The gardens at Dilston, though somewhat formally laid out, as previously mentioned, were very beautiful, and were just then in perfection. The prince admired them very much, and of course everybody else was enchanted.

After wandering about for some time—now stopping to look at one object, now at another—the prince walked on with Lady Webb, and the party began to disperse, moving about in different directions.

Somehow or other, Lord Derwentwater found himself alone with Anna. He looked about for Dorothy, but she was a long way off with Charles Radclyffe, and no one was near them.

Close to where they stood was a rustic bench, shaded by a tree, and saying she felt a little fatigued, Anna sat down. Lord Derwentwater could not do otherwise than take a place beside her.

We will not say what thoughts agitated her breast, but she felt that the critical moment had arrived, and trembled lest any interruption should occur before the word was uttered that might decide her fate.

She did not look at the lovely parterre of flowers before her—nor listen to the plashing of the fountain—she heard nothing—saw nothing. But the accents she longed for were not breathed, and Lord Derwentwater remained silent. Why did he not speak?

Fearing the moment might pass, she raised her magnificent eyes, which had been thrown upon the ground, and fixed them full upon him.

Though he spoke not, he had been watching her, and the glance he now encountered pierced his breast. How much was conveyed in that long, passionate look! How eloquent was the earl's reply! An instantaneous revelation was made to each of the state of the other's heart. No longer any doubt. He knew she loved him. She felt he was won.

Yet, as if to make assurance doubly sure, he took her hand. She did not withdraw it, and still gazing tenderly at her, he said in a low voice, but which was distinctly audible:

“Can you love me, Anna?”

Her glance became even more passionate, as she answered:

“I can—I do.”

“Will you be mine, then?” demanded the earl, passing his arm round her waist, and drawing her towards him.

Her reply must have been in the affirmative, yet it was almost stifled by the kiss imprinted on her lips.

He had only just released her from this fond embrace, when they became conscious that they were not unobserved.

So engrossed were they by each other that they had not hitherto noticed the prince and Lady Webb on the further side of the lawn.

Lord Derwentwater, in a moment, decided on the course he ought to pursue.

“Come with me,” he said to Anna.

And, taking her hand, he led her towards her mother, whose feelings of pride and satisfaction may be easily imagined when the announcement was made, and her consent asked to their union.

But it was asked in a manner that does not belong to the present age, and her consent was given with equal formality, and accompanied by a blessing.

As they arose from their half-kneeling posture, the prince embraced the earl, and said to him:

“Accept my sincere congratulations, cousin. Lovelier bride you could not have found, and in every other respect she is worthy of you. And you, fair damsel,” he added to Anna, who blushed deeply at the high compliments paid her, “you may likewise be heartily congratulated on your good fortune. You have won a husband as noble by nature as he is by birth. All happiness attend you!”

These gracious observations produced a strong effect on the young pair to whom they were addressed.

The prince did not, however, tarry for their thanks, but hastened away, saying he desired to be first to communicate the joyful intelligence to Sir John Webb.

The rest of the party were assembled on the terrace, and when they saw the prince approaching, and noticed the peculiar expression of his countenance, some suspicion of the truth crossed them.

Sir John, therefore, was not surprised, though secretly enchanted, when a sign was given them to come forward, and, on obeying it, he learnt from his highness's lips what had occurred. He did not attempt to disguise his satisfaction, and his loud exclamations soon let the rest of the party into the secret.

That the news was perfectly agreeable to all the others cannot be asserted. The hopes of Tom Forster and his charming sister were annihilated. But since the blow had fallen, it must be borne. So they concealed their disappointment with a smile.

We are not quite sure that Charles Radclyffe was anxious that the earl should marry, as his own position in the house might be changed by the event; but, at all events, he looked pleased. And Father Norham, who had an almost paternal affection for his noble patron, was certainly pleased, for he believed Lord Derwentwater had taken a wise step.

Sir John Webb, who had been made the happiest of men by the success of his wife's scheme, hurried off to embrace his daughter and the earl, and give them his blessing, and all the others followed to witness the scene.

Again certain painful feelings were stirred in the breasts of Forster and his sister, but these were controlled, and all went off very well.

A proposition was next made by the prince, that met with ready acceptance from all concerned. It was that the earl and his chosen bride should be solemnly contracted together on the morrow.

“Lord Derwentwater and myself were brought up together like brothers,” he said. “Long ago, I promised to find him a wife. He has now found one for himself, and I entirely approve his choice. Since I can scarce hope to be present at his lordship's marriage, it will be specially agreeable to me to witness his betrothal.”

This intimation was quite sufficient, and it was arranged that the ceremony should be performed by Father Nor-ham, and should take place, next morning, in the little chapel.