beautiful face before he opened the telegram.

"There is no very bad news here," he said. "I must go to Cawdor at once;
my father has some very important news for me."

Some instinct seemed to warn her of coming danger; she rose from her
seat and went over to him; she laid her tender arms round his neck; she
laid her beautiful face on his.

"It means harm to us, Lance," she said; "I am sure of it."

"Nonsense, my darling," he cried; "how can it be about us? Most likely
there is a general election, or some business of that kind coming on,
and he wants to see me about it."

Still the beautiful face grew paler, and the shadows deepened in the
dark eyes.

"Shall you go at once?" she asked.

Lord Chandos looked at his watch.

"The train starts at twelve," he said. "I must go in half an hour's
time, Leone."

"Half an hour," she said, and the tender hands clasped him more tightly,
"only half an hour, Lance?"

Some prophetic instinct seemed to come over her; the passionate love on
her beautiful face deepened into tragedy; yet he had never breathed one
word to her of what had taken place. She knew nothing of the lawsuit;
and Lord Chandos never intended her to know anything about it; but with
the chill of that autumn morning came a chill of doubt and fear such as
she had never known before.

"How long shall you be away?" she asked.

"Not one moment longer than I am compelled to stay," he replied. "If my
father really wants to see me on election affairs I may be absent two
days; trust me, Leone; the first moment I am free I shall return;" and
drawing her beautiful face down to his own the young husband kissed it
with passionate devotion, little dreaming of what lay before him.

"Only half an hour," said Leone. "Oh, Lance, let me spend it with you. I
will order your portmanteau to be packed; my dear, do not let me leave
you for one moment."

She drew a little stool and sat down at his feet.

Lord Chandos laughed.

"One would think we were lovers still."

She looked at him with that wonderful expression of face, so earnest, so
intent, so lofty.

"So we are," she said; "we will be lovers until we die; shall we not,
Lance?"

"I hope so; but we shall be unlike most married people, Leone, if we do
that," he replied.

"I will not believe you," she answered. "You laugh, sometimes, Lance, at
love; but I am sure if I were your wife for fifty years you would never
tire of me or love me less."

"I never wish to do