deservedly suffered punishment as a rebel, had
been legally made over to Judith, Lady
Humphrey, as a reward for her exertions in bringing
treason to light.

Dr. Hazeldean urged his wife to leave the
melancholy country, but so long as there was
help to be given she would not quit her home.
She looked upon herself as bound by the mercy
the rebels had shown her—to show mercy in
return to their kin. Most of the men who had
granted her prayer on that memorable day had
died a death of torture. She would shield and
succour the few they had left behind.

Besides, these good Samaritans had taken
Hester under their care. After that terrible
scene, when she had been rescued from the
rebels, she had fallen into a fever. Her life had
been hardly saved by Dr. Hazeldean. Thus had
she been twice snatched from death by these
friends.

It was not the old Hester who rose from her
sick bed. She walked feebly into the glowing
August sunshine, and looked upon the ruin she
had made. She wondered why she had lived,
and hoped to die before long. She was looked
on as the spy, whose life had been hardly bought
by Mrs. Hazeldean's exertions. She did not
even know whether Sir Archie had been saved
after all. No message had come from him, no
news had been heard of his fate. His fishing-boat
might not have carried him to an opposite
shore. Inquiry were dangerous. It was well,
just at present, that the world should think him
dead. So there was nothing for those who
waited, but patience and suspense.

Poor Hester little knew that she was yet to
be a happy woman. Just at this stage of her
life she had to battle through a period that was
worse than any death. Fire and sword were
always before her eyes. In her fever she had
raved of them a hundred times a day, and in
the nights offering her life to the soldiers, to
the rebels, in exchange for the life of Sir Archie,
or that of her watchful and tender nurse, Mrs.
Hazeldean.

When able to move about, she would sit
musing over all that happened, recalling every
word which she had written to Lady Humphrey,
wondering at her own blindness and simplicity.
She accounted herself the murderess of all those
people who had perished in the castle.

"I did not do it willingly," she said; "but
I did it."

When able to walk far enough, she would toil
up the glen, and examine the blackened walls of
the castle.

"There is the wall of the tower," she would
say, "where I used to write my letters to Lady
Humphrey. Yonder black hole was the window
from which we fired our guns."

She would shrink behind Mrs. Hazeldean,
when any of the country people met them on
the road. She knew how they regarded her.
The poorest creature would have shuddered at
her touch.

"I ought to be put to death," she said once.
"For taking one life people are made to give up
their own. But I have taken the lives of near
a hundred people."

This was a morbid frame of mind no doubt;
but she had to live it through. All Mrs. Hazeldean's
loving comfort and gentle preaching
could not wear away this horror that kept preying
on her mind.

"She will never know peace so long as she
remains in this place," said the doctor. "We
must take her away."

In the mean time letters reached them, letters
written by Lady Helen, from London, where
she was reposing after her terrible experiences,
and rather enjoying, in a lugubrious way, her
position as a heroine among wondering and
sympathising friends.

"You know, dear Margaret," she wrote, "I
always felt it my duty to look at your eccentric
conduct from a charitable point of view. I have
often passed over things when, as a sister, I
might have advised you to think more of your
own dignity. But I must say, that I never shall
feel obliged to forgive you, if it be true what
people say, that you are harbouring that hateful
Hester in your house. The treacherous creature
who has caused the ruin of your family! Of
course when they wanted to cut her to pieces
before your eyes, it was natural you should
interfere. Such an occurrence happening in one's
parlour would be highly objectionable. But she
ought at once have been handed over to the
law, like all other people who have been guilty
of great crimes. For of course it is ridiculous
to say that poor dear Archie was a rebel, though
I am sure I always told him he was, and foresaw
from the first what would be the end of it.
They say that her employer, Judith Humphrey,
has got possession of the estates, so doubtless
the young wretch, Hester, will receive a handsome
dowry as her reward for her services.
She will not need to work any longer at her
needle. And ah, dear me! how sweetly she
could make a dress! I call it a melancholy
thing to see such a genius led astray. As for
the estates, I intend to go to law about them,
as soon as I am strong enough. In the mean
time it does not much signify, as there is no one
left to pay rent, and the country must be quite
a waste. I'm sure I wonder how you can bear
to live in it.

"Apropos of Lady Humphrey, I have another
shocking piece of news to communicate. Janet
Golden, that girl whom I have treated as a
daughter, has had the cruelty and audacity to
marry the woman's son. Not but what the
young man behaved well in saving us from the
fire; though I must say he gave my arm a terrible
twist when I was struggling very naturally
in hysterics, and he insisted on dragging me
quite roughly from the room. I never can get
over the feeling that he knew all about his
mother's wicked plot, though Janet and he both
declare he did not. It seems it is quite an old
affair between them, and our poor dear Archie
—it afflicts me even to mention his name—was
only a cat's paw made use of by Miss Janet
during a quarrel. I cannot understand it, I