It is hard to be oppressed with private anxiety and care in the midst of a great house full of people, who expect to be amused, and to have all their different wants attended to, both as regards personal comfort and social gratification. Kate had entered upon the undertaking with great zeal and pleasure, but had been suddenly chilled in the midst of her labours by the strange accidents which disturbed her first dinner-party. She had been so excited and confused at the moment, that it had not occurred to her to remember that Mr. Sugden’s information was quite fragmentary, and that he did not tell her where to find her cousin, or give her any real aid in the matter. His appearance, and disappearance too, were equally sudden and mysterious. She ascertained from Spigot when he had come, and it was sufficiently easy to comprehend the noiseless way he had chosen to appear before her, and convey his news; but why had he disappeared when he saw the telegram? Why had he said so little? Why, oh! why had they all conspired to leave her thus, with painful scraps of information, but no real knowledge—alone among strangers, who took no interest in her perplexities, and, indeed, had never learned Ombra’s name? She could not confide in Mrs. Hardwick, for many reasons, and there was no one else whom she could possibly confide in.

She got so unhappy at last that the idea of consulting Lady Caryisfort entered her mind more and more strongly. Lady Caryisfort was a woman of the world. She would not be so shocked as good Mrs. Hardwick would be; and then she could have no prejudice in the matter, and no temptation to betray poor Ombra’s secret. Poor Ombra! Kate was not one of those people who can dismiss an offender out of their mind as soon as his sin is proved. All kinds of relentings, and movements of pity, and impulses to help, came whispering about her after the first shock. To be sure Ombra had her mother to protect and care for her, and how could Kate interfere, a young girl? What could she do in the matter? But yet she felt that if she were known to stand by her cousin, it would be more difficult for the husband to keep her in obscurity. And there was in her mind a longing that Bertie should learn that she knew, and know what her opinion was, of the concealment and secresy. She did as women, people say, are not apt to do. She threw all the blame on him. Her cousin had concealed it from her—but nothing more than that. He had done something more—he had insulted herself in the midst of the concealment. If Kate had followed her own first impulse, she would have rushed forth to find Ombra, she would have brought her home, she would have done what her husband had failed to do—acknowledged, and put her in her right place. All these things Kate pondered and mused over, till sometimes the impulse to action was almost too much for her; and it was in these moments that she felt a longing and a necessity to consult some one, to relieve the pent-up anxieties in her own heart.

It happened one afternoon that she was alone with Lady Caryisfort, in that room which had been her sitting-room under Mrs. Anderson’s sway. That very fact always filled her with recollections. Now that the great drawing-room and all the house was open, this had become a refuge for people who had ‘headaches,’ or any of the ethereal ailments common in highly-refined circles. The ladies of the party were almost all out on this particular afternoon. Some had gone into Westerton on a shopping expedition; some had driven to see a ruined abbey, one of the sights of the neighbourhood; and some had gone to the covert-side, with luncheon for the sportsmen, and had not yet returned. Kate had excused herself under the pretext of a cold, to remedy which she was seated close by the fire, in a very low and comfortable easy-chair. Lady Caryisfort reclined upon a sofa opposite. She had made no pretence at all to get rid of the rest of the party. She was very pettish and discontented, reading a French novel, and wishing herself anywhere but there. There had been at least half an hour of profound silence. Kate was doing nothing but thinking; her head ached with it, and so did her heart. And when a girl of twenty, with a secret on her mind, is thus shut up with an elder woman whom she likes, with no one else within hearing, and after half an hour’s profound silence, that is the very moment in which a confidential disclosure is sure to come.

‘Lady Caryisfort,’ said Kate, faltering, ‘I wonder if I might tell you something which I have very much at heart?’

‘Certainly you may,’ said Lady Caryisfort, yawning, and closing her book. ‘To tell you the truth, Kate, I was just going to put a similar question.’

‘You have something on your mind too!’ cried Kate, clasping her hands.

‘Naturally—a great deal more than you can possibly have,’ said her friend, laughing. ‘But, come, Kate, you have the pas. Proceed—your secret has the right of priority; and then I will tell you mine—perhaps—if it is not too great a bore.’

‘Mine is not about myself,’ said Kate. ‘If it had been about myself, I should have told you long ago—it is about—Ombra.’

‘Oh! about Ombra!’ Lady Caryisfort shrugged her shoulders, and the languid interest which she had been preparing to show suddenly failed her. ‘You think a great deal more about Ombra than she deserves.’

‘You will not think so when you have heard her story,’ said Kate, with some timidity, for she was quickly discouraged on this point. While they were speaking, a carriage was heard to roll up the avenue. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, ‘I thought we were safe. I thought I was sure of you for an hour. And here are those tiresome people come back!’

‘An hour—all about Ombra!’ Lady Caryisfort ejaculated, half within herself; and then she added aloud, ‘Perhaps somebody has come to call. Heaven send us some one amusing! for I think you and I, Kate, must go and hang ourselves if this lasts.’

‘Oh! no; it must be the Wedderburns come back from Westerton,’ said Kate, disconsolate. There were sounds of an arrival, without doubt. ‘They will come straight up here,’ she said, in despair. ‘Since that day when we had afternoon tea here, we have never been safe.’

It was a terrible reward for her hospitality; but certainly the visitors were coming up. The sound of the great hall-door rang through the house; and then Spigot’s voice, advancing, made it certain that there had been an arrival. The new-comers must be strangers, then, as Spigot was conducting them; and what stranger would take the liberty to come here?

