the beautiful lips.

"Was I blind, foolish, mad?" she cried. "Dear Heaven, save me from the
fruits of my own folly!"

Then hot anger yielded to despair. What should she do? Look which way
she might, there was no hope. If Lord Earle once discovered that she
had dealt falsely with him, she would be driven from the home she had
learned to love. He would never pardon such concealment, deceit, and
folly as hers. She knew that. If Lord Airlie ever discovered that any
other man had called her his love, had kissed her face, and claimed her
as his own, she would lose his affection. Of that she was also quite
sure.

If she would remain at Earlescourt, if she would retain her father's
affection and Lord Airlie's love, they must never hear of Hugh Fernely.
There could be no doubt on that head.

What should she do with him? Could she buy him off? Would money
purchase her freedom? Remembering his pride and his love, she thought
not. Should she appeal to his pity--tell him all her heart and life
were centered in Lord Airlie? Should she appeal to his love for pity's
sake?

Remembering his passionate words, she knew it would be useless. Had she
but been married before he returned--were she but Lady Airlie of
Lynnton--he could not have harmed her. Was the man mad to think he
could win her--she who had had some of the most noble-born men in
England at her feet? Did he think she would exchange her grand old
name for his obscure one--her magnificence for his poverty.

There was no more time for thought; the dinner bell had sounded for the
last time, and she must descend. She thrust the letter hastily into a
drawer, and locked it, and then turned to her mirror. She was startled
at the change. Surely that pale face, with its quivering lips and
shadowed eyes could not be hers. What should she do to drive away the
startled fear, the vague dread, the deadly pallor? The roses she wore
were but a ghastly contrast.

"I must bear it better," she said to herself. "Such a face as this
will betray my secret. Let me feel that I do not care that it will all
come right in the end."

She said the words aloud, but the voice was changed and hoarse.

"Women have faced more deadly peril than this," she continued, "and
have won. Is there any peril I would not brave for Hubert Airlie's
sake?"

Beatrice Earle left the room. She swept, with her beautiful head
erect, through the wide corridors and down the broad staircase. She
t