ered
Beatrice wistfully. "Something must happen, Lily, fortune could not be
so cruel to me; it could not rob me of my love. If I can not free
myself, I shall run away. I would rather suffer anything than face
Lord Airlie or my father. Say you will help me for my love's sake! Do
not let me lose my love!"

"I will help you," said Lillian; "it is against my better
judgment--against my idea of right--but I can not refuse you. I will
see the man, and give him your letter. Beatrice, let me persuade you.
You can not free yourself. I see no way--running away is all
nonsense--but to tell Lord Earle and your lover; anything would be
better than to live as you do, a drawn sword hanging over your heart.
Tell them, and trust to their kindness; at least you will have peace of
mind then. They will prevent him from annoying you."

"I can not," she said, and the breath came gasping from her lips.
"Lillian, you do not know what Lord Airlie is to me. I could never
meet his anger. If ever you love any one you will understand better.
He is everything to me. I would suffer any sorrow, even death, rather
than see his face turned coldly from me."

She loosened her grasp of Lillian's hands and fell upon the floor,
weeping bitterly and passionately. Her sister, bending over her, heard
the pitiful words--"My love, my love! I can not lose my love!"

The passionate weeping ceased, and the proud, sad face grew calm and
still.

"You can not tell what I have suffered, Lily," she said, humbly. "See,
my pride is all beaten down, only those who have had a secret, eating
heart and life away, can tell what I have endured. A few more days of
agony like this, and I shall be free forever from Hugh Fernely."

Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they brought no
comfort.

"He will be here at nine," she said; "it is six now. I will write my
letter. He will be at the shrubbery gate. I will manage so that you
shall have time. Give him the note I will write, speak to him for me,
tell him I am ill and can not see him. Shall you be frightened?"

"Yes," replied Lillian, gently; "but that will not matter. I must
think of you, not of myself."

"You need not fear him," said Beatrice. "Poor Hugh, I could pity him
if I did not hate him. Lily, I will thank you when my agony is over; I
can not now."

She wrote but a few words, saying she was ill and unable to see him; he
must be satisfied, and willing to wait yet a little lon