Now, Trafford would have liked to have remained, and, indeed, have settled, at Three Star; for the greatest happiness of his life had come to him there, and it was there that he learned what Esmeralda’s love meant. And again he became almost as popular as Esmeralda herself. The men admired him for his strength, for the fearless way in which he rode, his skill with weapons of offense and defense, and the complete absence of “side.” He was always ready to lend a helping hand with their work, or to take part in anything going on, and his appearance in the Eldorado was always heartily welcomed. He almost forgot that he was a duke, and Three Star may be said to have quite forgotten it.

He and Esmeralda led a perfect life. The wonderful air, the life of exercise, but, above all, her surpassing happiness, soon brought back her old strength and light-heartedness, and she became, as Mother Melinda said, “just a girl” again.

Between Trafford and Varley a very deep friendship ensued. Love of Esmeralda was common to both, and now Varley understood how passionately Trafford loved her, all traces of Varley’s animosity against him disappeared.

They were all perfectly happy, and were learning to forget the dukedom and its claims upon them, when one day Bill, the postman, brought a letter for Trafford. It was from Lord Selvaine, and consisted of one line:

He showed it to Esmeralda without a word, and after gazing before her in silence, and musingly, she said, very softly, and with a tone of regret:

“Yes, we must go back, if only for Norman’s sake.” For Norman had stuck by his friends, though his heart was aching for a sight of Lilias.

Lord Selvaine had not written until he had felt compelled to do so. This was how the matter stood. When Lilias had received the telegram from Trafford, saying that he had sailed for Australia, she was naturally both startled and frightened.

“What does it mean?” she asked Lady Ada, anxiously. “Why has he gone so suddenly, and where is Esmeralda?”

Lady Ada turned pale, but gazed at the telegram in silence.

“I must go to town; I must see Lady Wyndover at once. Esmeralda must be there.”

“And I will go with you,” said Ada in a strained voice. “It is time I went home.”

Lilias went up to London and down to Deepdale; but Lord Selvaine had been there before her. Careful as Lady Wyndover had been, a whisper or two had gone round that something was wrong at Belfayre, and Selvaine was one of the first to hear it. He had had his suspicions all along, for he was as sharp as a lynx, and had seen signs of trouble in both Esmeralda’s and Trafford’s faces. He went straight down to Deepdale, and the moment he was ushered into Lady Wyndover’s presence, went as straight to the heart of the matter.

“Where is Esmeralda?” he asked in his quiet way, but with his piercing eyes fixed on her.

Lady Wyndover knew that it would be worse than useless to endeavor to conceal anything from the terribly astute Lord Selvaine, whom she regarded with unmixed awe.

“I don’t know,” she said, with her hands pressed closely together. “I tell everybody she is here, but she is not. I suppose you’ve heard something,” she added, timidly.

“I have heard—something,” he responded.

Almost at that moment the servant entered with a telegram from Lilias. It said:

She gave it to Lord Selvaine with trembling hands.

“Oh, what does it mean?”

He read the telegram with half-closed eyes and tightened lips.

“It means that he and Esmeralda have taken a sea voyage.”

“But—but suppose they haven’t? Suppose he has gone alone?” she whispered, fearfully.

He smiled grimly.

“We won’t suppose anything of the kind,” he said. “My dear Lady Wyndover, what is more natural? Trafford and Esmeralda have both been very much upset by the duke’s death. There is nothing in the world so helpful in a bereavement of this kind as complete change of air and scene. Trafford has very wisely taken Esmeralda to what may be called her native air.”

Lady Wyndover gazed at him with a certain doubt mixed with her awe and admiration.

“But it is so sudden—so soon after his father’s death.” She shook her head. “Nobody will believe it.”

He smiled blandly.

“True,” he said. “But I forgot to mention that Trafford received some information respecting some business affairs of Esmeralda’s in Australia, which necessitated their starting for that place immediately.”

He told the fib so coolly, with such an air of truth, that Lady Wyndover herself for a moment almost believed him.

“Oh, how clever you are!” she gasped.

