Drake rode over to the Grange for breakfast, according to his promise. He was glad of the ride, glad of an hour or two in which he could think over the dramatic events of the preceding night, and, so to speak, clear his brain of the unpleasant glamour which Lady Luce's words and behavior had produced.

Not for a moment did he swerve from his allegiance to Nell; never for a moment did the splendor of Luce's beauty, the trick of her soft voice, her passionate caress, eclipse the starlike purity of Nell's nature and personality. If it were possible, he loved Nell better and more devotedly, longed for her more ardently, since his meeting with Luce, than he had done before.

All the way to the Grange he rehearsed what he would say to Nell when he rode back to The Cottage. He would tell her everything; would beg her to forgive him for his deception, his concealment of his full name and title, and—yes, he would admit that he had once loved, or thought that he had loved, Lady Luce; but that now——Well, there was only one woman in the world for him, and that was Nell.

He found Sir William standing on the lawn, dressed in riding cords of the good old kind, loose in fit and yellow in color, and surrounded by dogs of divers shapes and various breeds. He was as ruddy-cheeked and bright-eyed as if he had been to bed last night at ten o'clock, and he scanned the well-set-up Drake as he rode up, with a nod of approval.

"Up to time, Mr. Vernon—got your name right at last, eh? None the worse for the hop last night, I suppose? Don't look any, anyway. That's a good nag you're riding. Bred him yourself, eh? Gad! It's the best way, if it's the dearest."

He called for a groom to take the horse, and bade Drake come in to breakfast.

"You'll find nobody down, and we shall have it all to ourselves. That's the worst of women: keep 'em up half an hour later than usual, or upset their nerves with a bit of a row or anything of that kind, and, by George! they've got to lie abed the next morning! Now, help yourself to anything you see—have anything else cooked if you don't fancy what's here. I always toy with half a pound of steak, just to lay a foundation; been my breakfast, man and boy, for longer than I can remember."

Drake ate his breakfast and listened to the genial old man—not very attentively, it is to be feared, for he was thinking of Nell most of the time—and when the baronet had demolished his steak, they went to the farm, followed by the motley collection of dogs which had waited outside with more or less patience for the reappearance of their master, and welcomed him with a series of yappings and barkings which might have been heard a mile off.

The farm was a good one, and Drake gradually got interested in the really splendid cattle which Sir William exhibited with the enthusiasm of a breeder. The morning slipped away, but though Drake glanced at his watch significantly now and again, Sir William would not let him go; and at last he said:

"What's your hurry, Vernon? Why not ride to Shallop with me? You could look around the town while I'm on the bench—unless you care to step into court and see how we administer justice—hah! hah! it's only a few 'drunk and disorderlies' or a case of assault that we get nowadays; or perhaps a petty larceny—anyway, you will ride into the town with me, and we will have a bit of lunch together at the Crown and Scepter. No, I won't take any refusal! To tell you the truth, I want to have a chat with you about that last bull I showed you."

Drake, thinking that it would be quicker to consent—that is to say, to ride into Shallop and cut across the country to Shorne Mills, yielded; the horses were brought round, and after Sir William had disposed of a tankard of ale, by way of a good, old-fashioned stirrup cup, the two men started.

Sir William talked and joked as they rode along, and Drake pretended to listen, while in reality he continued his rehearsal of all he would say to Nell when presently he should be by her side, with his arms round her and her head on his breast.

It was market day at Shallop, and the usual crowd of pigs and sheep and cattle, with their attendant drovers and farmers, blocked the streets. Sir William pulled up occasionally, throwing a word to one and another, but the two men reached the Town Hall at last, and Drake was just on the point of remarking that he would be off, when he saw Sir William grow very red in the face and very bulgy about the eyes, while at the same time his big hand went in a helpless kind of fashion to his old-fashioned neck stock.

Drake could not imagine what was the matter, and was still in the first throes of amazement when Sir William suddenly swayed to and fro in the saddle, and then fell across his horse's neck to the ground.

Drake was off his horse in a moment, and had raised the old man's head as quickly. A crowd collected almost as rapidly as if the place had been London, and cries of "Dear, dear! it's Sir William! it's a fit! Fetch a doctor!" rose from all sides.

A doctor presently pushed his way through the gaping mob of farmers and tradesmen, and knelt beside Drake.

"Apoplexy," he said, pursing his lips and shaking his head. "Always thought it would happen. Let us get him to the hotel."

