Lord Wolfer stood, with his hand resting upon the table, in silence for a moment or two, regarding Nell, no longer sternly, but with an expression of pity which was novel in him. Nell sat with her head resting in her hands, her eyes downcast. She was still pale, but her lips were set firmly, as if she were prepared for rebuke and reproach.

"Do not be afraid," he said, at last. "I have not returned to—to blame you. You are too young to understand the peril—perhaps, too, the sin—of the step which you meditated taking. I am a man of the world, and I can appreciate the temptation to which you have been subjected. Sir Archie—well, all the world knows that such men are difficult to resist, and—and your inexperience betrayed you. I know the arts by which he gained your affections and hoped to mislead you."

It was almost more than she could bear; but Nell set her teeth hard and held her breath; for she felt it well-nigh impossible to resist the aching longing to utter the cry of the unjustly accused. "I am innocent—innocent!" But she remembered the unhappy woman whom she had saved, and suffered in silence.

"That you bitterly regret your—your weakness I am convinced," said Lord Wolfer; "and I am quite satisfied with your promise that you will not see him—I wish I could add, not think of him—again. He is a dangerous man, Miss Lorton"—he paused and paced to the window, and his lips twitched—"such men are a peril to every woman upon whom they—they chance to set their fickle fancy. At one time—yes, I owe it to you to be candid—at one time I feared"—he stopped again, and drummed upon the windowsill with his forefinger—"I feared he was paying Lady Wolfer too much attention. Even now I am not sure that my fears were groundless. He came to the house frequently, and was at my wife's side perpetually, before you came."

Nell held her breath. Had her sacrifice been in vain? Had he got an inkling of the truth? But he went on sternly and in a low voice:

"If there were any reason for my suspicions, it is evident that he transferred his affections to you. It is a terrible thing to say, but—but I feel as if—as if—your presence here had averted a dreadful catastrophe from us. Yes; that letter might have been meant for my wife, and I might have found her here instead of you. Do not think it heartless of me if I say that, deeply as I sympathize with you and grieve for your—your trouble, I am relieved—relieved of an awful apprehension on—on Lady Wolfer's account. I have suffered a great deal during the past few months."

"Yes," said Nell, forgetting her own misery in sympathy for him.

He looked at her quickly.

"You have noticed it?"

Nell inclined her head.

"I have lived in the house—I have seen——" she faltered.

He nodded once or twice.

"Yes; I suppose that you could not help seeing that there has been a—a gulf between us; that we are not as other, happier, husbands and wives."

He sighed, and passed his hand across his brow wearily.

"But we are not the only couple who, living in the same house, are asunder. I am not the only man who has to endure, secretly and with a smiling face, the fact that his wife does not care for him."

Nell raised her head, and the color came to her pale face.

"You are wrong—wrong!" she said, in a low voice, but eagerly.

"Wrong? I beg your pardon?" he said gravely.

"It is all a terrible mistake," said Nell. "She does care for you. Oh, yes, yes! It is you who have been blind; it is your fault. It is hers, too; but you are the man, and it is your place to speak—to tell her that you love her——"

He reddened as he turned to her with a curious eagerness and surprise.

"I don't understand you," he said, with a shake in his voice. "Do you mean me to infer that—that I have been under a delusion in thinking that my wife——"

Nell rose and stretched out her hands with a gesture of infinite weariness.

"Oh, how blind you are!" she said, almost impatiently. "You think that she does not care for you, and she thinks that of you, and you are both in love with each other."

His face glowed, and a strange brightness—the glow of hope—shone in his eyes.

"Take care!" he said huskily. "You—you use words lightly, perhaps unthinkingly——"

Nell laughed, with a kind of weary irritation.

"I am telling you the truth; I am trying to open your eyes," she said. "She loves you."

"Why—why do you think so? Have you ever heard her address a word to me that had a note of tenderness in it?"

"Have you ever addressed such a word to her?" retorted Nell.

He started, and gazed at her confusedly.

"You have always treated her as if she were a mere acquaintance, some one who was of no consequence to you. Oh, yes, you have been polite, kind, in a way, but not in a way a woman wants. I am only a girl, but—but"—she thought again of Drake, of her own love story, and her lips trembled—"but I have seen enough of the world to know that there is nothing which will hurt and harden a woman more than the 'kindness' with which you have treated her. I think—I don't know, but I think if I cared for a man, I would rather that he should beat me than treat me as if I were just a mere acquaintance whom he was bound to treat politely. And did you think that it was she who was to show her heart? No; a woman would rather die than do that. It is the man who must speak, who must tell her, ask her for her love. And you haven't, have you, Lord Wolfer?"

