led. A passing wonder as to who it might be struck
her. Perhaps it was one of the gamekeepers or gardeners, but she did
not think much about it. A shadow in the moonlight did not frighten
her.

Soon the cool, fresh air did its work; the bright, dark eyes grew tired
in real earnest, and at length Beatrice retired to rest.

The sun was shining brightly when she awoke. By her side lay a
fragrant bouquet of flowers, the dew-drops still glistening upon them,
and in their midst a little note which said:

"Beatrice, will you come into the garden for a few minutes before
breakfast, just to tell me all that happened last night was not a
dream?"

She rose quickly. Over her pretty morning-dress she threw a light
shawl, and went down to meet Lord Airlie.

"It was no dream," she said, simply, holding out her hand in greeting
to him.

"Dear Beatrice, how very good of you!" replied Lord Airlie; adding
presently: "we have twenty minutes before the breakfast bell will ring;
let us make the best of them."

The morning was fresh, fair, and calm, a soft haze hanging round the
trees.

"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "you see the sun shining there in the
high heavens. Three weeks ago I should have thought it easier for that
same sun to fall than for me to win you. I can scarcely believe that
my highest ideal of woman is realized. It was always my ambition to
marry some young girl who had never loved any one before me. You never
have. No man ever held your hand as I hold it now, no man ever kissed
your face as I kissed it last night."

As he spoke, a burning flush covered her face. She remembered Hugh
Fernely. He loved her better for the blush, thinking how pure and
guileless she was.

"I fear I shall be a very jealous lover," he continued. "I shall envy
everything those beautiful eyes rest upon. Will you ride with me this
morning? I want to talk to you about Lynnton--my home, you know. You
will be Lady Airlie of Lynnton, and no king will be so proud as I
shall."

The breakfast bell rang at last. When Beatrice entered the room, Lady
Earle went up to her.

"Your papa has told me the news," she said. "Heaven bless you, and
make you happy, dear child!"

Lionel Dacre guessed the state of affairs, and said but little. The
chief topic of conversation was the ball, interspersed by many
conjectures on the part of Lord Earle as to why the post-bag was so
late.

It did not arrive until breakfast was ended. Lord Ear