Nell woke with that sickening sense of loss which all of us have experienced—that is, all of us who have gone to bed with sorrow lying heavily upon our hearts. The autumnal sun was pouring in through the windows, the birds were singing; some of them waiting on the tree outside for the crumbs which Nell had been in the habit, ever since she was a child, of throwing to them. Even in her misery of last night she had not forgotten the birds; in the misery of her awakening she remembered them, and went unsteadily to the lattice window.

The keen air, as it blew upon her face, brought the full consciousness of the sorrow that had befallen her.

Yesterday morning she was the happiest girl in all the world; this morning she was the most wretched.

She put her hands to her face, as if some one had struck her, and she called all her woman's courage to meet and combat her trouble. The bright world seemed pressing down upon her heavily, the shrill notes of the birds clamoring their gratitude as they greedily fought for the crumbs, pierced through her head. She swayed to and fro, as if she were about to fall; for, in the young, mental anguish produces an absolute physical pain, and her head as well as her heart was aching.

She would have liked to have thrown herself upon the bed, but Dick would be clamoring for his breakfast presently, and Mrs. Lorton would want her chocolate. Life is a big wheel, and one has to push it round, though its edges are set with spikes of steel, and our hands are torn in the effort to keep it moving.

As she dressed herself with trembling hands, she kept saying to herself—her lips quivering with the unspoken words:

"I have lost Drake—I have lost Drake; I have got to bear it!"

He would be here presently—or, perhaps, he would not come. Perhaps he would write to her. And yet, no; that would not be like him; he was no coward; he would come and tell her the truth, would ask her to forgive him.

And what should she say? Yes; she would forgive him; she would make no "scene" with him; she would not utter one word of reproach, but just tell him that he was free. She would even smile, if she could; would assure him that she was not going to break her heart because the woman he had loved before he had met her—Nell—had won him back. After all, he was not to blame. How could any man resist such a woman as Lady Luce? She—Nell—was just an interlude in his life's story; he had thought himself in love with her; and, perhaps, if this beautiful creature, before whom all hearts seemed to go down, had not desired to lure him back, he would have remained faithful to the "little girl" whom he had chanced to meet at that "out-of-the-way place in Devonshire, don't you know." Nell could almost hear Lady Luce referring to the episode in these terms, if ever it should come to her ears.

No; there should be no scene. She would give him both her hands, would say "good-by" quite calmly, and would then take her broken heart to the solitude of her own room, and try to begin to repair it.

Dick shouted for his breakfast, and she went downstairs. He was busy reading a letter, and his face was full of eagerness, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"I say, Nell, what a good chap Drake is!" he exclaimed. "He never said a word to me about it; but he's been worrying Bardsley & Bardsley for weeks past, and they've written to say that they think they can take me on. Just think of it! Bardsley & Bardsley! The biggest firm in the engineering line! Drake must have a great deal of influence; and I don't know how on earth he managed it. I didn't know he knew any one connected with the profession. It's a most splendid chance, you know!"

Nell went round beside him, and laid her hand upon his shoulder.

"I am very glad, Dick," she said.

Something in her voice must have struck him, for he looked up at her quickly, and with surprise.

"Why, what's the matter, Nell?" he asked.

"Nothing," she said. "I have a headache."

"Just so. 'After the opera is over,' you know. That's the penalty one pays for one's first dance. And you were queer last night, too, weren't you? Why didn't you lie in bed?"

"Never mind me," said Nell. "Tell me about this letter. When are you going, Dick?"

A fresh pang smote her. Was she going to lose the boy as well?

"Oh, they don't say," he replied. "They're going to let me know. They may send me abroad; you can't tell. What a good chap Drake is, and what a lot we owe him? Upon my word, Nell, you're a lucky girl to have got hold of such a fellow for your young man."

Nell turned away with a sickening pain about her heart. No; she would not tell the boy at this moment. She wouldn't spoil his happiness with the wet blanket of her own misery. She must even, when she came to tell him, make light of the broken engagement, take the blame upon herself, and prevent any rupture of the friendship between Drake and Dick.

He was almost too excited to eat any breakfast; certainly too excited to notice Nell's untouched cup and plate.

"I must see Drake about this at once," he said. "I think I'll go down and meet him. He's sure to be coming up here, isn't he?" he added, with a bantering smile; and Nell actually tried to smile back at him.