“Thank you,” he said, with a bow. “But all my cleverness, if I possess any, will be of no avail unless you and the family back me up. It will not be difficult. Just repeat what I have said, and repeat it with a cheerful countenance, and all will be well. Married life, my dear Lady Wyndover—I speak of it with authority, because, being a bachelor, I play the part of spectator, and, as you are aware, the spectator sees more of the game than the actual player—married life does not run even as smoothly as true love. Very soon after the nuptial knot has been tied, some little trouble is sure to occur; sometimes it smooths itself away; sometimes, when one or both of the married couple are foolish, the little trouble grows into a big one, and there is—scandal. Now, I am resolved that this trouble of Trafford’s and Esmeralda’s shall not wreck their lives. I happen to know that they are both ridiculously in love with each other, and I shrewdly suspect that our friend, the demon Jealousy, is at the bottom of this mischief; to give him his due, he generally is. When Lilias arrives, tell her what I have told you; give her a loving message from Esmeralda, and then go up to London and see all her friends, and break the news of Trafford’s and Esmeralda’s departure for the delightful Antipodes.”

He himself went back by the next train, and sauntering into his club, remarked casually to the greatest gossip he could find:

“What a delightful trip the duke and duchess will have, and what a good thing it is that they should both be obliged to go at this particular time!”

He made this remark at several houses at which he called, and at a great reception that night, and had the satisfaction of reaping the reward of his astuteness in the shape of a paragraph in the next morning’s paper to the effect that the Duke and Duchess of Belfayre had started for Australia on important business connected with the vast estates which the duchess possessed there; and the society journals, making haste to copy, inferred that nearly all Australia belonged to her grace.

Lord Selvaine’s good offices did not stop at this. He went down to Belfayre and undertook the management of the estate, and any doubts which the curious and suspicious might have entertained were dispelled by his suave and perfectly easeful and contented manner. He did not trouble Trafford with any letters, and he “ran the show” as long as he was able. But there came a time when he could do without Trafford’s presence no longer. Then he wrote his single-line but significant missive, and shortly afterward came into the breakfast-room to Lilias with a cablegram in his hand.

“Trafford and Esmeralda are coming home, my dear,” he said, composedly.

Lilias uttered an exclamation of joy.

“Oh, Selvaine, I am so glad! I can’t tell you how anxious I have been—how their absence and silence has worried me!” and the tears rose to her eyes. “I have had a dread that something was wrong, that something had happened; and though you are very clever, I have sometimes thought that you, too, were anxious about them.”

“I am never anxious about any one, my dear Lilias,” he said—“least of all about married people—and if I were you, I would not be anxious any longer. Trafford and Esmeralda are quite capable of managing their own affairs, and that we have not received any letters from them only proves that they are sensible people and not given to letter-writing. The facilities for epistolary correspondence constitute one of the curses of the age, and I trust we are arriving at a period when the writing of an unnecessary letter will be a capital offense. Will you give me another cup of coffee? By the way, did I mention that Norman was with them and would accompany them home? No sugar, please.”

Lilias’s face crimsoned.

“I am very glad,” she faltered. “Oh, I have put in three lumps! I am very sorry. I will pour you out another cup. I quite forgot that you didn’t take sugar.”

Lord Selvaine smiled blandly.

One day, some six weeks later, the place was in a flutter of excitement, which became almost frantic when a cloud of dust appeared on the road leading to Belfayre, and a man who had been watching from a point of vantage galloped toward the castle, shouting: “They have come!”

There were no triumphal arches, but groups of the Belfayre people were gathered by the road-side and round the gates. The bells had been set ringing, and men were standing on the tower with the flag-ropes in their hands, ready to hoist it the moment his grace the duke should cross the threshold. A hearty welcome awaited them, and the good folks were just as eager to see Esmeralda as Trafford himself.

