But Lady Carruthers had risen from her seat and stood with her proud figure drawn to its utmost height.

“I will do anything you propose, save tell a lie.  If my son can be rescued by no other means, he must bear his punishment.”

“Then my journey is in vain,” said Mr. Forster.  “I may return to London at once.”

“No,” said Lady Carruthers; “I cannot allow you to return after that long journey—­you must stay and dine with us.  Pardon me,” she said, seeing that he looked hurt and uncomfortable.  “I have spoken strongly, but truth has always been far dearer to me than life.  I do full justice to your motives.  I appreciate your kindness, but in this manner I cannot help you.  Stay and take dinner with us; then we can consult as to what is best to be done.”

“May I give your ladyship one piece of advice?” said the lawyer.  “Have the papers—­yesterday’s and today’s—­destroyed, so that no rumor of anything amiss can reach your servants; also say nothing of it—­it may possibly die away, as some rumors do.  Your visitors and friends will not broach such a subject to you, I am sure.”

“I shall not mention it,” she replied; “although Marion will be sure to suspect something wrong.”  At that moment the last dressing-bell rang.

“You will join us in a few minutes,” said Lady Carruthers; “never mind your traveling-dress; Miss Hautville and I are quite alone.”

No one who saw Lady Carruthers leave the library with stately step and dignified air, would have believed that she had received a blow which laid her life and all her hopes in ruins—­as the lightning smites the lofty oak.  She went back to her sumptuous bedroom that she had left half an hour ago, so calm and serene, so unconscious of coming evil.  Looking in the mirror, she saw her face was deadly pale—­there was no trace of color left on it, and deep lines had come on her brow that had been so calm.

“It will not do to look so pale,” said Lady Carruthers; and from one of the mysterious little drawers she took a small powder puff that soon remedied the evil.

Then she went to the dining-room.  Miss Hautville and Mr. Forster were talking together like old acquaintances, and the three sat down to dinner together.

Mr. Forster was, as he himself often said, a grim old lawyer, without any poetry or romance, but even he could not sit opposite the pale, pure loveliness of Marion Hautville unmoved; there was something about her that reminded one irresistibly of starlight, delicate, graceful, holy veiled loveliness.  She was slender and graceful, with a figure that was charming now, but that promised, in years to come, to be superb; the same promise of magnificent womanhood was in the lovely delicate face.  The pure profile, the delicate brows, the shining hair, braided Madonna fashion, were all beautiful, but looking at her, one realized there was greater beauty to come.

She looked across the table with a smile.