But Lady Munro was a little severe, though
kind, and I was sure she was going to lecture
me about her precious bit of china.

"She seated herself sternly, and placed me
standing before her. Who had been in Helen's
room the night before, after Margaret had placed
the glass of drink by her side? Who? Sir
John had come to the door. That was nothing.
And a servant had been in to arrange the fire
for the night. Had she approached near the
bed? No. Had no one else been in after
Margaret and Miss Blake had gone away? I
now knew that her ladyship had been questioning
Margaret. What could it mean? I hesitated.
What difference would it make if I
announced Judith's midnight visit?

"'You hesitate,' said her ladyship, 'Did
any one else come into the room before you
slept?'

"I said, 'No—but——' I was very much
afraid, my dear. I saw there was something
wrong, and I was terrified at being forced to
tell of Judith.

"'But what?' said Lady Munro, so dreadfully
that I began to shake and to speak on the
instant. I confided to her that Miss Blake had
been in the room during the night."

"'That will do. It is what I feared,' said
her ladyship, and she did not faint, though I
stretched out my arms, seeing her totter in her
chair. She steadied herself, however, by grasping
both its sides, and remained so sitting, as
pale and as fixed as the image upon a tomb; so
long that I ventured to touch her at last, and
to ask if she were well.

"She said, 'Yes, yes, child; you may go
away now. Remember, you are to say nothing
about this.'

"My dear, the secret oozed out, though I
did as I was bidden, and her ladyship thought
to keep it to herself. Helen had slept so long
that Lady Munro had become alarmed, had
seen something unnatural in the heaviness of
the slumber. She then examined the drink
that remained in the tumbler by her side. It
was drugged with laudanum, enough to have
killed her, if dear Helen had but happened to
swallow it all. I saw Lady Munro go up the
stairs to Judith's room that night. My dear,
these of yours are her very rooms. I saw her
ladyship come in here and shut the door, and it
was three long hours before she came out. She
came out pale and frozen-looking, as if petrified
with horror. She had been very fond of, very
good to, Judith Blake. She went straight to
her own chamber, and saw no one more that
night.

"The secret oozed out. People whispered,
and pointed to Judith Blake. The villagers
knew it, and the country folks knew it, and
Judith Blake seemed to turn into a ghost, so
pallid, and grim, and silent did she become.
Lady Munro had more of these long interviews
with her up in this room, which she rarely left.
Wrestling-matches I think they were, from
which poor Lady Munro, with all her sternness
and resolution, used to come away worsted.
One day she got her inveigled into a coach,
and drove with her to the little convent beyond
the village, where there was a simple mother
abbess, renowned for touching people's hearts.
This woman is still alive, and in the weakness
of her age she shudders at the name of Judith
Blake. Helen and I went home, and when
Helen returned here as a bride, Judith was
gone, and was spoken of no more. Lady Munro
was a good woman, and though she banished
did not cease to protect her, so long as she
needed protection. We heard of her marriage,
but afterwards lost sight of her. Helen used to
get ill if she was mentioned. Latterly we have
heard of her from Sir Archie and Miss Golden.
And we make no remark. We are willing to
wish her well. Only we like her to keep very
far aloof. And now you will understand, my dear,
why I have told you this long story. You will
understand why Lady Helen is in a panic."

CHAPTER XXIII. VAIN ADVICE.

"It may all have been a mistake, Miss
Madge," said Hester, with trembling lips;
"the laudanum might have been an accident,
and you might have dreamed that you saw her
in the room."

"Well, my dear, I have not the least objection
to that arrangement. You have heard my
little whisper with great patience. You said
you would not believe it, and you keep your
word. Only one thing you shall promise me,
that you will never forget it. If Lady Humphrey
bids you do anything you will bring this
to mind before you obey her. If she forbids
you to do anything, you will recall my little
story before you quite make up your mind
that you would not like to disobey her. You
see, my dear, I never was a genius, and I have
a crazy way of my own. But I have a little
knack of looking into things. I know what
you are, and I know what Judith Humphrey is.
And I believe she has not been kind to you for
nothing."

And Miss Madge poked the fire, and the
shadows resumed their gambols.

"God bless you, my dear," she said, solemnly,
putting her hand on Hester's head with an air
of real tragedy oddly mingled with the grotesque.
"And believe me I have not pained
you to furnish play for an idle tongue. I have
done it for the best, my dear, I have done it
for the best."

She went away. Hester sat alone, gazing
stupidly round the room with such a distraught
look on her face, that the shadows, if they were
heeding, must have pitied her. That hard pale
face, well remembered by Hester, described by
Miss Madge, was watching her suspiciously
from every dusky corner. Yet she clung to her
determination not to believe Miss Madge's
story. Had it been anything less dreadful she
might have allowed herself to think about it.
But the tale was too wild. Lady Humphrey
had been the victim of circumstances. A child,
and a child with a fantastic brain like Miss