Mr. Carden sent a carriage off to Raby Hall, with a note, telling Grace Mr. Coventry was gone of his own accord, and appeared truly penitent, and much shocked at having inadvertently driven her out of the house.  He promised also to protect her, should Coventry break his word and attempted to assume marital rights without her concurrence.

This letter found Grace in a most uncomfortable position.  Mrs. Little had returned late to Raby Hall; but in the morning she heard from Jael Dence that Grace was in the house, and why.

The mother’s feathers were up, and she could neither pity nor excuse.  She would not give the unhappy girl a word of comfort.  Indeed, she sternly refused to see her.  “No,” said she:  “Mrs. Coventry is unhappy; so this is no time to show her how thoroughly Henry Little’s mother despises her.”

These bitter words never reached poor Grace, but the bare fact of Mrs. Little not coming down-stairs by one o’clock, nor sending a civil message, spoke volumes, and Grace was sighing over it when her father’s letter came.  She went home directly, and so heartbroken, that Jael Dence pitied her deeply, and went with her, intending to stay a day or two only.

But every day something or other occurred, which combined with Grace’s prayers to keep her at Woodbine Villa.

Mr. Coventry remained quiet for some days, by which means he pacified Grace’s terrors.

On the fourth day Mr. Beresford called at Woodbine Villa, and Grace received him, he being the curate of the parish.

He spoke to her in a sympathetic tone, which let her know at once he was partly in the secret.  He said he had just visited a very guilty, but penitent man; that we all need forgiveness, and that a woman, once married, has no chance of happiness but with her husband.

Grace maintained a dead silence, only her eye began to glitter.

Mr. Beresford, who had learned to watch the countenance of all those he spoke to changed his tone immediately, from a spiritual to a secular adviser.

“If I were you,” said he, in rather an offhand way, “I would either forgive this man the sin into which his love has betrayed him, or I would try to get a divorce.  This would cost money:  but, if you don’t mind expense, I think I could suggest a way—­”

Grace interrupted him.  “From whom did you learn my misery, and his villainy?  I let you in, because I thought you came from God; but you come from a villain.  Go back, sir, and say that an angel, sent by him, becomes a devil in my eyes.”  And she rang the bell with a look that spoke volumes.