The baronet himself made a feverish effort to appear blithe and debonair as before; but it was not successful.

Fortunately, the carriages were all at the door as they reached the house, and luncheon being over, nothing delayed the parting compliments of the guests.

As the last carriage drove away, Sir Miles beckoned to Gabriel, and bade him follow him into his room.
When there, he dismissed his valet and said,-- "You know, then, who wrote this letter.

Have you been in the secret of the correspondence?
Speak the truth, my dear boy; it shall cost you nothing." "Oh, Sir Miles!" cried Gabriel, earnestly, "I know nothing whatever beyond this,--that I saw the hand of my dear, kind Miss Lucretia; that I felt, I hardly knew why, that both you and she would not have those people discover it, which they would if the letter had been circulated from one to the other, for some one would have known the hand as well as myself, and therefore I spoke, without thinking, the first thing that came into my head." "You--you have obliged me and my niece, sir," said the baronet, tremulously; and then, with a forced and sickly smile, he added: "Some foolish vagary of Lucretia, I suppose; I must scold her for it.

Say nothing about it, however, to any one." "Oh, no, sir!" "Good-by, my dear Gabriel!" "And that boy saved the honour of my niece's name,--my mother's grandchild! O God! this is bitter,--in my old age too!" He bowed his head over his hands, and tears forced themselves through his fingers.