dged herself to
be overwhelmed her, and with a cry she fell unconscious to the floor.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN THE GARDEN OF THE GENTLEMAN-PENSIONER.

Upon reaching the open air, Effingston paused for a moment that the
shock occasioned by the admission of Elinor might in some degree pass
from him. He had gone to her prepared for tears, protests and womanly
anger, and despite the suspicion which had seized his heart, it had
not been in his nature to believe the words of his father would so
soon find confirmation. He felt, indeed, as one about to lay his head
upon the block,--that he must cry out, yet his heart was clutched as
by a giant hand, benumbing all his faculties so that pain and lethargy
paralyzed his will.

As he groped half blindly for the railing which flanked the narrow
steps, the figure of a man confronted him, who, as he perceived the
Viscount Effingston standing upon the threshold of Mistress Fawkes'
dwelling, drew back quickly, his face dark with anger. 'Twas Sir
Thomas Winter.

In that instant all the calmness of the young nobleman returned to
him. The sight of Winter, in whom he saw the bitter enemy of his
house, and whom he now hated for a double reason, turned his pain into
contempt for her who had so illy used him. Pride came to his aid, and
he would have passed the other haughtily; but it was in no wise the
purpose of Sir Thomas that the meeting should have so peaceful an
ending.

Rumor had reached him that the Viscount Effingston was too frequent a
visitor at the house of one for whom he fostered, if not love, at
least a fierce passion, and the presence of his rival, at the very
door of the humble dwelling, aroused him to fury. With an angry frown
distorting his features he advanced toward the spot where stood the
Viscount, who, perceiving he had to deal with one in whom temper had
overcome prudence, laid his hand upon the hilt of his rapier. It was
not the purpose of Winter, however, to come to blows thus openly with
one who was known to be in favor with the King. He therefore contented
himself with obstructing the way in so insolent a manner, and with
such malice in his eyes, that it sent the blood to the cheeks of
Effingston, and he returned the gaze unflinchingly, saying quietly:

"Come, if Sir Thomas Winter hath in mind aught to say to me, let it be
done quickly, that I may go upon my way." At the same time he moved as
though to pass.

"Nay! My Lord of Effingston!" replied Winter