Between them they carried the stricken man to the Crown and Scepter, at which—irony of fate!—Sir William would have lunched, and got him to bed.

"I've warned him once or twice," said the doctor, with a shrug of the shoulders. "But what's the use! You tell a man to cut tobacco and spirits, or they will kill him, or to refrain from rump steak and old ale for breakfast, and he obeys you—until the next time!"

"Is he going to die?" asked Drake sadly, for he had taken a fancy to the old man.

"No-o; I don't think so. Not this time. We shall have to keep him quiet. Lady Maltby ought to know—ought to be here. And we mustn't frighten her. Would you mind riding over for her—bringing her, I mean? She'll want some one with her who can keep a cool head, and I fancy you can do that, sir."

"That's all right," said Drake at once; "of course I'll go."

So it happened that, instead of riding to Shorne Mills and seeing Nell, and telling her the truth, the whole truth, which would have turned her misery to happiness, he was going as fast as his horse could carry him back to the Grange.

It was not the first time he had broken bad news—he had seen men fall in the hunting field, and on the race course, and had had more than once to carry the tidings to the bereaved—and he fulfilled his sad task with all the tact of which he was capable. So well, indeed, that even if he had intended permitting Lady Maltby to proceed to Shallop without him, she would not have let him go. The poor woman clung to him, as women in their hour of need always cling to the strong man near them.

They found Sir William coming back to consciousness—a condition which, though fortunate for him, was unfortunate for Drake; for the sick man seemed to cling to him and to rely upon him just as Lady Maltby had done. He implored Drake not to leave him, and Drake sat on one side of the bed, with the frightened wife on the other, until Sir William fell into a more or less refreshing slumber.

It was just four when he mounted his horse and rode to Shorne Mills. The performance of a good deed always brings a certain amount of satisfaction with it, and, as he rode along, Drake felt more at ease than he had done since the scene with Lady Luce. Indeed, last night seemed very far away, and the incident on the terrace of very little consequence. Death, or the warning of death, is so solemn a thing that other matters dwarf beside it. But his resolution to tell Nell everything had not weakened, and he urged his rather tired horse along the steep and switchbacky road.

At a place called Short's Cross he caught sight of the Shorne Mills carrier on his way to the station. But Drake did not guess that Nell was sitting under the tilt cover, that by just turning his horse and riding hard for a minute or two he could be beside her. He glanced at the cart, thought of the day he had first seen it, and of all that had happened since, and, gently touching his horse with his whip, rode on.

The sun was sinking as he crossed the moor, and the cliffs were dyed a fiery red as he came in sight of them and The Cottage on the brow of the hill. His heart beat fast during the few minutes spent in reaching the garden gate. What would she say? Would she be much startled when she learned that he was "Lord Selbie"? Would she understand that he had never really loved Luce; that it was she—Nell—whom he wanted for his wife, had wanted almost from the first day of his seeing her?

At the sound of the horse's hoofs Dick came out of The Cottage, and down to the gate.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed. "Why, where on earth have you been?"

Drake explained as he got off the horse.

"I breakfasted at the Grange. I don't think I mentioned it last night, did I? Then I rode into Shallop with Sir William, and he had a fit of some sort—apoplexy, I fancy—and I had to come back and fetch Lady Maltby. Then the poor old chap came to, and—well, he felt like wanting company, and I couldn't leave him until he fell asleep."

"Poor old chap! I haven't heard a word of it," said Dick. "I say, come in! Mamma will be delighted to hear news of that kind—no, no; I don't mean—you know what I mean. Something exciting like that is like a bottle of champagne to her."

"I'll take the horse in; he's had rather a hard day of it," said Drake. "I've bucketed him up hill and down dale; obliged to, you know."

As he spoke, he looked beyond Dick and toward the open door of The Cottage wistfully. Why didn't Nell come out? As a rule, it was she who first heard the sound of his footsteps or his horse's.

"I'll take it. Oh, I say, Drake, how awfully kind of you to—to——Bardsley & Bardsley, you know! Upon my word, I don't know how to thank you! I don't, indeed!"

"That's all right," said Drake. "Hope it's what you want, Dick. If it isn't, we must find something else. Anyway, you can try it."

"What I want! Rather! I should think so! As I told Nell——"

"Where is Nell, by the way?" cut in Drake, with all a lover's impatience.

Dick looked rather taken aback.

"Oh—ah—that is—I say, you know, what's this shindy between you and Nell?" he said, with a somewhat uneasy grin.

