our of becoming my Lady Dunstanwolde"]

Sir John Oxon stood near the doorway, striving to smile, but biting his
lip; here and there his Grace vaguely observed that there seemed new
talk among the moving couples and small gathered groups. About the
entrance there was a stirring and looking out into the corridor, and in
a moment or so more the company parted and gave way, and his Lordship
of Dunstanwolde entered, with Mistress Clorinda upon his arm; he,
gracefully erect in bearing, as a conqueror returning from his victory.

An exclamation broke from the young Colin which was like a low cry.

"Tis true!" he said. "Yes, yes; 'tis in his eyes. 'Tis done--'tis
done!"

His Grace of Osmonde turned towards his kinsman, who he saw was
approaching him, and greeted him with a welcoming smile; the red rose
was still held in his hand. He stood drawn to his full height, a
stately, brilliant figure, with his orders glittering on his breast,
his fine eyes deeply shining--waiting.

The company parted before the two advancing figures--his lordship's
rich violet velvet, the splendid rose and silver making a wondrous wave
of colour, the wreath of crimson flowers on the black hair seeming like
a crown of triumph.

Before my lord Duke they paused, and never had the old Earl's gentle,
high bred face worn so tenderly affectionate a smile, or his grey eyes
so sweet a light.

"My honoured kinsman, his Grace the Duke of Osmonde," he said to her
who glowed upon his arm. "Your Grace, it is this lady who is to do me
the great honour of becoming my Lady Dunstanwolde."

And they were face to face, her great orbs looking into his own, and he
saw a thing which lay hid in their very depths--and his own flashed
despite himself, and hers fell; and he bowed low, and she swept a
splendid curtsey to the ground.

So, for the first time in their lives, he looked into her eyes.

_CHAPTER XVIII_

_A Night in which my Lord Duke Did Not Sleep_

As they rolled over the roads on their way homeward, in the darkness of
their coach, my Lord Dunstanwolde spoke of his happiness and told its
story. There was no approach to an old lover's exultant folly in his
talk; his voice was full of noble feeling, and in his manner there was
somewhat like to awe of the great joy which had befallen him. To him
who listened to the telling 'twas a strange relation indeed, since each
incident seemed to reveal to him a blindness in himself. Why had he not
read the sig