A short period of calm fell upon Darrell Court. Miss Darrell's passion seemed to have exhausted itself.

"I will never believe," she said one day to Miss Hastings, "that Sir Oswald meant what he said. I am beginning to think it was merely a threat—the Darrells are all hot-tempered."

But Miss Hastings had heard more than she liked to tell her pupil, and she knew that what the baronet had said was not only quite true, but that preparations for the marriage had actually commenced.

"I am afraid it was no threat, Pauline," she said, sadly.

"Then let the new-comer beware," said the girl, her face darkening. "Whoever she may be, let her beware. I might have been a good woman, but this will make me a wicked one. I shall live only for revenge."

A change came over her. The improvement that Miss Hastings had so fondly noticed, and of which she had been so proud, died away. Pauline seemed no longer to take any interest in reading or study. She would sit for hours in gloomy, sullen silence, with an abstracted look on her face. What was passing in her mind no one knew. Miss Hastings would go to her, and try to rouse her; but Pauline grew impatient.

"Do leave me in peace," she would say. "Leave me to my own thoughts. I am framing my plans."

And the smile that came with the words filled poor Miss Hastings with terrible apprehensions as to the future of her strange, willful pupil.

The captain was still at the Court. He had had some vague idea of rushing off to London; but a letter from one of his most intimate friends warned him to keep out of the way until some arrangement could be made about his affairs. More than one angry creditor was waiting for him; indeed, the gallant captain had brought his affairs to such a pass that his appearance in London without either money or the hope of it would have been highly dangerous.

He was desperate. Sir Oswald had hinted to him, since the failure of their plan, that he should not be forgotten in his will. He would have borrowed money from him but for that hint; but he did not care to risk the loss of many thousand pounds for the sake of fifteen hundred.

Fifteen hundred—that was all he wanted. If he could have gone back to London the betrothed husband of Pauline Darrell, he could have borrowed as many thousands; but that chance was gone; and he could have cursed the girlish caprice that deprived him of so splendid a fortune. In his heart fierce love and fierce hate warred together; there were times when he felt that he loved Pauline with a passion words could not describe; and at other times he hated her with something passing common hate. They spoke but little; Miss Darrell spent as much time as possible in her own rooms. Altogether the domestic atmosphere at Darrell Court had in it no sunshine; it was rather the brooding, sullen calm that comes before a storm.

The day came when the Court was invaded by an army of workmen, when a suit of rooms was fitted up in the most superb style, and people began to talk of the coming change. Pauline Darrell kept so entirely aloof from all gossip, from all friends and visitors, that she was the last to hear on whom Sir Oswald's choice had fallen. But one day the baronet gave a dinner-party at which the ladies of the house were present, and there was no mistaking the allusions made.

Pauline Darrell's face grew dark as she listened. So, then, the threat was to be carried out, and the grand old place that she had learned to love with the deepest love of her heart was never to be hers! She gave no sign; the proud face was very pale, and the dark eyes had in them a scornful gleam, but no word passed her lips.

Sir Oswald was radiant, he had never been seen in such high spirits; his friends had congratulated him, every one seemed to approve so highly of his resolution; a fair and gentle wife was ready for him—one so fair and gentle that it seemed to the old man as though the lost love of his youth had returned to him. Who remembered the bitter, gnawing disappointment of the girl who had cared so little about making herself friends?

The baronet was so delighted, and everything seemed so bright and smiling, that he resolved upon an act of unusual generosity. His guests went away early, and he retired to the library for a few minutes. The captain followed the ladies to the drawing-room, and, while pretending to read, sat watching Pauline's face, and wondering how he was to pay his debts.

To ask for the loan of fifteen hundred pounds would be to expose his affairs to Sir Oswald. He must confess then that he had gambled on the turf and at play. If once the stately old baronet even suspected such a thing, there was no further hope of a legacy—the captain was quite sure of that. His anxiety was terrible, and it was all occasioned by that proud, willful girl whose beautiful face was turned resolutely from him.

