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 said nothing of this to Sir Peregrine, hoping that she might have been able to escape in the morning without seeing him. She had told her son to be there; but when she made her appearance in the breakfast parlour, she found that his grandfather was already with him. She sat down and took her cup of tea almost in silence, for they all felt that on such a morning much speech was impossible for them.

'Edith, my dear,' said the baronet, 'you had better eat something. Think of the day that is before you.'

'Yes, father, I have,' said she, and she lifted a morsel of bread to her mouth.

'You must take something with you,' said he, 'or you will be faint in the court. Have you thought how many hours you will be there?'

'I will see to that,' said Peregrine, speaking with a stern decision in his voice that was by no means natural to him.

'Will you be there, Perry?' said his mother.

'Of course I shall. I will see that you have what you want. You will find that I will be near you.'

'But how will you get in, my boy?' asked his grandfather.

'Let me alone for that. I have spoken to the sheriff already. There is no knowing what may turn up; so if anything does turn up you may be sure that I am near you.'

Then another slight attempt at eating was made, the cup of tea was emptied, and the breakfast was finished. 'Is the carriage there, Perry?' asked Mrs. Orme.

'Yes; it is at the door.'

'Good-bye, father; I am so sorry to have disturbed you.'

'Good-bye, Edith; God bless you, and give you strength to bear it. And, Edith'

'Sir?' and she held his hand as he whispered to her.

'Say to her a word of kindness from me;—a word of kindness. Tell her that I have forgiven her, but tell her also that man's forgiveness will avail her nothing.'

'Yes, father, I will.'

'Teach her where to look for pardon. But tell her all the same that I have forgiven her.'

And then he handed her into the carriage. Peregrine, as he stood aside, had watched them as they whispered, and to his mind also as he followed them to the carriage a suspicion of what the truth might be now made its way. Surely there would be no need of all this solemn mourning if she were innocent. Had she been esteemed as innocent, Sir Peregrine was not the man to believe that any jury of his countrymen could find her guilty. Had this been the reason for that sudden change,—for that breaking off of the intended marriage? Even Peregrine, as he went down the steps