To Esmeralda, Belfayre was a Palace of Delight. It was not so much the magnificence, the luxury and regal splendor of the place, nor its vastness which gave her so much pleasure, as the fact that there she was indeed “in the country,” that she was within reach of the sea—a never-ceasing wonder to her—and that she was surrounded by animals—horses, dogs, cattle—with which she could make friends.

Trafford took her down to the stables on the morning after her arrival, and Esmeralda went from stall to stall, loose box to loose box, and was introduced to each horse in turn; and was so fearless and full of admiration and delight that she won the heart of the head groom, who waxed eloquent about her when she and Trafford had gone off to see the House Farm.

“That’s the first lady as ever I saw that understood the points of a horse,” he said to a circle of attentive listeners. “There’s a good many of ’em as comes round and stands at a safe distance, and says ‘Pretty dear!’ and ‘What a nice horse, Mr. Carter!’ but she’s the first as really knows anything about ’em. The marquis ’ull have a good wife, mark my words! And she can ride, too, I bet! I’ll have that bay mare ready for her to-morrow, James—and when Miss Chetwynde’s in the saddle, they’ll be as pretty a pair as there is in the county.”

Esmeralda was as delighted with the farm as she had been with the stables. The exquisite cleanliness and order in which the whole place was kept amazed her.

“It’s like one of those toy farms one sees in the children’s toy-shops,” he said. “How proud the farmer’s wife must be of it all! Does it pay very well?”

Trafford smiled as he thought of the sum which the House Farm cost to keep up.

“Not very well,” he said. “But we look upon it as a kind of model and example to the farmers on the estate.”

“What would be the use of their following it, if they lost money by it?” she said; and Trafford, amused by her shrewdness, laughed.

After they had inspected all the animals, and gone over the spotless dairy, with its white tiles, and newest appliances in the way of churns and milk coolers, they walked through the park, and Trafford succeeded in finding some deer. Her frankly expressed pleasure and delight in all she saw afforded him a singular pleasure; it was as if he were playing cicerone to a child or a school-girl. She was quite unembarrassed, and free from any shyness at being alone with him, and did not seem to want or expect him to make love to her in the very least, but talked to him as if he were an old friend or a fellow school-girl.

Trafford felt the charm of this, and found himself enjoying his walk as he had not enjoyed one for as far back as he could remember.

They talked of the palace and what she had seen, and avoided anything personal until at last Trafford said:

“I was not wrong about the welcome you would receive from my father and Lilias, Miss Chetwynde?” Then, before she could reply, he added: “Will you let me call you Esmeralda?”

She looked at him frankly.

“Why, yes, if you like.”

“And you must call me Trafford,” he said.

She laughed.

“Very well. It is like the bargain Lilias and I made yesterday. Yes, you were quite right. I don’t know why they were so kind to me—a stranger. But they were kind, very. I think I was a little frightened about meeting the duke. I don’t know what I expected—something very grand and awful, but he was not at all what I expected; and I think him the dearest old gentleman I have ever seen. I don’t think I could ever be frightened of him.”

Trafford smiled.

“I am glad you like my father,” he said. “Of course you know he has fallen in love with you? He talked of nothing else but you last night, and sung your praises tremendously.”

“I’m glad he likes me,” she said, simply.

“And Lilias, too,” said Trafford. “You must tell me your secret of winning all hearts, Esmeralda.”

She laughed.

“It must be their fault,” she said, naÏvely.

They walked through the park to the cliffs, and Esmeralda stood and gazed at the sea in a silence which Trafford did not break; he watched her face, and thought its awed and rapt expression more beautiful than the view which had called it forth.

On their way home they passed through the village, and Trafford stopped at one or two of the cottages, and exchanged greetings with some of the people. Esmeralda was struck by the mixture of affection and respect with which the marquis was treated, and the shy curiosity with which they received her. One woman offered her a glass of new milk, and dusted a chair for her to sit on; and one and all were anxious to make much of her and impress her favorably.

“Are all the villages and people in England like this?” she asked, as they went on their way again.

“Yes, I think so, or nearly all,” said Trafford.

“You all seem as if you were one family, or as if it were a little kingdom all to itself, and you were a king.”

“We are all one family, in a sense,” he explained. “You see, we have known each other for generations. Some of the families have been living here almost as long as we have, and few strangers come here; if they do, they settle down and become like the rest after a little time.”

“And you own all this?” she asked, pausing to look round. “All the houses, all the farms, and the people?”