As she took the chocolate up to Mrs. Lorton, she tried to put her own trouble out of her head, and to think only of Dick's good fortune. How she had longed for some such chance as this to come to the boy, and now it had come. But who had sent it? Drake! Well, all the more reason that she should forgive him, and utter no word of reproach or bitterness.

"You are ten minutes late, Eleanor!" said Mrs. Lorton peevishly. "And, good heavens! what a sight you look! If one late night has this effect upon you, what would half a dozen have? I am quite sure that I never looked half as haggard and colorless as you do, even when I'd been through a whole season." For a moment the good lady was quite convinced that she had been a fashionable belle. "I should advise you to keep out of Drake's sight for an hour or two; at any rate, until you have got some color in your face, and your eyes have ceased to look like boiled gooseberries."

The mention of Drake brought the color to Nell's face quickly enough, but for an instant only. It was white again, as she resolved to tell Mrs. Lorton that the engagement was broken off.

"It doesn't matter, mamma," she said; and she tried to smile.

Mrs. Lorton stared at her over the chocolate.

"Doesn't matter?" she echoed. "You think he's so madly in love with you that it doesn't matter how you look, I suppose? Don't lay that flattering unction to your soul, Eleanor. I've known many an engagement broken off in consequence of the man coming suddenly upon the girl when she had a bad cold and had got a red nose and eyes."

"Perhaps I've had a bad cold without knowing it, mamma, and Drake must have come upon me when my nose and eyes were appallingly red, for our engagement—is—broken—off."

Mrs. Lorton nearly dropped the cup of chocolate, and stared and gasped like a fish out of water.

"Broken off!" she exclaimed. "Take this cup away! Give me the sal volatile. Open the window! No, don't open the window! What are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?"

Nell took the cup, got the sal volatile, and soothed the flustered woman in a mechanical fashion.

"Hush, hush, mamma!" she said. "I don't want Dick to know yet."

"But why—how——What have you been doing?" demanded Mrs. Lorton; and Nell could have laughed.

"Nothing very bad, mamma," she said.

"But you must have," insisted Mrs. Lorton. "Of course it's your fault."

"Is it absolutely necessary that there should be any fault?" said Nell wearily. "But let us say that it is my fault. Perhaps it is!" She laughed unconsciously, and with a touch of bitterness. "What does it matter whose fault it is? The reason isn't of any consequence at all; the fact is the only important thing, and it is a fact that our engagement is broken. It was broken last night, and I tell you at once, mamma; and I want to beg you not to ask me any questions. Drake—Mr. Vernon—will no doubt go away to-day, and we shan't see him any more." She went to the window to arrange the blind, and Mrs. Lorton didn't see the twitching of the white lips which spoke so calmly. "And I want to forget him; I want you, too, to try and forget him, and not to remind me of him by a single word. It was very foolish, my thinking that he cared for me——Oh, I can't say another word——"

She stopped suddenly, her hands writhing together.

Mrs. Lorton stared at the counterpane with a half-sly, half-speculative expression in her faded eyes.

"After all," she said meditatively, "it was not such a particularly good match. One knows nothing about him or his people, and—and I suppose you've not felt quite satisfied. Yes, perhaps you might do better. You may have some chances now. You've read the letter, and made up your mind, of course?"

"The letter?" echoed Nell stupidly.

Mrs. Lorton stared at her angrily, and with a flush of resentment on her peevish face.

"The letter I gave you last night, of course," she said. "Do you mean to tell me that you haven't read it? The most important letter I have ever received! At least, it is of the greatest importance to you. It is from my cousin, Lord Wolfer. What have you done with it, Eleanor?"

Nell put her hand to her head.

"I must have left it in my room," she said. "I will go and fetch it."

Mrs. Lorton snorted.

"Such gross carelessness and indifference is really shameful!" she flung after Nell.

Nell found the letter beside the bed, and returned with it to Mrs. Lorton's room.

"Why, it's all crumpled up, as if you had been playing shuttlecock with it!" exclaimed Mrs. Lorton indignantly. "It is absolutely disrespectful of you, not to say ungrateful. Read it, if you please, and slowly; I could not bear to have my cousin's letter gabbled over. I, at least, know what is due to a Wolfer."

