asked Anne, somewhat perplexed.

"It _is_ true. Hartledon has his own reasons for keeping it quiet at
present; but--you'll see when the time comes. Should I take upon myself
so much rule here, but that it is to be Maude's future home?"

"I don't believe it," cried Anne, as the old story-teller sailed off.
"That she loves him, and that her mother is anxious to secure him, is
evident; but he is truthful and open, and would never conceal it. No, no,
Lady Maude! you are cherishing a false hope. You are very beautiful, but
you are not worthy of him; and I should not like you for my sister-in-law
at all. That dreadful old countess-dowager! How she dislikes Val, and how
rude she is! I'll try not to come in her way again after to-day, as long
as they are at Hartledon."

"What are you thinking of, Anne?"

"Oh, not much," she answered, with a soft blush, for the questioner was
Mr. Elster. "Do you think your brother has hurt himself much, Val?"

"I didn't know he had hurt himself at all," returned Val rather coolly,
who had been on the river at the time in somebody's skiff, and saw
nothing of the occurrence. "What has he done?"

"He slipped down on the slopes and twisted his ankle. I suppose they will
be coming back soon."

"I suppose they will," was the answer. Val seemed in an ungracious
mood. He and Mr. O'Moore and young Carteret were the only three who had
remained behind. Anne asked Val why he did not go and look on; and he
answered, because he didn't want to.

It was getting on for five o'clock when the boats were discerned
returning. How they clustered on the banks, watching the excited rowers,
some pale with their exertions, others in a white heat! Captain Dawkes
was first, and was doing all he could to keep so; but when only a boat's
length from the winning-post another shot past him, and won by half a
length. It was the young Oxonian, Mr. Shute--though indeed it does not
much matter who it was, save that it was not Lord Hartledon.

"Strike your colours, ladies, you that sport the crimson and purple!"
called out a laughing voice from one of the skiffs. "Oxford blue wins."

Lord Hartledon arrived last. He did not get up for some minutes after the
rest were in. In short, he was distanced.

"Hart has hurt his arm as well as his foot," observed one of the others,
as he came alongside. "That's why he got distanced."

"No, it was not," dissented Lord Hartledon, looking up from his skiff at
the crowd of fair faces