by one of the duke's grooms, and it drew up
before the door. Some servants brought out a
portmanteau, some gun-cases, and other luggage,
and placed them in the vehicle. Almost at the
same moment my door opened, and Fortescue
entered the room. I never saw anything more
dreadful than the suppressed agony in his face.

"Good-by, old fellow," he said, with a
miserable ghastly smile. "I'm off, you see. Will
you take charge of this note for the duchess?
I've explained to Greta that I find my letters
this morning require my presence in London.
Good-by! I've only just time to catch the train."

"Stay," I said; "where can I write to you?"

"London, to-morrow. After that, Chatham.
Good-by again, dear old fellow, good-by!"

He was gone. In a minute more I saw the
duke come with him to the door, and after
shaking him warmly by the hand and pressing
him to return whenever he possibly could, they
parted, and the dog-cart disappeared rapidly,
behind that angle of the castle round which I
had seen Miss Crawcour pass so short a time
before.

Poor fellow! what a departure. What an
episode in the gay story of the life at Creel.

I went back to my desk. And still from the
next room came that same plaintive air, and
still it seemed to belong to what I wrote, and
to be an inseparable part of the day and its
events.

Once more I was disturbed, and by the clatter
of hoofs. It was a single horse this time, and
going evidently at a tremendous pace. I looked
out and saw young Balham, who had been one
of the party of equestrians, dashing along the
road at full gallop. He turned off in the direction
of the stables, and I saw no more of him.
I remained where I was, but with a dim
foreboding that something had gone wrong, and by-
and-by a low open carriage, empty, was driven
out of the stable-yard at a great pace. Lord
Balham rode rapidly on in front of it, both he and
the carriage going back by the way he had come.

I still kept where I was, and in a few
moments the door of the house was opened, and
some of the servants came out. They looked
out in the direction by which the carriage had
disappeared. One or two ladies'-maids stood on
the steps, one of them the duchess's, and there
was another who was crying, but quite quietly,
the servants in such houses being drilled into
the greatest undemonstrativeness. I heard one
of the men-servants say to another, "Roberts is
gone off to Inverkeed, for Dr. MacIntyre, and
James has gone into Creel for Mr. Cameron.
They'll both be here quickly." "Is his grace
in the house?" "No. He's up at the plantations.
But he's been sent for."

The conversation among the men stopped
suddenly. The carriage, driving now very slowly,
had come in sight. It was followed by some
horsemen. Presently I made out that two
grooms behind were leading each a lady's horse;
then I saw that the duchess was sitting in the
carriage bending over and supporting something
—somebody—lying at length on the cushions.
A gentleman, one of those on horseback,
detached himself from the group, and rode swiftly
up to the door.

"Is Miss Crawcour's maid here?" he asked.

The girl came forward, sobbing. The duchess's
woman, older, with more head, more self-
controlled, and more useful now, came out too.

Not a word more was spoken. The carriage
drew up to the door, and I saw at a glance that
it was Miss Crawcour over whom the duchess
was bending; that the poor girl's habit was all
torn and dirty; and that a handkerchief, deeply
stained, was laid over her face.

There was no word spoken still. The duchess,
in tears, descended from the carriage and went
into the house to see that all was ready, while
the gentlemen of the party lifted the poor
maimed form of Miss Crawcour from the
cushions. I noticed that Lord Sneyd did not
assist in this, but hovered about the group in a
helpless way. Nobody seemed to want him, or
to notice him.

I remained still where I was. I knew I could
be of no use, should only be in the way below.
I could not help looking. I wish I had not.
As they lifted Miss Crawcour from the carriage,
the handkerchief that was over her face became
displaced, and I saw——

One whole side of her face seemed to have
been crushed and beaten in. That beautiful
face!

It was covered again, in a moment, but I had
seen it—and so had some one else. When Lord
Sneyd looked upon that mutilated face, he turned
even paler than he had been before, and went
into the house.

The door closed over the sad group, with
Mary Crawcour's helpless figure carried in the
midst of it, the carriage drove away to the
stables, and all was quiet again.

"And he did it, think of that," said Balham.
"It was that disgusting white brute of his to
whom this terrible mishap is owing."

"What do you mean?" I asked, as we were
talking some time afterwards about what has
been partly described above, "How did the
thing happen? You saw it all."

"It is told in two words," said Balham.
"You know that mare that poor Miss Crawcour
used to ride. Well, she was always an unsafe,
ill-conditioned mare, in my opinion, but on this
occasion she was particularly bad. All the time
we were out she was fidgeting and starting at
everything, and more than one of us wanted
Miss Crawcour to let the groom put her saddle
on one of the other horses, and let some man.
with a stronger hand ride the mare. However,
it was no use, and so at last—I never saw a
worse thing—the mare took fright at some
barrow, or something by the side of the hedge,
and bolted straight across the road at a bound.
Miss Crawcour was thrown, but fell clean,
luckily without becoming entangled with the
stirrup, and might have escaped serious mischief,
when up comes that intolerable ass Sneyd, on his
infernal ambling Astley's-looking beast, and rides