It was a moment or two before Nell's burning eyes could accomplish the task of deciphering the lines of handwriting which seemed to have been formed by a paralytic spider that had fallen into the ink and scrambled spasmodically across the paper. There was no need to tell her to read slowly, and she stumbled over every other word of the letter, which ran thus:

"My Dear Sophia: You will doubtless be surprised at hearing from me, and, indeed, I should not have written, for, as you are aware, my time is fully occupied with public affairs, and I rarely write private letters; but I have promised Lady Wolfer to communicate with you directly, as, for obvious reasons, which you will presently see, she does not desire my secretary to know of the proposal which I am about to make you; as, in the event of your declining the proposition, there would be no need for the fact of its having been made to become the common knowledge of my household and the servants' hall. As you are doubtless aware, by reading the public prints, Lady Wolfer takes a great interest and a prominent part in the movement which is being made toward the amelioration of the position of woman; indeed, I may say, with pardonable pride, that she is one of the great leaders in this social revolution, which, we trust, will place woman upon the throne from which man has hitherto thrust her.

"This being so, Lady Wolfer's time is, as you will readily understand, much absorbed; so completely, indeed, that she is unable to pay any attention to those smaller and meaner; household cares to which women less highly gifted very properly devote so much of their time. Having no daughter of our own, it occurred to us that it might, perhaps, be a beneficial arrangement for your stepdaughter, Miss Lorton, if she would come to us and render Lady Wolfer such assistance as is afforded by the ordinary housekeeper. You will say: Why not engage a duly qualified person for the post? I reply: We have done so, and do not find the ordinary person, though apparently duly qualified, satisfactory. Lady Wolfer is of an extremely sensitive and delicate organization, and it is absolutely necessary that the person with whom she would be brought in daily contact should be young and docile.

"I have referred to the photograph of Miss Lorton which you were good enough to send me some months ago, and you will be pleased to hear that Lady Wolfer approves of the young lady's personal appearance. I take it for granted—you, her guardian, being a Wolfer—that she has been properly trained; and if she should be willing to come to us on what is termed a month's trial, we shall be very pleased to receive her. She may come at any moment, and without any notice beyond a mere telegram. I will not speak of the advantages accruing from such a position as that which she would hold, for I am quite sure you will be duly sensible of them, and will point them out to her.

"I trust that you are in good health, and with best wishes for your prosperity and happiness,

"I remain, dear Sophia, yours very truly,

"Wolfer.

"P. S.—I omitted to say that I should be pleased to pay Miss Lorton an honorarium of fifty guineas per annum."

At another time Nell would have found it difficult to refrain from laughing at the stilted phraseology of the letter, at the pomposity with which the proposal was made, and the meanness which strove to hide itself in a postscript; but a Punch and Judy show would have seemed a funereal performance at that moment, and she stared as blankly at the letter when she had finished it as if she had been reading some language which had no meaning for her.

Mrs. Lorton emitted a cough of self-satisfaction.

"It is extremely kind and thoughtful of my Cousin Wolfer," she said; "and I must say that I think you are an extremely fortunate girl, Eleanor, to have had such an offer made you. Of course, if you had been still engaged to Mr. Vernon, you would have been obliged to have sent a refusal to Lord Wolfer; but, as it is, I presume you will not hesitate for a moment, but will jump at such an opportunity."

Nell looked before her blankly, and remained silent.

"It will be a chance such as few girls of your position ever meet with; for, of course, when my cousin speaks of a housekeeper, he does not wish us to infer that you would be expected to take the position of a menial. No; he will not forget that though you are not my daughter, I married your father, and that you are, therefore, connected with the family. Of course, you will go into society, you will meet the elite and the crÈme de la crÈme, and will, therefore, enjoy advantages similar to those which I enjoyed, but which I, alas! threw away. Really, when one comes to consider it, this breach of your engagement with this Mr. Vernon is quite providential, as it removes the only obstacle to your accepting my cousin's noble offer."

Nell woke with a start when the stream of self-complacent comment had ceased, and realized that she was being asked to decide. What should she do? To leave Shorne Mills, to go into the world among strangers, to enter a big house as a poor relation—she shrank from the prospect for a moment, then she nerved herself to face it. After all, she could never be happy at Shorne Mills again. Every tree, every rock, every human being would remind her of Drake, of the lover she had lost. With Dick gone, there would be nothing for her to do, nothing to distract her mind from the perpetual brooding over the few past weeks of happiness, and the long, gray life before her. With these people there would be sure to be some work for her, something that would save her from spending every hour in futile regret and hopeless longing.

