enjoyed his shame and terror. Before, however, she spoke, Mrs. Fielden,
who had watched, as one spellbound, Lucretia's movements, and, without
hearing what had passed, had the full foreboding of what would ensue, but
had not stirred till Lucretia herself terminated the suspense and broke
the charm of her awe,--before she spoke, Mrs. Fielden rushed in, and
giving vent to her agitation in loud sobs, as she threw her arms round
Susan, who was still kneeling on the floor, brought something of
grotesque to the more tragic and fearful character of the scene.

"My uncle was right; there is neither courage nor honour in the low-born!
He, the schemer, too, is right. All hollow,--all false!" Thus said
Lucretia, with a strange sort of musing accent, at first scornful, at
last only quietly abstracted. "Rise, sir," she then added, with her most
imperious tone; "do you not hear your Susan weep? Do you fear in my
presence to console her? Coward to her, as forsworn to me! Go, sir, you
are free!"

"Hear me," faltered Mainwaring, attempting to seize her hand; "I do not
ask you to forgive; but--"

"Forgive, sir!" interrupted Lucretia, rearing her head, and with a look
of freezing and unspeakable majesty. "There is only one person here who
needs a pardon; but her fault is inexpiable: it is the woman who stooped
beneath her--"

With these words, hurled from her with a scorn which crushed while it
galled, she mechanically drew round her form her black mantle; her eye
glanced on the deep mourning of the garment, and her memory recalled all
that love had cost her; but she added no other reproach. Slowly she
turned away. Passing Susan, who lay senseless in Mrs. Fielden's arms,