“My father does,” he said, with a smile. “But not the people, Esmeralda.”

“It is almost as if you did,” she said, shrewdly. “They all look at you and speak to you as if you were a kind of prince. It must be rather nice to be like that.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say: “You have only to say the word, and you can share in this proprietorship,” but he held himself in hand. He did not want a decided refusal; and something told him he had not won her yet, and that the “No” would certainly be forthcoming.

When they reached home they found the duke up and awaiting them; for he rarely left his own apartments until late in the afternoon.

He greeted Esmeralda warmly, and even affectionately, and looked up at her face, glowing with her long walk, with unstinted admiration.

“I hope Trafford has not tired you, my dear!” he said. “Come and tell me what you have seen.” And he motioned her to a chair beside him.

Esmeralda told of the stables, and the farms, and the sea; and his grace nodded his head and smiled at her enthusiasm; but he was not quite satisfied.

“Trafford did not show you the ruins of the old priory, or the lake,” he said. “I can’t think how he forgot those! Will you come for a drive this afternoon with me and see them? There is a pony-phaeton low enough for me to climb into.”

Esmeralda said that she would be delighted, and the old man looked round with a pleased smile.

“I feel extraordinarily well and strong to-day,” he said; and he chatted to her all through lunch, taking the greatest interest in the dishes that were brought to her, and nibbling his toast, and sipping his beef tea contentedly, as he watched her dispose of a hearty meal; for Esmeralda had not learned to be ashamed of her appetite.

The pony-phaeton was brought round after lunch. There was only room for two, and a small groom behind; and Esmeralda begged to be allowed to drive.

“You will be quite safe, sir,” said Trafford, who, with the two ladies and Lord Selvaine, saw them off.

“I will trust myself with Miss Chetwynde anywhere,” said his grace, gallantly. Though it was a warm afternoon, he was wrapped up in furs, as if it were winter, and he leaned back in the easy carriage with an air of pride and enjoyment in his strength and his companion which caused Lord Selvaine to smile.

“A case of ‘I came, I saw, I conquered!’” he said, blandly. “I never saw a man so hopelessly in love! If the duke were, say, ten years younger, I wouldn’t give much for your chances, my dear Traff.”

Trafford smiled at the jest, and looked after the carriage thoughtfully.

The duke was delighted with Esmeralda’s driving.

“You must have a pony-carriage and pair, my dear,” he said, as if he were speaking of a box of hairpins. “I will tell Trafford to get them at once. This is too old and shabby for you; it does very well for me, but it is not smart enough for you.”

“Oh, no, no!” said Esmeralda. “It is quite good enough. Do not buy a new one.”

“But why not?” he asked, with surprise. “Why should I not have that pleasure? There is the priory.” He nodded to some stately ruins, and Esmeralda drove up to them and looked at them with interest.

“Selvaine shall tell you its history,” said his grace. “He is the historian of the family, you know, and is never so pleased as when he is relating some story connected with it. Dear, dear, how out of repair the fencing has got! I must tell Helby to replace it with some of the new iron railing. Now we will drive to the lake. Turn down this lane to the left. Are you sure you are warm enough, my dear?”

“Oh, yes,” said Esmeralda. “Do you feel it cold?” She saw that his fur collar had slipped down a little, and she pulled it up and arranged it round him more closely.

The duke was much touched by her thoughtfulness.

“Thank you—thank you, my dear!” he said, gratefully.

They drove on and presently came to the lake. It was a large piece of water surrounded by firs. A flock of ducks rose as they approached, and a heron sailed away above their heads. The place was weird-looking for all its prettiness, and Esmeralda gazed at it in silence, and with a creepy feeling.

“It reminds me of Australia—I don’t know why,” she said. “How silent and far away it seems.”

“Some persons think it rather dismal,” he said. “But that, I think, is because of the story connected with it.”

Emeralda was always ready for a story, and turned to him eagerly.

“What is it? Something very dreadful?”

“Well, yes,” he said, hesitatingly. The courtly old man was almost sorry to have referred to anything that was grewsome in her bright young presence.

“Please tell me!” she said.

“Must I? I am not sure that I ought to do so. You will always remember it when you come here. One of the Traffords committed suicide here.”

“Oh!” said Esmeralda. “A man?”