"Well, Eleanor?" demanded Mrs. Lorton impatiently.

"I have made up my mind; I will go," said Nell.

Mrs. Lorton flushed eagerly.

"Of course you will," she said. "It would be wicked and ungrateful to neglect such a chance. When will you go? Fortunately, you have some new clothes, and you will get what else you want in London. There are one or two things I should like you to get for me. You could pick them up at some of the sales; they are all on now, and things are sold ridiculously cheap. And, Eleanor, be sure and send me a full description of Lady Wolfer's dresses. You might snip off a pattern, perhaps. And I shall want to hear all about the people who go to the house, and the dinner parties and entertainments. I should say that it is not at all unlikely that Lady Wolfer may ask me to go and stay there. Of course, she will be curious to know what I am like—have I mentioned that we have never met?—and you will tell her that I—I—have been accustomed to the society in which she moves; and you might say that you are sure the change will do me good. Write often, and be sure and tell me about the dresses."

"But I shall leave you all alone, mamma," said Eleanor. "Are you sure you won't be lonely?"

Mrs. Lorton drew a long sigh, and assumed the air of a martyr.

"You know me too well to think that I should allow my selfish comfort to stand in the way of your advancement, Eleanor. Of course, I shall miss you. But do not think of that. Let us think only of your welfare. I shall have Molly, and must be content."

Nell checked a sigh at the evident affectation of the profession. It was not in Mrs. Lorton to miss any human being so long as her own small comforts were assured.

"Then I think I will go at once—to-night," said Nell. "Why should I not? They want me—some one—at once, and——"

"Certainly," assented Mrs. Lorton eagerly. "I should go at once. You will write immediately, and tell me what the house is like, and the dresses."

Nell went downstairs, feeling rather confused and bewildered by the sudden change in her life. She was to have been Drake's wife; she was now to be—what was it, companion, housekeeper?—to Lady Wolfer!

Dick met her at the bottom of the stairs.

"I can't find Drake," he said, of course, with an injured air. "They say he left the cottage early this morning—they thought he was coming up here, as usual; but he hasn't been, has he?"

Nell shook her head.

"See, Dick, I've some news for you," she said. "I am going to London."

She gave him the letter to read, and he read it, with a running commentary of indignant and scoffing exclamations.

"Of all the pompous, stuck-up letters, it's the worst I ever imagined! And you say you're going? Oh, but look here! What will Drake say?"

Nell turned away.

"I don't think he will object," she said, almost inaudibly.

Dick stared at her.

"Look here, young party, what is up between you two? Is there anything wrong? Oh, dash it! don't look as if I'd said there was a ghost behind you! What is it?"

"Drake—Drake and I are not going to be married," she said, trying to smile, but breaking down in the attempt. "We—we have agreed—to—to part!"

Dick uttered a low whistle, and gazed at her, aghast.

"All off!" he said. "Phew! Why—when—how?"

She began to collect some of her small belongings—a tiny workbasket, some books, and such like, and answered as she moved to and fro, studiously keeping her face turned away from him:

"I can't tell you; don't ask me, Dick. Don't—don't ask him. It—it is all right. It is all for the best, as mamma would say; and—and——" She went behind him and laid her hand on his shoulder, her favorite attitude when she was serious or pleading. "And mind, Dick, it is to make no difference between you—and Drake. It—is—yes, it is all my fault. I—I was foolish and——"

She could bear no more; and, with a quick movement of her hand to her throat, hastened from the room.

Dick looked after her ruefully for a moment or two, then his face cleared, and he winked to himself.

"What an ass I am to be upset by a lovers' quarrel. Of course, it's all in the game. The other business would pall after a time if there wasn't a little of this kind of thing chucked in for a change. I wonder whether that jolly girl, Miss Angel, will come down to the lunch? Now, there's a girl no chap could have even a lovers' quarrel with. Poor old Drake! Bet I shall find 'em billing and cooing as usual when I come back," And Dick grinned as he marched off with his gun.