s Lillian! Heaven bless you for your sympathy."

"Goodbye," she returned, looking at the dark, passionate face she was
never more to see.

The moon was hidden behind a dense mass of thick clouds. Hugh Fernely
walked quickly down the path. Lillian, taking the folded paper,
hastened across the gardens. But neither of them saw a tall, erect
figure, or a pale, stricken face; neither of them heard Lionel Dacre
utter a low cry as the shawl fell from Lillian's golden head.

He had tried over the trio, but it did not please him; he did not want
music--he wanted Lillian. Beatrice played badly, too, as though she
did not know what she was doing. Plainly enough Lord Airlie wanted him
out of the way.

"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, as he placed the music on the
piano.

"To look for a good cigar," he replied. "Neither Airlie nor you need
pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave you." He
quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room, where a box of
cigars awaited him. He selected one, and went out into the garden to
enjoy it. Was it chance that led him to the path by the shrubbery?
The wind swayed the tall branches, but there came a lull, and then he
heard a murmur of voices. Looking over the hedge, he saw the tall
figure of a man, and the slight figure of a young girl shrouded in a
black shawl.

"A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself. "Now that is not
precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still, it is no
business of mine."

But the man's voice struck him--it was full of the dignity of true
passion. He wondered who he was. He saw the young girl place her hand
in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away.

He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and showed in
the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of Lillian Earle.

* * * * *

When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock was
chiming half past nine. The chess and card tables were just as she had
left them. Beatrice and Lord Airlie were still at the piano. Lionel
was nowhere to be seen. She went up to Beatrice and smilingly asked
Lord Airlie if he could spare her sister for five minutes.

"Ten, if you wish it," he replied, "but no longer;" and the two sisters
walked through the long drawing room into the little boudoir.

"Quick, Lillian," cried Beatrice, "have you seen him? What does he
say?"

"I have seen him," s