Kate turned herself round in the chair. She was a little flushed with the fire, and she was in that state of mind when people think that anything may happen—nay, that it is contrary to the order of Nature when something does not happen, to change the aspect of the world. Lady Caryisfort turned away with a little shrug, which was half impatience, half admiration of the girl’s readiness to be moved by anything new. She opened her book again, and went nearer the window. The light was beginning to fade, for it was now late in October, and Winter might almost be said to have begun. The door opened slowly. The young mistress of the house stood like one spell-bound. Already her heart forecasted who her visitors were. And it was not Spigot’s hand which opened that door. There was a hesitation, a fumbling and doubtfulness—and then——

How dim the evening was! Who were the two people who were standing there looking at her? Kate’s heart gave a leap, and then seemed to stand still.

‘Come in,’ she said, doubtful, and faltering. And just then the fire gave a sudden blaze up, and threw a ruddy light upon the new-comers. Of course, she had known who it must be all along. But they did not advance; and she stood in an icy stupor, feeling as if she were not able to move.

‘Kate,’ said Ombra, from the door, ‘I have been like an evil spirit to you. I will not come in again, unless you will give me your hand and say I am to come.’

She put herself in motion then, languidly. How different a real moment of excitement always is from the visionary one which you go over and over in your own mind, and to which you get used in all its details! Somehow all at once she bethought herself of Geraldine lifted over the threshold by innocent Christabel. She went and held out her hand. Her heart was beating fast, but dull, as if at a long distance off. There stood the husband and wife—two against one. She quickened her steps, and resolved to spare herself as much as she could.

‘Ombra,’ she said, as well as her quick breath would let her, ‘come in. I know. I have heard about it. I am glad to receive you, and—and your husband.’

‘Thanks, Kate,’ said Ombra, with strange confusion. She had thought—I don’t know why—that she would be received with enthusiasm corresponding to her own feelings. She came into the room, leaning upon him, as was natural, with her hand within his arm. He had the grace to be modest—not to put himself forward—or so, at least, Kate thought. But how much worse this moment was than she had supposed it would be! She felt herself tremble and tingle from head to heel. She forgot Lady Caryisfort, who was standing up against the light of the window, roused and inquisitive; she turned her back upon the new-comers, even, and poked the fire violently, making the room full of light. The ruddy blaze shot up into the twilight; it sprang up, quivering and burning into the big mirror. Kate saw the whole scene reflected there—the two figures standing behind her, and Ombra’s black dress; black!—why was she in black, and she a bride? And, good heaven!——

She turned round breathless; she was pricked to the quick with anger and shame. ‘Ombra,’ she said, facing round upon her cousin, ‘I told you I knew everything. Why do you come here thus with anybody but your husband? This is Mr. Eldridge. Did anyone dare to suppose—— Why is it Mr. Eldridge, and not him, who has brought you here?’

Ombra’s ice melted as when a flood comes in Spring. She rushed to the reluctant, angry girl, and kissed her, and clung to her, and wept over her. ‘Oh! Kate don’t turn from me!—Bertie Eldridge is my husband—no one else—and who else should bring me back?’

No one but Ombra ever knew that Kate would have fallen but for the strenuous grasp that held her up—no one but Ombra guessed what the convulsion of the moment meant. Ombra felt her cousin’s arms clutch at her with the instinct of self-preservation—she felt Kate’s head drop quite passive on her shoulder, and, with a new-born sympathy, she concealed the crisis which she dimly guessed. She kept whispering into her cousin’s ear, holding her fast, kissing her, terrified at the extent of the emotion which had been so carefully and so long concealed.

‘Now let Kate shake hands at least with me,’ said Bertie, behind, ‘and forgive me, if she can. It was all my fault. Ombra yielded to me because I would not give her any peace, and we dared not make it known. Kate, she has been breaking her heart over it, thinking you could never forgive her. Won’t you forgive me too?’

Bertie Eldridge was a careless, light-hearted soul—one of the men who run all kind of risks of ruin, and whom other people suffer for, but who always come out safe at the end. At the sound of his ordinary easy, untragical voice, Kate roused herself in a moment. What had all this exaggerated feeling to do with him?

‘Yes,’ she said, holding out her hand, ‘Bertie, I will forgive you; but I would not have done so half an hour ago, if I had known. Oh! and here is Lady Caryisfort in the dark, while we are all making fools of ourselves. Ombra, keep here; don’t go away from me,’ she whispered. ‘I feel as if I could not stand.’

‘Kate, mamma is in your room: and one secret more,’ whispered Ombra. ‘Oh! Kate, it is not half told!—Lady Caryisfort will forgive us—I could not stay away a day—an hour longer than I could help.’

‘I will forgive you with all my heart, and I will take myself out of the way,’ said Lady Caryisfort. ‘I daresay you have a great deal to say to each other, and I congratulate you, at the same time, Lady Eldridge; one must take time for that.’

‘Lady Eldridge!’ cried Kate. Oh! how thankful she was to drop out of Ombra’s supporting arm into a seat, and to laugh, in order that she might not cry. ‘Then that was why I had the telegram, and that was why poor Mr. Sugden disappeared, that you might tell me yourself? Oh! Ombra, are you sure it is true, and not a dream? Are you back again, and all the shadows flown away, and things come right?’

‘Except the one shadow, which must never flee away,’ said Bertie, putting his arm round his wife’s waist. He was the fondest, the most demonstrative of husbands, though only a fortnight ago—— But it is needless to enlarge on what was past.

‘But, Kate, come to your room,’ said Ombra, ‘where mamma is waiting; and one secret more——’