“No, a woman,” said his grace. “It is a very sad story. She was the wife of a Marquis of Trafford—my great-great-uncle. It was a very unhappy marriage. The marquis was poor, and married her for her money; it was what is called a ‘a marriage of convenience.’ They are seldom anything but unhappy arrangements, and generally prove terribly inconvenient. She was in love with her husband, but he detested her. But though he, no doubt, treated her with coldness, I am quite sure he was not guilty of actual cruelty; no Trafford has had that crime laid to his charge.”

“You mean that he didn’t beat her?” said Esmeralda, much interested.

“Er—just so,” said the duke. “They lived together unhappily for some years, until one night the unfortunate lady stole from the house and threw herself into the lake here. They found her next day, with a smile on her face—the first she had worn since her marriage, they said.”

Esmeralda stared at the lake and shuddered. She could almost see the white figure floating on the top of the silent water.

“Why did she not leave him—run away?” she said, almost to herself.

The duke shrugged his shoulders.

“A Marchioness of Trafford could scarcely do that,” he said, simply. “It was almost better for her to have done what she did; but let us go now, my dear; I am afraid I have saddened you with my dismal story. Let us get into the sunshine again.” And he, too, shuddered slightly.

Esmeralda glanced over her shoulder at the lake as they drove away, and the thought of the woman who had preferred death to a loveless life haunted her for more than a mile. Then they came in sight of the sea, and the vision of the white figure fled before the glorious view.

The duke leaned forward and waved his ebony stick round the bay.

“Beautiful, is it not? There are few finer bays in England. Look straight below you, my dear. You see how the coast curves? That is where the new watering-place, that I told you of last night, is to be. There—just by that jutting rock—will be the pier, and the esplanade will run round the curve, with the houses, in a terrace, at the back. It will make a capital seaside town, will it not?”

“Yes,” said Esmeralda. “And are you going to build it?”

“Yes,” assented the duke, placidly, as if he had the money at his bankers. “It will be rather a large undertaking, and it will cost a great deal of money; but I hold that it is reprehensible to let money lie idle while it could be used in providing employment for hundreds of deserving persons. And it will improve the property also. I shall not see it, but Trafford, I trust, will do so, and”—he looked at her with a little smile—“you, too, my dear.”

Esmeralda colored. She felt rather surprised. The Belfayres could not be poor, as Norman Druce had said, if they were going to spend all this money.

As they drove home, this impression deepened, for the duke spoke of other improvements, and always in the tone of a man who was possessed of unlimited wealth; and he found fault with the steward, Mr. Helby—and even Trafford himself—for neglecting certain improvements.

“You must rouse them to a sense of their duty, my dear,” he said, with a smile.

When they drove up to the palace, Trafford came out to help them to alight, and the duke, as he leaned on his son’s arm, said:

“I have had a most delightful drive, Trafford. Miss Chetwynde is a famous whip. I want you to send to London for a phaeton and pair for her.”

“I have done so,” said Trafford, quietly.

“I am glad. I have been showing Miss Chetwynde the site for the new town, and she quite agrees with me that it would be a great improvement. Don’t you think we ought to commence it at once, my dear?”

Trafford glanced at Esmeralda gravely; but, quite innocently, she said:

“Oh, yes; I would begin at once.”

“You see!” exclaimed the duke, triumphantly; and he patted her shoulder approvingly.

Lilias, fearing that Lady Wyndover and Esmeralda would find Belfayre dull, had invited some people to dine that night, and Esmeralda made her first acquaintance with a country dinner-party.

It was a stately, not to say solemn, affair. There were three or four of the neighboring county families, a couple of officers from Belmont, and the rector and his wife. The county families had heard of and read about “Miss Chetwynde, the heiress,” and were consumed with curiosity respecting her, and were amazed—and doubtless rather disappointed—at not finding her to be a kind of female cowboy. They were also much startled and impressed by her beauty, and before the evening was over, Esmeralda had won the golden opinion of the male portion of the party. The men grouped themselves around her very much as they were in the habit of doing in London, and Trafford looked on from a distance with his usual gravity.

The duke was not present at dinner, but he came into the drawing-room afterward for half an hour, and witnessed Esmeralda’s little triumph, and nodded and smiled at her as she left her court of admirers, and seating herself beside him, talked to him of their drive in her frank, unaffected way.

“I congratulate you, Trafford,” said one of the guests, an old peer, and close friend and neighbor of the family. “It is scarcely necessary to wish, you happiness; you have secured that already.”

And Trafford smiled in the proper manner. He had received a letter from Lady Ada that evening. It was only a line or two.