the brilliant adventurer, once more thrown by the buoyant wave upon the
shore of safety and success, went out to communicate that success to
his coadjutors.

Stafford sank into his father's chair, and with his hands thrust deep
in his pockets, and his chin upon his chest, tried to clear his brain,
to free his mind from all side issues, and to face the fact that he had
tacitly agreed, that by his silence he had consented to marry Maude
Falconer.

But, oh, how hard it was to think clearly, with the vision of that
girlish face floating before him! the exquisitely beautiful face with
its violet eyes now arched and merry, now soft and pleading, now tender
with the tenderness of a girl's first, true, divinely trusting love. He
was looking at the book-case before him, but a mist rose between it and
his eyes, and he saw the mountain-side and the darling of his heart
riding down it, the sunlight on her face, the soft tendrils of hair
blown rough by the wind, the red lips apart with a smile--the little
grave smile which he had kissed away into deeper, still sweeter
seriousness.

And he had lost her! Oh, God, how he loved her! And he had lost her
forever! There was no hope for him. He must save his father--not his
father's money. That counted for nothing--but his father's honour--his
father's good name.

And even if he were not bound to make this sacrifice, to marry Maude
Falconer, how could he go to Heron Hall and ask Godfrey Heron, the man
of ancient lineage, of unsullied name, to give his daughter to the son
of a man whose past was so black that his character was at the mercy of
Ralph Falconer? Stafford rose and stretched out his arms as if to
thrust from him a weight too grievous to be borne, a cup too bitten to
be drained; then his arms fell to his sides and, with a hardening of
the face, a tightening of the lips which made him look strangely like
his father, he left the library, and crossing the hall, made his way to
the ball-room.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The ball was at its height. Even the coldest and most _blase_ of the
guests had warmed up and caught fire at the blaze of excitement and
enjoyment. The ball-room was dazzling in the beauty of its decorations
and the soft effulgence of the shaded electric light, in which the
magnificent jewels of the titled and wealthy women seemed to glow with
a subdued and chastened fire. A dance was in progress, and Stafford, as
he stood by the doorway and looked mechanically and