He put his hand to his brow and bit his lips.

"God forgive me!" he murmured. Then he looked at her steadily. "Yes, you have opened my eyes! Heaven grant that I may see this thing as you see it! Heaven grant it! My dear"—his voice shook with his gratitude—"where—where did you learn this wisdom, this knowledge of the human heart?"

Nell drew a long breath painfully, and her gray eyes grew dark.

"It isn't wisdom," she said wearily. "Any schoolgirl knows as much, would see what I have seen—though a man might not. You have been too busy, too taken up with politics—politics!—and she—she has tried to forget her troubles in lecturing, and meetings and committees. And all the while her heart was aching with longing, with longing for just one word from you."

The earl turned his head aside.

"Ah! if you doubt it still, go to her!" said Nell. "Go and ask her!"

"I will," he said, raising his head, his eyes glowing. "I will go."

He moved to the door, then stopped and came back to her; he had forgotten her, forgotten the tragic scene in which he had just taken part.

"I beg your pardon! Forgive me! It was ungrateful of me to forget your trouble, my dear!"

Nell made a gesture of indifference.

"It does not matter," she said dully. "I—I will go."

"Go?" he said.

"Yes. I will go—leave the house at once. I could not stay."

She looked round as if the walls were closing in on her.

Wolfer knit his brows perplexedly.

"I—I do not like the idea of your going. Where will you go?"

"Home," she said; and the word struck across her heart and almost sent the tears to her eyes.

He went to the window and came back again.

"If—if you think it best," he said doubtfully. "I know that—that it must be painful to you to remain here, that the associations of this house——"

"Yes—yes," said Nell, almost impatiently.

"I need not say—indeed, I know that I need not—that no word of—of what has occurred this morning will ever pass my lips," he said in a low voice.

Nell looked up swiftly.

"Yes. Promise me, promise me on your honor that you will not tell Lady Wolfer!" she said.

"I promise," said the earl solemnly.

Nell glanced at the clock and mechanically took up her gloves, which she had torn from her hands.

"I will go straight to the station."

"You do not wish to see Ada?" he said, speaking of his wife by her Christian name, for the first time in Nell's hearing.

"No," she said, quietly but firmly.

"Perhaps it is best," he murmured. "I will order a carriage for you—you will have something to eat?"

"No, no; I will not! The carriage, please! Tell—tell Lady Wolfer that I had to go home suddenly. Tell her anything—but the truth."

He inclined his head; then he went to the bureau and took out some notes.

"You will let me give you these?" he asked, very humbly and anxiously.

Nell looked at the money with a dull indifference.

"What is owing to me, please. No more," she said.

"If I gave you that, it would leave me beggared," he said gravely. "Please give me your purse."

He folded some notes and put them in her purse, and held out his hand.

"You will let me go to the station?" he asked.

"No, no!" said Nell. "I would rather go alone."

"You are not afraid?" he ventured, in a low voice.

Nell was puzzled for a minute; then she understood that he meant afraid of Sir Archie. It was the last straw, and she broke down under it; but, instead of bursting into tears, she laughed—so wild, so eerie a laugh, that Wolfer was alarmed. But the laugh ceased suddenly, and she lowered her veil. He held out his hand again, and held hers in a warm and grateful grasp.

"God bless you, my dear!" he said. "If you are right, I—I shall owe my life's happiness to you!"

Nell went up to her room and told Burden to pack a small hand bag. "I am going away for a few days," she said; and though she endeavored to speak easily, the maid looked at her anxiously.

"Not bad news, miss, I hope?" she said.

"No; oh, no!" replied Nell.

The earl was waiting for her in the hall, and put her into the brougham; and he stood and looked after the carriage with conflicting emotions.

Then he went upstairs, and, after pausing for a moment or two, knocked at his wife's door.

"It is I," he said.

He heard her cross the room, and presently she opened the door. She was in her dressing robe, and she looked at him as if she were trying to keep her surprise from revealing itself in her face.

"May I come in?" he said, his color coming and going. "I—I want to speak to you."

She opened the door wide, and he entered and closed it after him.

