hed he bowed.

"You will not even shake hands with me?" faltered Hilda, in a
stammering voice.

"Of what avail would that be?" said Lord Chetwynde. "You and I are
forever separate. We must stand apart forever. Why pretend to a
friendship which does not exist? I am not your friend, Lady
Chetwynde."

Hilda was silent. Her hand fell by her side. She shrank back into
herself. Her disappointment deepened into sadness unutterable, a
sadness that was too profound for anger, a sadness beyond words. So
the dinner passed on. Lord Chetwynde was calm, stern, fixed in his
feelings and in his purpose. Hilda was despairing, and voiceless in
that despair. For the first time she began to feel that all was lost.

CHAPTER XLVI.

THE TABLES TURNED.

Lord Chetwynde had the satisfaction of seeing that Mrs. Hart
recovered steadily. Day after day she improved, and at length became
conscious of surrounding objects. After having gained consciousness
her recovery became more rapid, and she was at length strong enough
for him to visit her. The housekeeper prepared her for the visit, so
that the shock might not be too great. To her surprise she found that
the idea of his presence in the same house had a better effect on her
than all the medicines which she had taken, and all the care which
she had received. She said not a word, but lay quiet with a smile
upon her face, as one who is awaiting the arrival of some sure and
certain bliss. It was this expression which was on her face when Lord
Chetwynde entered. She lay back with her face turned toward the door,
and with all that wistful yet happy expectancy which has been
mentioned. He walked up to her, took her thin, emaciated hands in
his, and kissed her pale forehead.

"My own dear old nurse," he said, "how glad I am to find you so much
better!"

Tears came to Mrs. Hart's eyes. "My boy!" she cried--"my dearest boy,
the sight of you gives me life!" Sobs choked her utterance. She lay
there clasping his hand in both of hers, and wept.

Mrs. Hart had already learned from the housekeeper that she had been
ill for many months, and her own memory, as it gradually rallied from
the shock and collected its scattered energies, brought back before
her the cause of her illness. Had her recovery taken place at any
other time, her grief might have caused a relapse but now she
learned that Lord Chetwynde was here watching over her--"her boy,"
"her darling," "her Guy"--and this was enough to c