on. "I hope--I trust--that
he isn't very grievously disappointed. But if he is, it is the one thing
that neither you nor I must ever seem to suspect."

"Ah!" grumbled Biddy mutinously. "And isn't that just like Sir Eustace,
with all the world to pick from, to choose the one thing--the one little
wild rose--as Master Scott had set his heart on? He's done it from his
cradle. Always the one thing someone else wanted he must grab for
himself. But is it too late, Miss Isabel darlint?" Sudden hope shone in
the old woman's eyes. "Is it really too late? Couldn't ye drop a hint to
the dear lamb? Sure and she's fond of Master Scott! Maybe she'd turn to
him after all if she knew."

Isabel shook her head almost sternly. "Biddy, no! This is no affair of
ours. If Master Scott suspected for a moment what you have just said to
me, he would never forgive you."

"May I come in?" said Scott's voice at the door. "My dear, you are
looking better. Are you well enough to start?"

"Yes, of course." Isabel moved towards him, her hands extended in mute
affection.

He took and held them. "Dinah has told you? I am sure you are glad.
Eustace is waiting downstairs. Come and tell him how glad you are!"

His eyes, very straight and steadfast, met hers.

Isabel tried to speak in answer, but caught her breath in a sudden sob.

He waited a second. Then, "Isabel!" he said gently.

Sharply she controlled herself. "Yes. Yes. Let us go!" she said. "I
must--congratulate Eustace."

They went; and old Biddy was left alone.

She looked after them with a piteous expression on her wrinkled face;
then suddenly, with a wistful gesture, she clasped her old worn hands.

"I pray the Almighty," she said, with great earnestness, "to open the
dear young lady's eyes, before it is too late. And if He wants anyone to
help Him--sure it's meself that'll be only too pleased."

It was the most impressive prayer that Biddy had ever uttered.

PART II

CHAPTER I

CINDERELLA'S PRINCE

The early dusk of February was falling, together with a fine, drenching
rain. The trees that over-hung the muddy lane were beating their stark
branches together as though in despair over the general hopelessness of
the outlook. The west wind that raced across the brown fields had the
sharpness of snow in its train.

"We shall catch it before we've done," said Bathurst to his hunter.

Rupert the hunter, a dapple grey with powerful hindquarters, cocked a
knowing ear