"Shindy? What do you mean?" demanded Drake.

Dick began to look uncomfortable.

"I don't know anything about it," he said hesitatingly, "only what she told me. She was awfully upset this morning; red-eyed and white about the gills, and all I could understand was that it was 'all over' between you." He grinned again, but more uncomfortably. "Of course, I knew it was only a lovers' tiff—'make it up and kiss again,' don't you know."

His voice and the grin died away under the change in Drake's expressive countenance.

"What is the matter, anyway?" he demanded. "Is there a real quarrel?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," said Drake, speaking as a man speaks when a cold fear is beginning to creep about his heart.

"Well, I don't know myself," said Dick desperately. "Oh, I've got a letter for you somewhere—perhaps that will explain. Now, what did I do with it? Oh, I know! Wait a moment!"

He ran into the house, and Drake waited, mechanically stroking his horse's sweating neck.

Dick came out and held out a letter.

"She gave me this for you."

Drake opened the letter, and read:

"Dear Drake: I may call you so for the last time. I am writing to tell you that our engagement must come to an end. I have found that I have, that we both have, made a mistake. You, who are so quick to understand, will know, even as you read this, that I have discovered all that you have kept secret from me, and that, now I know it all, it is impossible, quite impossible, that I should——" Here a line was hastily scratched through. "I want you to believe that I don't blame you in the least; it is quite impossible that I could care for you any longer, or that I could consent to remain your promised wife; indeed, I am sorry, very, very sorry, that we should have met. If I had known all that I know now, I would rather have died than have let you speak a word of love to me.

"So it is 'good-by' forever. Please do not make it harder for me by writing to me or attempting to see me—but I know that you have cared, perhaps still care enough for me not to do so. Nothing would induce me to renew our engagement, though I shall always think kindly of you, and wish you well. I return the ring you gave me. You will let me keep the silver pencil as a souvenir of one who will always remain as, but can never be more than, a friend.

"Yours,Eleanor Lorton."

Men take the blows of Fate in various fashions. Drake's way was to take his punishment with as little fuss as possible. His face went very white, and his nostrils contracted, just as they would have done if he had come an ugly cropper over a piece of timber.

"Where—where is Nell?" he asked, in so changed and strained a voice that Dick started, and gaped at him, aghast.

"She's——Didn't I tell you? Didn't she tell you? She's gone——"

"Gone!" repeated Drake dully.

"Yes; she's gone to London, to some relations of ours—that is, mamma's, you know!"

Drake didn't know where she had gone, but he thought he understood why she had gone. She meant to abide by her resolution to break with him. Her love had changed to distrust, perhaps—God knew!—to actual dislike.

He turned to the horse and mechanically arranged the bridle.

"It—it doesn't matter," he said. "I'll take the horse down. Oh, by the way, Dick, I may have to go to London to-night."

"What, you, too!" said Dick. "I say, there's nothing serious the matter, is there? It's only a lovers' tiff, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid not," said Drake, as calmly as he could. "See here, Dick, we won't talk about it; I can't. Your—your sister has broken our engagement——Hold on! there's no use discussing it. She's quite right. Do you hear? She's quite right," he repeated, with a sudden fierceness. "Everything she says is right. I—I admit it. I am to blame."

"Why, that's what she said!" exclaimed the mystified and somewhat exasperated Dick.

"What she has said is true—too true," continued Drake; "and there's no more to be said. When you write—if you see her, tell her that—that—I obey her—it's the least I can do—and that I won't—won't worry her. Her word, her wish, is law to me. And—and you may say I deserve it all. You may say, too, that——"

He broke off, and slowly, with the heaviness of a man become suddenly tired, got on his horse.

"No; say nothing, excepting that I obey her, and that I won't worry her. Good-by, Dick."

He held out his hand, and Dick, with an anxious face and bewildered eyes, clung to it.

"Here, I say, Drake; this is awful! You don't mean to say it's 'good-by'! I don't understand."

"I'm afraid it is," said Drake, pulling himself together, and forcing a smile. "I'm sorry to leave you, Dick; you and I have been good friends; but—well, the best of friends must part. I shall have gone to-night. I can catch the train. Look up Bardsley & Bardsley."

With a nod—the nod which we give nowadays when we are saying farewell with a broken heart—he turned the horse down the hill and rode away.

He tossed his things into a portmanteau, got the one available trap to carry them to the station, and caught the night mail. At Salisbury he changed for Southampton, and reached that flourishing port the next morning.

