her hand.

Had it been possible she also would now have put it off till the morrow-would have put it off till any other time than that which was then present. All manner of thoughts crowded on her during those few seconds. In what way I should she do it? What words should she use? How should she begin? She was to tell this young man that his mother had committed a crime of the very blackest dye, and now she felt that she should have prepared herself and resolved in what fashion this should be done. Might it not be well, she asked herself for one moment, that she should take the night to think of it and then see him in the morning? The idea, however, only lasted her for a moment, and then, fearing lest she might allow herself to be seduced into some weakness, she turned the handle and entered the room.

He was still standing with his back to the fire, |leaning against the mantle-piece, and thinking over the occurrences of the day that was past. His strongest feeling now was one of hatred to Joseph Mason-of hatred mixed with thorough contempt. What must men say of him after such a struggle on his part to ruin the fame of a lady and to steal the patrimony of a brother! "Is she still determined not to come down?" he said as soon as he saw Mrs. Orme.

"No; she will not come down to-night, Mr. Mason. I have something that I must tell you." "What! is she ill? Has it been too much for her?"

"Mr. Mason," she said, "I hardly know how to do what I have undertaken." And he could see that she actually trembled as she spoke to him.

"What is it, Mrs. Orme? Is it any thing about the property? I think you need hardly be afraid of me. I believe I may say I could bear any thing of that kind."

"Mr. Mason-" And then again she stopped herself. How was she to speak this horrible word?

"Is it any thing about the trial?" He was now beginning to be frightened, feeling that something terrible was coming; but still of the absolute truth he had no suspicion.

"Oh! Mr. Mason, if it were possible that I could spare you I would do so. If there were

avoided."

"What is it?" said he. And now his voice was hoarse and low, for a feeling of fear had come upon him. "I am a man and can bear it, whatever it is." "You must be a man then, for it is very terrible. Mr. Mason, that will, you know-" "You mean the codicil?"

"The will that gave you the property-" "Yes."

"It was not done by your father." "Who says so?"

"It is too sure. It was not done by himnor by them-those other people who were in the court to-day."

"But who says so? How is it known? If my father did not sign it, it is a forgery; and who forged it? Those wretches have bought over some one and you have been deceived, Mrs. Orme. It is not of the property I am thinking, but of my mother. If it were as you say my mother must have known it?"

"Ah! yes."

She paused for a moment, and then followed him very gently. She followed him and stood over him in silence for a moment as he lay with his face from her. "Mr. Mason," she said, at last, "you told me that you would bear this like a man."

But he made her no answer, and she went on. "Mr. Mason, it is as I tell you. Years and years ago, when you were a baby, and when she thought that your father was unjust to youfor your sake-to remedy that injustice, she did this thing."

"What-forged his name! It must be a lie. Though an angel came to tell me so, it would be a lie! What-my mother!" And now he turned round and faced her, still, however, lying on the sofa.

"It is true, Mr. Mason. Oh, how I wish that it were not! But you must forgive her. It is years ago, and she has repented of it. Sir Peregrine has forgiven her, and I have done so."

And then she told him the whole story. She

"Oh! Mr. Mason."

If

"Heaven and earth! Let me go to her. she were to tell me so herself I would not believe it of her. Ah! she has told you?"

"Yes; she has told me."

"Then she is mad. This has been too much for her, and her brain has gone with it. Let me go to her, Mrs. Orme."

"No, no; you must not go to her." And Mrs. Orme put herself directly before the door. "She is not mad-not now. Then, at that time, we must think she was so. It is not so

"I can not understand you." And he put his left hand up to his forehead as though to steady his thoughts. "I do not understand you. If the will be a forgery, who did it ?"

This question she could not answer at the moment. She was still standing against the door, and her eyes fell to the ground. "Who did it?" he repeated. "Whose hand wrote my father's name?"

"You must be merciful, Mr. Mason."
"Merciful; to whom?"
"To your mother."

"Merciful to my mother! Mrs. Orme, speak out to me. If the will was forged, who forged it? You can not mean to tell me that she did it!"

She did not answer him at the moment in words, but coming close up to him she took both his hands in hers, and then looked steadfastly up into his eyes. His face had now become almost convulsed with emotion, and his brow was very black. "Do you wish me to believe that my mother forged the will herself?" Then again he paused, but she said nothing. "Woman, it's a lie!" he exclaimed; and then tearing his hands from her, shaking her off, and striding away with quick footsteps, he threw

and described to him the manner in which the truth had been made known to Sir Peregrine. It need hardly be said that in doing so she dealt as softly as was possible with his mother's name; but yet she told him every thing. "She wrote it herself in the night."

"What, all-all the names herself?" "Yes, all."

I will not

That you Let But

"Mrs. Orme, it can not be so. believe it. To me it is impossible. believe it I do not doubt, but I can not. me go to her. I will go to her myself. even should she say so herself I will not believe it."

