disquieted. She would be so headstrong!
And Sir Andrew's wrath was so
justly kindled against her! It was really
most distressing. Two ladies who were
staying in the house, and who, of course,
knew all about it, condoled with Lady
Herriesson, and informed the county afterwards
how beautifully she had behaved,
and how she had succeeded in smoothing
matters over, to all appearance, at least.
For, at dinner, Maud came down, looking
very much, as usual, and though she did
not speak to Sir Andrew, she did to Mr.
Durborough, and seemed anxious that the
evening should pass off as little disagreeably
as possible. Of course, every one,
down to the footmen behind their chairs,
knew that there had been " a jolly row
between Sir Andrew and the young
missis," and that Mr. Durborough and his
acres had been ignominiously rejected by
the young lady. The knowledge of this did
not tend to make any one feel very comfortable,
and Lady Herriesson's preternatural
efforts to appear as if nothing particular
were the matter, while she furtively
glanced at Sir Andrew's scowling face between
the flowers of the épergne, could
deceive no one. But Maud acted the part
she had determined to play, courageously,
as she did most things; for the short time
she should remain under the roof, let there
be, at least, peace; she would set a guard
upon her tongue, and upon her eyes, both
too apt to be delinquents as she well knew;
and she would resolutely decline all further
discussion with either Sir Andrew, or her
mother.

Mr. Durborough ate, as his own servant
observed, " uncommon hearty, for one
who's had the sack given him." He was
silent; but that he always was; and it
transpired that he meant to return to Durborough
the following morning; this was
the only evidence that Sir Andrew had
annihilated his hopes by at last telling him
the unvarnished truth. And the next day,
he did, after an excellent breakfast, shake
hands with the ladies all round, and step
into his barouche, rigid and unmoved as
ever; and having recovered from his astonishment
at Maud's conduct, and grown
to regard her with the commiseration due
to a fitting candidate for Bedlam, he
thought of his crops, during at least half of
his twenty miles' drive home.

Lady Herriesson had made one more
feeble effort to appeal to her daughter's
feelings that last night, by asking her to
come to her room and talk to her, as they
were going up to bed. Maud kissed her
step-mother.

"Now if it is about Mr. Durborough
or Sir Andrew, mamma. . . . More than
enough has been said. I had rather not,
if you please, discuss the matter any more.
Anything else you have to say to me, I will
listen to."

Then had Lady Herriesson sighed, and
shaken her head very sadly—as was distinctly
witnessed by the two visitors at the
top of the stairs; and she and her daughter
had parted, and passed onwards.

The following day, the one on which Mr.
Durborough took his departure—was without
incident worth record. Sir Andrew did
not speak to Maud when she came down to
breakfast (which, as the visitors agreed
afterwards, she fully deserved), and as soon
as Mr. Durborough's barouche had driven
away, he ordered his horse, and rode in to
the petty sessions at Scornton. The sharp
administration of justice was a wholesome
vent to the baronet's irritability, no doubt,
for when he appeared at dinner that night,
he was very much as usual, and perpetrated
two dreary jokes, at which the lady-visitors
and their husbands laughed, as in duty
bound. These men, being distant connexions
of Sir Andrew's, must, by all the
conventional laws of what is right, stay at
Mortlands once a year; but, being persons
of no particular consideration, were bidden
at what might be called odd times. Their
presence now was an inestimable relief to
Maud; they were all toadies of the lowest
description, who acted as chorus to Sir
Andrew or her mother, in a way that made
Maud sick; but she felt grateful to them
now for they broke that terrible trio.

Immediately after breakfast next morning,
Maud hurried down to the village
post-office. She had not slept all night;
she was in a fever of excitement. There,
sure enough, lay the letter directed, as
Maud had requested, to M. H., in a cramped
foreign-looking hand, with the Salisbury
post-mark, and " Beckworth House"
stamped in blue on the reverse side of the
envelope. The post-mistress stared as, in
reply to Maud's inquiry, she delivered this
letter to her, and the young lady walked
rapidly away. She tore open the cover;
she could not wait even until she got into
the park, but began reading the letter as
she went down the street.

"Mrs. Cartaret has received Mary Hind's
letter. It is satisfactory; and so is the
testimonial, as far as it goes; but it says
nothing, whether she has been in service