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library at St. Mary's was of a high, old-fashioned form, and within it was a small flight of steps which led to a light gallery built round three sides of the room, giving thus an easy access to the higher shelves of books. The room itself was full of odd, deep recesses, and was altogether a dangerous style of apartment, for the occupants of the gallery were not necessarily visible to the occupants of the room, so that if any two conversable guests were inclined to discuss the character of a third, there was a very reasonable probability that their conversation might be overheard by the party most concerned. Mary Forrester had entered this gallery from a door above, and was standing in one of the recesses, with a book under her arm, which she meant to take to her room, and another in her hand, which she read as she stood. And while she was thus occupied. Lord Beaufort and his cousin came into the room below. "We can get out through that window," said Lord Beaufort.

"Oh! then I need not announce myself," thought Mary.

"Why, so we can; but won't it be a great deal of trouble? I wish, Beaufort, you would tell me why you hate her, before you drag me any further."

Again Miss Forrester was on the point of saying, "I am here," when a name that had the power to arrest her at any moment drove her back.

"Why, on that poor Reginald Stuart's account: she led that man on to attach himself to her in the days of his