But she would not let him go up stairs even though he attempted to move her from the door almost with violence. "No; not till you say that you will forgive her and be gentle with her. And it must not be to-night. We will be up early in the morning, and you can see her before we go if you will be gentle to her."

He still persisted that he did not believe the story; but it became clear to her, by degrees, that the meaning of it all had at last sunk into his mind, and that he did believe it. Over and over again she told him all that she knew, explaining to him what his mother had suffered, making him perceive why she had removed herself out of his hands, and had leaned on others for advice. And she told him also that though they still hoped that the jury might acquit her, the property must be abandoned.

"I will leave the house this night if you wish it," he said.

66

When it is all over, when she has been ac quitted and shall have gone away, then let it be done. Mr. Mason, you will go with her, will you not?" And then again there was a pause.

"Mrs. Orme, it is impossible that I should say now what I may do. It seems to me as

and was in this way a bearer of messages between them. There was at last no question as to doubting the story. He did believe it. He could not avoid the necessity for such belief. "Yes," he said, when Mrs. Orme spoke again of his leaving the place, "I will go and hide myself; and as for her-"

fruit of this villainy; had been so living till this terrible day of retribution had come upon him! I fear that at that moment he thought more of his own misery than he did of hers, and hardly considered, as he surely should have done, that mother's love which had led to all this guilt. And for a moment he resolved that he would not

"Oh, Mrs. Orme!"

"If they do, you will come back for her when the time of her punishment is over? She is still your mother, Mr. Mason."

At last the work of the night was done, and the two ladies went to their beds. The understanding was that Lucius should see his mother before they started in the morning, but that he should not again accompany them to the court. Mrs. Orme's great object had been-her great object as regarded the present moment-to prevent his presence in court when the verdict should be given. In this she had succeeded. She could now wish for an acquittal with a clear conscience; and could, as it were, absolve the sinner within her own heart, seeing that there was no longer any doubt as to the giving up of the property. Whatever might be the verdict of the jury Joseph Mason of Groby would, without doubt, obtain the property which belonged to him.

"Good-night, Mr. Mason," Mrs. Orme said at last, as she gave him her hand.

"Good-night. I believe that in my madness I spoke to you to-night like a brute."

self, should never again rest under a roof which belonged of right to Joseph Mason. He had injured Joseph Mason; had injured him innocently, indeed, as far as he himself was concerned; but he had injured him greatly, and therefore now hated him all the more. "He shall have it instantly," he said, and walked forth into the high road as though he would not allow his feet to rest again on his brother's property.

But he was forced to remember that this could not be so. His mother's trial was not yet over, and even in the midst of his own personal trouble he remembered that the verdict to her was still a matter of terrible import. He would not let it be known that he had abandoned the property, at any rate till that verdict had been given. And then as he moved back to the house he tried to think in what way it would become him to behave to his mother. "She can never be my mother again," he said to himself. They were terrible words; but then was not his position very terrible?

"No, no. It was nothing. I did not think of it."

She pressed his hand and again told him that she had not thought of it. It was nothing. And indeed it had been as nothing to her. There may be moments in a man's life when any words may be forgiven, even though they be spoken to a woman.

When Mrs. Orme was gone he stood for a while perfectly motionless in the dining-room, and then coming out into the hall he opened the front door, and taking his hat went out into the night. It was still winter, but the night, though cold and very dark, was fine, and the air was sharp with the beginning frost. Leaving the door open he walked forth, and passing out on to the road went down from thence to the gate. It had been his constant practice to walk up and down from his own hall door to his own gate on the high road, perhaps comforting himself too warmly with the reflection that the ground on which he walked was all his own. He had no such comfort now, as he made his way down the accustomed path and leaned upon the gate, thinking over what he had heard.

A forger! At some such hour as this, with patient premeditated care, she had gone to work and committed one of the vilest crimes known to And this was his mother! And he-he, Lucius Mason-had been living for years on the

man.

What word of comfort could he speak? It was not only that she had beggared him! Nay; it was not that at all! But she had doomed him to a life of disgrace which no effort of his own could wipe away. And then as he threw himself on his bed he thought of Sophia Furnival. Would she share his disgrace with him? Was it possible that there might be solace there?

Quite impossible, we should say, who know her well.

CHAPTER LXXIV.

YOUNG LOCHINVAR.

JUDGE STAVELEY, whose Court had not been kept sitting to a late hour by any such eloquence as that of Mr. Furnival, had gone home before the business of the other court had closed. Augustus, who was his father's marshal, remained for his friend, and had made his way in among the crowd, so as to hear the end of the speech.

"Don't wait dinner for us," he had said to his father. "If you do you will be hating us all the time; and we sha'n't be there till between eight and nine."

"I should be sorry to hate you," said the judge, "and so I won't." When therefore Felix