The sailing master of the Seagull happened to be on board when the owner of that well-known yacht was rowed alongside, and he hastened to the side and touched his hat as Drake climbed the ladder.

"Did you wire, my lord?" he asked. "I haven't had anything."

"No; I came rather unexpectedly," said Drake quietly. "Is everything ready?"

"Quite, my lord, or nearly so. I think we could sail, say, in half a dozen hours."

Drake nodded.

"If my cabin is ready, I'll go below and change," he said. "We'll sail as soon as possible."

"Certainly, my lord. Where are we bound for?" asked Mr. Murphy, in as casual a manner as he could manage; for, though he was used to short notice, this, to quote his expression to the mate later on, "took the cake."

Drake looked absently at the sky line.

"Oh, the Mediterranean, I suppose," he said listlessly. He stood for a moment with his hand upon the rail of the saloon steps, and Mr. Murphy ventured to inquire:

"Quite well, I hope, my lord?" for there was a pallor on his lordship's face which caused the worthy skipper a vague uneasiness. He had seen his master under various and peculiar circumstances, but had never seen him look quite like this.

"Perfectly well and fit, thanks, captain," said Drake. "Will you have a cigar? Wind will just suit us, will it not?"

About the same time Nell's cab arrived at Wolfer House, Egerton Square. There were several other cabs and carriages standing in a line opposite the house, and Nell's cab had to wait some little time before it could set her down; but at last she was able to alight, and a footman escorted her and her box into a large and rather gloomy hall. He seemed somewhat surprised by her box, and eyed her doubtfully as she inquired for Lady Wolfer.

"Lady Wolfer? Yes, miss. Her ladyship is in the dining room. The meeting is now on. Perhaps you had better walk in."

Sharing the man's hesitation, Nell followed him to the door. As he opened it, the sound of a woman's voice, thin, yet insistent and rasping, came out to meet her. She saw that the room was crowded. Nearly all who were present were women—women of various ages, but all with some peculiarity of manner or dress which struck Nell at the very first moment. But there were some men present—men with fat and rather flabby faces, men small and feeble in appearance, men long-haired and smooth-shaven.

At the end of the room, behind a small table, stood a woman, still young, dressed in a tailor-made suit of masculine pattern and cut. Her hair was pretty in color and texture, but it was cut almost close, and just touched the collar of her covert coat. She wore a bowler hat, her gloves were on the table in front of her—thick, dogskin gloves, like a man's. She held a roll of paper in her hand, which was bare of rings, though feminine enough in size and shape. A pince-nez was balanced on her nose, and her chin—really a pretty chin—was held high in an aggressive manner.

Nell had an idea that this was Lady Wolfer, and she edged as close to the wall as she could, and watched and listened to the speaker with a natural curiosity and anxiety.

"To conclude," the orator was saying, with a wave of the roll of paper and a jerk of the chin, "to conclude, we are banded together to wage a war against our old tyrant—a war of equity and right. Oh, my sisters, do not let us falter, do not let us return the sword to the scabbard until we have cleaved our way to that goal toward which the eyes of suffering womanhood have been drawn since the gospel of equal rights for both sexes sounded its first evangel!"

It was evidently the close, the peroration, of the speech; there was a burst of applause, much clapping of hands, and immediately afterward a kind of stampede to some tables, behind which a couple of footmen were preparing to dispense light refreshments.

Nell, much mystified, and rather shy and frightened, remained where she was; and she was just upon the point of inquiring for Lady Wolfer, when the recent speaker came down the room, talking with one and another of the presumably less hungry mob, and catching sight of Nell's slight and rather shrinking figure, advanced toward her.

"This is a new disciple, I suppose," she said, smiling through her eyeglasses.

"I—I wish to see Lady Wolfer," said Nell, trying not to blush.

"I am Lady Wolfer," said the youngish lady with the short hair and mannish suit; and she spoke in a gentler voice than Nell would have been inclined to credit her with.

"I am—I am Nell Lorton."

Lady Wolfer looked puzzled for a moment; then she laughed and held out her hand.

"Really? Why, how young and——" She was going to say "pretty," but stopped in time. "Did you wire? But of course you did. I must have forgotten. I have such a mass of correspondence!" She laughed again. "I thought you were a new disciple! Come with me!"

And, with what struck Nell as scant courtesy, her ladyship left the other ladies, took her by the hand, and led her out of the room.