Sir Oswald entered the room with a smile on his face, and, going up to Aubrey Langton, slipped a folded paper into his hands.

"Not a word of thanks," he said; "if you thank me, I shall be offended."

And Aubrey, opening the paper, found that it was a check for five hundred pounds.

"I know what life in London costs," said Sir Oswald; "and you are my old friend's son."

Five hundred pounds! He was compelled to look exceedingly grateful, but it was difficult. The gift was very welcome, but there was this great drawback attending it—it was not half sufficient to relieve him from his embarrassments, and it would quite prevent his asking Sir Oswald for a loan. He sighed deeply in his dire perplexity.

Still smiling, the baronet went to the table where Pauline and Miss Hastings sat. He stood for some minutes looking at them.

"I must not let you hear the news of my good fortune from strangers," he said; "it is only due to you that I should inform you that in one month from to-day I hope to have the honor and happiness of making Miss Elinor Rocheford my wife."

Miss Hastings in a few cautious words wished him joy; Pauline's white lips opened, but no sound escaped them. Sir Oswald remained for some minutes talking to Miss Hastings, and then he crossed the room and rang the bell.

"Pauline, my dearest child!" whispered the anxious governess.

Miss Darrell looked at her with a terrible smile.

"It would have been better for her," she said, slowly, "that she had never been born."

"Pauline!" cried the governess. But she said no more.

A footman entered the room, to whom Sir Oswald spoke.

"Go to my study," he said, "and bring me a black ebony box that you will find locked in my writing-table. Here are the keys."

The man returned in a few minutes, bearing the box in his hands. Sir Oswald took it to the table where the lamps shone brightly.

"Aubrey," he said, "will you come here? I have a commission for you."

Captain Langton followed him to the table, and some remark about the fashion of the box drew the attention of all present to it. Sir Oswald raised the lid, and produced a diamond ring.

"You are going over to Audleigh Royal to-morrow, Aubrey," he said; "will you leave this with Stamford, the jeweler? I have chosen a new setting for the stone. I wish to present it to Miss Hastings as a mark of my deep gratitude to her."

Miss Hastings looked up in grateful wonder. Sir Oswald went on talking about the contents of the ebony box. He showed them many quaint treasures that it contained; among other things he took out a roll of bank-notes.

"That is not a very safe method of keeping money, Sir Oswald," said Miss Hastings.

"No, you are right," he agreed. "Simpson's clerk paid it to me the other day; I was busy, and I put it there until I had time to take the numbers of the notes."

"Do you keep notes without preserving a memorandum of their numbers, Sir Oswald?" inquired Aubrey Langton. "That seems to me a great risk."

"I know it is not prudent; but there is no fear. I have none but honest and faithful servants about me. I will take the numbers and send the notes to the bank to-morrow."

"Yes," said Miss Hastings, quietly, "it is better to keep temptation from servants."

"There is no fear," he returned. "I always put the box away, and I sleep with my keys under my pillow."

Sir Oswald gave Captain Langton a few directions about the diamond, and then the ladies withdrew.

"Sir Oswald," said Captain Langton, "let me have a cigar with you to-night. I must not thank you, but if you knew how grateful I feel——"

"I will put away the box first, and then we will have a glass of wine, Aubrey."

The baronet went to his study, and the captain to his room; but in a few minutes they met again, and Sir Oswald ordered a bottle of his choicest Madeira. They sat talking for some time, and Sir Oswald told Aubrey all his plans—all that he intended to do. The young man listened, with envy and dissatisfaction burning in his heart. All these plans, these hopes, these prospects, might have been his but for that girl's cruel caprice.

They talked for more than an hour; and then Sir Oswald complained of feeling sleepy.

"The wine does not seem to have its usual flavor to-night," he said; "there is something wrong with this bottle."

"I thought the same thing," observed Aubrey Langton; "but I did not like to say so. I will bid you good-night, as you are tired. I shall ride over to Audleigh Royal early in the morning, so I may not be here for breakfast."

They shook hands and parted, Sir Oswald murmuring something about his Madeira, and the captain feeling more desperate than ever.