The carriage came along swiftly and reached the entrance, and there, as if she could not wait until Esmeralda could gain the hall, stood Lilias, the brisk spring wind blowing her rippling hair into disorder, the soft spring sun shining benevolently upon her eager face. Esmeralda was in her arms almost before the carriage stopped, and Lilias was so engaged in kissing her and being kissed, in holding her at arm’s-length and gazing at her with loving admiration, that she appeared to be quite oblivious of the fact that Esmeralda had not come alone.

“How well you look, dear!” she exclaimed, as she scanned Esmeralda’s face, more lovely than ever with the light of happiness glowing in her eyes, the smile of a heart at rest on her lips. “And how brown! What will Lady Wyndover say when she sees you? She will be here this afternoon; she would not come before. And how strong you look. What a wonderful place Australia must be to work such a change in so short a time!”

“If you have quite done with Esmeralda, my dear Lilias, perhaps you will allow me to say ‘How do you do’?” said Lord Selvaine.

Lilias turned with a blush to welcome Trafford and Norman—Norman, who was standing gazing at her with his heart in his eyes—and the blush deepened as she gave him her hand, and tried to say in quite a commonplace way: “How do you do, Norman?” Then she started, for there was another gentleman present; a tall, thin man, with a handsome face and dark eyes; a distinguished-looking man who stood gravely waiting with a little smile on his well-cut lips.

Esmeralda took his hands and led him up to Lilias.

“Lilias, this is ‘Varley,’ my dear, dear guardian! We’ve torn him away from his beloved Three Star by sheer force and brought him over to England in chains.”

“They can knock them off now, Lady Lilias,” said Varley; and the gallant little speech, uttered in his languid, drawling way, and with “the Varley smile,” won Lilias’s heart on the spot.

“I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Howard,” she said.

“Don’t you believe all you hear, Lady Lilias,” he said. “This is the land of justice; give me a fair trial.”

They were all talking at once, and were still talking when Lady Wyndover arrived, and the excitement was kept going by her meeting with Esmeralda; and it was not until they were seated at dinner that they were able to catch their breath, so to speak. Indeed, Esmeralda, for one, could scarcely realize that she was back—at home—that the horrible past was buried, and that a future, glowing with the sunlight of happiness, lay before her. She looked round the familiar objects of the magnificent rooms doubtingly, and it was only when her eyes rested upon the handsome and well-browned face of her husband that she could realize that the ugly corner on life’s road-way had been turned, and that she was on “the pathway of flowers.”

It was not only a happy but also a boisterous party, for Trafford seemed to have regained his youth in Three Star, and he laughed and talked in so light-hearted a manner that once or twice Lord Selvaine looked at him with as much astonishment as he ever permitted himself. Varley’s presence, too, added a zest to the gathering, and Lord Selvaine remarked in an under-tone to Esmeralda:

“You are quite right to admire your guardian, my dear; he is one of the most charming men it has ever been my fortune to meet, and that Three Star, or any number of stars, should have been permitted to monopolize him, is worse than wicked—it is absurd.”

Perhaps the least talkative of the party was Norman; but though he did not say overmuch, like the well-known bird belonging to the mariner, he thought the more. He was seated next to Lilias, and his eyes were eloquent enough if his lips were silent. She felt his eyes upon her, and now and again her own sunk and the color would rise to her face; and once, when his hand touched hers, she trembled outright. Indeed, she seemed curiously nervous, and her nervousness increased when a little while after dinner he came to her and asked her if she would be kind enough to show him whether there was any place in the fernery in which they could put some orchids which he had brought home. She rose, still very nervous and with downcast eyes, and Norman leading her to the remotest part of the fernery, apparently forgetting all about the orchids, seized her hand, and with an abruptness which he had no doubt acquired in the wilds of Australia, said, with half-bold, half-fearful eagerness:

“Lilias, I can’t put it off any longer. I love you, dearest! Will you be my wife?”

Lilias ought to have retreated and affected surprise, even if she did not feel it—for that is the proper mode of receiving such a “stand-and-deliver” style of proposal—but, being quite as much in love with him as a maiden ought to be, she looked straight into his ardent eyes, and said, with a little gasp:

“Yes!” Then, a moment afterward, added, with a frightened look: “What will Selvaine say?”