She moved to the dressing table, and took up a toilet bottle in an aimless fashion.

"I have come to tell you that I have to go abroad," he said. He had thought out what he would say, but his voice sounded strange and forced, and, by reason of his agitation, graver even than usual.

"Yes," she said, with polite interest. "When do you go?"

"To-day—at once," he said. "Can you be ready in time for us to catch the afternoon mail?"

She turned her head and looked at him. The sun had come out, and shone through the muslin curtains upon her pretty face and soft brown hair.

"I!" she said, surprised and startled. "I! Do you want me to go?"

"Yes," he said.

He stood, his eyes fixed on hers, his brows knit in suspense and anxiety.

"Why?" she asked.

He came a little nearer, but did not stretch out his hands, though he longed to do so.

"Because—I want you," he replied.

She looked at him, and something in his eyes, something new, strange, and perplexing, made her heart beat fast, and caused the blood to rush to her face.

"You—want—me?" she said, in a low voice, which quavered. Its tremor drew him to her, and he held out his arms.

"Yes; I have wanted you—I have always wanted you. Ada, forgive me! Come to me!"

She half yielded, then she shrank back, her face white, her eyes full of remorse and something like fear.

"You—you don't know!" she panted.

"Yes, I know all—enough!" he said. "It was my fault as much—more than yours. Forgive me, Ada! Let us forget the past; let us begin our lives from to-day—this hour! No, don't speak! It is not necessary to say a word. Don't let us look back, but forward—forward! Ada, I love you! I have loved you all along, but I was a fool and blind; but my eyes are opened, and——Do you care for me? Or is it too late?"

She closed her eyes, and seemed as if about to fall, but he caught her in his arms, and, with a sob, she hid her face on his breast, weeping passionately.

Nell sank into a corner of the luxurious carriage, and stared vacantly before her. The reaction had set in, and she felt bewildered and confused. She was leaving Wolfer House "under a cloud." For all her life one person, at least—Lord Wolfer—would deem her guilty of misconduct. She shuddered and closed her eyes. How should she account to mamma for her sudden return? Then she tried to console herself, to ease her aching heart with the thought of the meeting, the reconciliation of the husband and wife. She had not sacrificed herself in vain, not in vain!

What did it matter that the earl deemed her guilty? As she had said, she was nobody, a girl for whom no one cared. She was going back to Shorne Mills. Well, thank God for that! In six hours she would be home. Home! Her heart ached at the word, ached with the longing for rest and peace.

She found that a train did not start until three, and she walked up and down the station for some time, trying to forget her unhappiness in the bustle and confusion which, even at the end of this nineteenth century, make traveling a burden and a trial.

Presently she began to feel faint rather than hungry, and she went into the refreshment room and asked for a glass of milk. While she was drinking it a gentleman came in. She saw that it was Lord Wolfer, and set down the glass and waited. The man seemed totally changed. The sternness had disappeared from his face, and his eyes were bright with his newly found happiness.

"Why have you come?" she asked dully.

"I had to," he said. "I—I wanted to tell you—you were right—yes, you were right! I was blind. We were both blind! We are going abroad to-day—together. She has asked for you—almost directly—almost as if she—she suspected that you had brought us together! I told her that you had been sent for by Sophia. I wish you were not going; I wish you were coming with us!"

Nell shook her head wearily; and he nodded. He seemed years younger; and his old stiffness had disappeared from his manner, the grave solemnity from his voice.

"That is my train," said Nell.

He looked at her wistfully, as if he longed to take her back with him, but Nell walked resolutely down the platform, and he put her into a first-class compartment. Then he got some papers and magazines, and laid them on the seat beside her. It was evident that he did not know how sufficiently to express his gratitude.

"Your going is the only alloy to my—our happiness!" he said.

Nell smiled drearily.

"You will soon forget me," she could not help saying.

"Never! Don't think that!" he said. "Have you wired to say that you are coming?"

Nell shook her head.

"I will do so," he said.

The guard made his last inspection of the carriages, and Wolfer held her hand.

"Good-by," he said. "And—and thank you!"

The words were conventional enough, but Nell understood, and was comforted.

As the train left the station, the boys from the book stall came along with the early edition of the evening papers.

"Paper, miss?" asked one, standing on the step. "Evening paper? Sudden death of the Hearl of Hangleford!"

But Nell had no desire for an evening paper, and, shaking her head, sank back with a sigh.