"Show the gentlemen into this room," said Lady Hurstmonceux to the servant who had brought them.

And in a few minutes the door was thrown open and--"Judge Merlin and Mr. Worth" were announced.

The countess arose to welcome her guests.

But Claudia felt all her senses reel as the room seemed to turn around with her.

Judge Merlin shook hands with his hostess and presented Ishmael to her, and then, leaving them speaking together, he advanced to embrace his daughter.

"My dearest Claudia, all is well. We have settled the whole party, the viscount, the valet, and the woman. They are lodged in jail, and are safe to meet the punishment of their crimes," he said, as he folded her to his bosom.

But oh! why did her heart beat so wildly, throbbing almost audibly against her father's breast?

He held her there for a few seconds; it was as long as he decently could, and then, gently releasing her, he turned towards Ishmael, and beckoning him to approach, said:

"My daughter, here is an old friend come to see you. Welcome him."

Ishmael advanced and bowed gravely.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. Worth," said Claudia in a low voice, as she held out her hand.

He took it, bowed over it, and said:

"I hope I find you well, Lady Vincent."

And then as he raised his head their eyes met; his eyes--those sweet, truthful, earnest, dark eyes, inherited from his mother--were full of the most respectful sympathy. But hers--oh, hers!

She did not mean to look at him so; but sometimes the soul in a crisis of agony will burst all bounds and reveal itself, though such revelation were fraught with fate. Grief, shame, remorse, and passionate regret for the lost love and squandered happiness that might have been hers, were all revealed in the thrilling, pathetic, deprecating gaze with which she once more met the eyes of her girlhood's young worshiper, her worshiper no longer.

"Of all sad words of tongue or pen The saddest are these: 'It might have been.'"

Only for an instant did she forget herself; and then Claudia Merlin was repressed and Lady Vincent reinstated. Her voice was calm as she replied:

"It is very kind in you, Mr. Worth, to some so long a distance, at so great a cost to your professional interests, for the sake of obliging my father and serving me."

"I would have come ten times the distance, at ten times the cost, to have obliged or served either," replied Ishmael earnestly, as he resigned her hand, which until then he had held.

"I believe you would. I know you would. I thank you more than I can say," she answered.

"Have you been to tea, Judge Merlin?" inquired the countess hospitably.

"No, madam; but will be very glad of a cup," answered the judge, pleased with any divertisement.

Lady Hurstmonceux rang, and ordered fresh tea and toast and more cups and saucers. And the party seated themselves. And thus the embarrassment of that dreaded meeting was overgot.

While they sipped their tea the judge exerted himself to be interesting. He gave a graphic account of the scene in the magistrate's office; the assumption of haughty dignity and defiance on the part of the viscount; the pitiable terrors of the ex-opera singer; the vindictive triumph of Katie; and the broad accent, caustic humor, and official obstinacy of the magistrate. Ishmael, when appealed to, assisted his memory. Claudia was gravely interested. But Lady Hurstmonceux was excessively amused.

They were surprised to hear that further proceedings were deferred; but they at last admitted that they would be obliged to be patient under "the law's delays."

After tea, fearing that her guests were in danger of "moping," Lady Hurstmonceux proposed a game of whist, saying playfully that it was very seldom she was so fortunate as to have the right number of evening visitors to form a rubber.

And as no one gainsaid their hostess, the tea service was taken away, the table cleared, and the cards brought. They seated themselves and cut for partners; and Claudia and her father were pitted against Lady Hurstmonceux and Ishmael.

Do you wonder at this? Do you wonder that people who had just passed through scenes of great trouble, and were on the eve, yes, in the very midst of a fatal crisis, people whose minds were filled with sorrow, humiliation, and intense anxiety, should gather around a table for a quiet game of whist; yes, and enjoy it, too?

Why, if you will take time to reflect, you will remember that such things are done in our parlors and drawing rooms every day and night in our lives. Our thoughts, our passions, our troubles, are put down, covered over, ignored, and we--play whist, get interested in honors and odd tricks, and win or lose the rub; or do something equally at variance with the inner life, that lives on all the same.

Our party spent a pleasant week at Cameron Court.

Ishmael occupied himself with making notes for the approaching trials, or with visiting the historical monuments of the neighborhood.

Judge Merlin devoted himself to his daughter.

Lady Hurstmonceux studied the comfort of her guests, and succeeded in securing it.

And thus the days passed until they received an official summons to appear before Sir Alexander McKetchum at the examination of Lord Vincent and Mrs. Dugald.

CHAPTER XLIV.

NEMESIS.

With pallid cheeks and haggard eyes, And loud laments and heartfelt sighs, Unpitied, hopeless of relief, She drinks the cup of bitter grief.

In vain the sigh, in rain the tear, Compassion never enters here; But justice clanks the iron chain And calls forth shame, remorse, and pain.

--_Anon_

The same carriage that brought Lord Vincent and Mrs. Dugald to the town hall conveyed them from that place to the county jail.

There Lord Vincent finally dismissed it, sending it home to the castle, and instructing Cuthbert to pack up some changes of clothing and his dressing-case and a few books and to bring them to him at the prison.

Mrs. Dugald at the same time stopped crying long enough to order the old man to ask Mrs. MacDonald to put up all that might be necessary to her comfort for a week, and dispatch it by the same messenger that should bring Lord Vincent's effects.

These arrangements concluded, the carriage drove away and Policeman McRae conducted his prisoners into the jail. He took them first into the warden's room, where he produced the warrant for their commital and delivered them up.

The warden, "Auld Saundie Gra'ame," as he was familiarly styled, was a tall, gaunt, hard-favored old Scot, who had been too many years in his present position to be astonished at any description of prisoner that might be confined to his custody. In his public service of more than a quarter of a century he had had turned over to his tender mercies more than one elegantly dressed female, and many more than one titled scamp. So, without evincing the least surprise, he simply took the female prisoner, named in the warrant "Faustina Dugald," to be--just what she was--a fallen angel who had dropped into the clutches of the law; and the male prisoner, named in the warrant "Malcolm Dugald, Viscount Vincent," to be--what he was--a noble rogue, guilty of being found out.

While he was reading the warrants, entering their names in his books, and writing out a receipt for their "bodies," Lord Vincent stood with his fettered hands clasped, his head bowed upon his chest, and his countenance set in grim endurance; and Faustina stood wringing her hands, weeping, and moaning, and altogether making a good deal of noise.

"Whisht, whisht, bairnie! dinna greet sae loud! Hech! but ye mak'

din eneugh to deave a miller!" expostulated the warden, as he handed the receipt to McRae and turned his regards to the female prisoner.

But the only effect of his words upon Faustina was to open the sluices of her tears and make them flow in greater abundance.