“I’ll tell him, and see,” said Norman, as he pressed her to him with his strong arms.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, at that moment Lord Selvaine himself came in, followed by Varley, and the lovers were caught.

“May I ask what this means?” said Lord Selvaine, with real or affected sternness. Varley was about to beat a retreat, but Norman signed to him to remain.

“I have just asked Lilias to be my wife,” he said, “and she has promised to be—subject to your approval, Selvaine.”

“Thank you,” said Lord Selvaine, “you are very considerate. As I have the misfortune to be the young lady’s guardian, it is my unpleasant duty to ask you what are your prospects? I have always been under the melancholy impression that you hadn’t any.”

“That must have been before Lord Druce came out to Three Star,” said Varley, with his most delicious drawl. “Seeing that he holds five of the best claims in that prosperous and high-toned town, he may be said to be very rich, and not only in prospects but in actuality.”

Lord Selvaine smiled.

“I haven’t the least notion what a ‘claim’ is, or what it is worth, but I willingly accept Mr. Howard’s estimate, and in the words of a well-known character, I have only to say; ‘Take her and be happy.’ I shall want this hand again, my dear fellow,” he added, wincing under Norman’s terrific grasp. “And I think, Mr. Howard, that I will show you the fernery another time. We’ll go out on the terrace where, I trust, lovers will cease from troubling, and we two bachelors can be at rest.”

“And where should you like to go for the honey-moon, dearest?” asked Norman, when they were discussing their marriage some weeks later. “Paris is very nice; so would Florence be just now—rather hot, perhaps—then there’s Switzerland.”

“You don’t care where you go?” asked Lilias in a muffled voice. It is difficult to speak distinctly with your face half hidden against a gentleman’s breast.

“Not in the very least,” he responded, promptly; “so that you go with me. You’ve only got to choose your place, from Greenland’s icy mountains to Afric’s golden sands, and I’m your man.”

“Really? How good and unselfish you are, Norman, dear!”

“I am—I am!” he assented. “It is my only failing, and I have suffered from it since my birth. We will go wherever you please.”

She was silent a moment, then she whispered:

“When does Varley go back to Three Star?” It will be noticed that she called him “Varley.” Now, a girl like Lilias must be very fond of a person to call him by his Christian name.

“Just after the wedding; he stays for that. Why? You don’t mean to say—”

“Yes, I do,” murmured Lilias. “We will go with him, Norman. We will spend our honey-moon at Three Star.”

At one time it was rather a question whether Varley would ever be permitted to go back, for he made so many friends and became so popular in England that, as Lord Selvaine said, it would be cruel of him to leave it. It was wonderful how unanimous was the verdict in Varley’s favor, how everybody conspired to make a lion of him, much to his surprise, and how eager every one was to show him the best side of this old but not altogether worn-out England.

“I have had a splendid time,” he remarked to Norman one evening, as the two men were standing on the cliffs, watching the men at work at the new Belfayre watering-place. “A splendid time,” he repeated. “I imagine that I have seen pretty nearly everything that is worth seeing, and have met with as much kindness as will last me for the remainder of my abandoned life.” He paused and looked at his cigarette attentively. “I have made the acquaintance of princes, and dukes, and lords, and ladies of high degree; have seen all the wonders of this remarkable little island of yours, and I am both delighted and grateful. But there is one person whom I had hoped to meet and exchange a few words with when I came to England; in fact, it was one of my principal reasons for coming.”

“Oh!” said Norman, curiously, and with some surprise, “who is he?”

“It isn’t a he; it’s a lady,” drawled Varley, looking straight before him—“Lady Ada Lancing, the lady you left that message with, and who stole that letter of yours.”

Norman colored and shook his head.

“You are not likely to meet her,” he said, gravely. “Lady Ada left England before we returned. She is living on the Continent.”

“I am sorry,” said Varley in his most languid tones. “I have something I want to say to her very badly. Do you know when she is coming back?”

“She will never come back,” said Norman.

THE END.