The day following a big dance is always a slack one, and the house party at Anglemere came down late for breakfast, the last stragglers endeavoring to screen their yawns behind their hands, and receiving the usual "plans for the day" with marked coolness.

Drake, though he had slept but little, did his duty manfully, and proposed sundry rides and drives; but the majority of the party seemed to prefer a lounge in the drawing-room, or a quiet saunter in the garden; but eventually a drag started for some picturesque ruins, and some of the more energetic rode or drove to a flower show in the neighborhood.

It is an understood thing nowadays that your host, having provided for your amusement, is not necessarily compelled to join in your pursuits; in short, that his house shall not only be Liberty Hall for his guests, but for himself, and Drake, having dispatched the various parties, started a quiet game in the billiard room, and seen that the drawing-room windows were open and shaded, took his hat and stick and went out for a walk.

Lady Luce had not yet put in an appearance. She remained in bed or in her room on such occasions, and only sallied forth in time for luncheon, thereby presenting a fresh complexion and bright eyes with which to confound her less prudent sisters.

Drake had been thinking of her as well as of Nell. He knew that he would have to marry. The present heir to the title and estates was anything but a desirable young man, and it behooved Drake to keep him out of the succession if possible.

Drake, with all his freedom from pride and side, was fully sensible of the altitude of his position, and he knew the world looked to him for an heir to Angleford.

Yes, he would have to marry, and as he had lost Nell, why, not marry Luce? He had an idea that she cared for him, as much as she cared for any other than herself, and he knew that she would fill the place as well as, if not better than, another.

Their names had been coupled together. Society expected the match. Why should he not ask her to renew the engagement, and ask her at once? The house would be comparatively empty, for most of the guests would not return until dinner time, and he would have the opportunity of making his proposal.

He stopped dead short, half resolved to obey the impulse; then, after the manner of men, he walked on again, and away from Anglemere, and, instead of returning to the house in time for lunch, found himself at one of the outlying farms.

It is needless to say that he was accorded a hearty welcome. They did not fuss over him; the Anglemere tenants were prosperous and self-respecting; and though they regarded their lord and master as a kind of sovereign, and felt greatly honored by his presence under their roof, there was nothing servile in their attentions.

Drake sat down to the midday meal with a ruddy-cheeked child on each side of him, and chatted with the farmer and his wife, the farmer eating his well-earned dinner with his usual appetite, the latter waiting on them with assiduity and perfect composure. Now and again Drake made a joke for the sake of the children, who laughed up at him with round eyes and open mouths; he discussed the breeding and price of poultry, the rival merits of the new churns and "separators" with the dame, and the prospects of the coming harvest with the good man. For a wonder the farmer did not grumble. The Anglefords were good landlords; there was no rack-renting, no ejections, and a farm falling vacant from natural causes was always eagerly tendered for.

After the meal, which Drake enjoyed exceedingly, he and the farmer sat at the open window with their pipes and a glass of whisky and water, and continued their conversation.

"I'm hearing that your lordship thinks of coming to Anglemere and living among us," said the farmer. "And I hope it's true, with all my heart. The land needs a master's presence—not that I've anything to complain of. Wood, the steward, has acted like a gentleman by me, and I hear no complaints of him among the neighbors. But all the same, it ain't like having the earl himself over us. It makes one's heart ache to see that great place shut up and empty most o' the year. Seems as if there ought to be some one living there pretty nigh always, and as if there ought to be little children running about the terrace an' the lawns. Begging your lordship's pardon, if I'm too free."

"That's all right, Styles," said Drake. "I know what you mean."

The farmer nodded, and stopped his pipe with his fat little finger.

"I make so bold because I remember your lordship a wee chap so high." He put his hand about eighteen inches from the floor, as usual. "And a rare, hot-spirited youngster you was! Many's the time you've made me lift you into the cart, and you'd allus insist upon driving, though the reins were most too thick for your hands. Well, my lord, what we feels is that we'd like to live long enough to see another little chap—a future lordship—a-running about the place."

Drake nodded gravely and took a drink. Even this simple fellow was aware of Drake's duty to the title and estates.

"Perhaps you may some day, Styles," he said, smiling, and checking the sigh.

The farmer nodded twice, with pleasure and satisfaction.

"Glad to hear it, my lord; and I hope the wedding's to be soon."

"Soon or late, I hope you will come and dance at the wedding ball, Styles," Drake responded, with a laugh, as he got up to go.

But the laugh was not a particularly happy one, and he walked toward home in anything but a cheerful mood; for it is hard to be compelled to have to marry one woman while you are in love with another.

He entered the park by the small gate behind which Ted and Burden had stood on the preceding night, and was treading his way through the wood when he saw two figures—those of a man and a girl—walking in the garden behind the south lodge. He glanced at them absently for a moment, then he stopped, and, leaning heavily on his stick, caught his breath.

The man was Falconer, and the girl was—Nell!

They were pacing up and down the path slowly, she with her eyes downcast, some flowers in her hands, he with his face turned toward her, a rapt look in his eyes, his hands, folded behind his back, twitching nervously. They turned full face to Drake as he stood watching them, and he saw her distinctly. It seemed marvelous to him that he had not fully recognized her last night, that he had not guessed that the young engineer was Dick. The blood rushed to his face, then left it pale, and he stood, unseen by them, gnawing at his mustache.

In all his musings on the past, all his thoughts and dreams of her, the possibility of her being engaged or married had never occurred to him. He had always pictured her as still "Nell of Shorne Mills," living at The Cottage as she had done when she and he were lovers.

And it was she—she, Nell!—to whom this musician was engaged! A wave of bitterness swept over him, and in the agony of his jealousy he could have laughed aloud.

He had been sighing for her, longing for her, feeding his soul on his memory of her, all these months, while she had not only forgotten him, but had learned to love another man!

He stood and stared at them, as if he saw them through a mist, too overwhelmed to move; but presently he saw Nell look up with tears in her eyes, and hold out her hand slowly, timidly.

Falconer took it and put his lips to it. The sight broke the spell that held Drake, and, with a muttered oath, he turned and walked away quickly through the wood toward the house.

The first dinner bell was ringing as he entered the hall. Most of the guests had gone up to dress, but one or two still lingered in the hall, and among them Lady Angleford and Lady Luce. The former came to meet him as he entered.

"Why, where have you been, Drake?" she said, with the little maternal manner with which she always addressed him.

Lady Luce was lounging in a chair, playing with a grayhound, and she looked up at him with a smile, then lowered her eyes, as if she were afraid their welcome should be too marked.

"I've been for a walk," he said. His face was flushed, his eyes bright—too bright—with suppressed emotion. "I've been lunching at the Styles' farm——"

"That's a long way! Aren't you tired? Will you have some tea? I'll get some made in a moment or two. Do!"

"No, no; thanks!" he said, as he pitched his cap on the stand. "It's too late."

As he spoke he went up to Lady Luce and looked down at her, his face still flushed, his eyes still unnaturally bright.

"What have you been doing with yourself, Luce?" he asked.

She glanced up at him for a moment, then lowered her eyes and drew the dog's sleek head close to her.

"I don't know," she said, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. "Nothing, I think. It has been an awfully long day."

"Luce has been bored to death, and—for once—has admitted it," said Lady Angleford, laughing. "Her yawns and sighs have been too awful for words."

He stood and looked down at her. She was perfectly dressed, and looked like a girl in the light frock, with its plain blouse and neat sailor knot. At any rate, if he married her he would have a beautiful wife; and that was something. That she loved him, was still more.

Now that he knew Nell had forgotten him, there was no reason why he should hesitate.

He bent lower, and his hand fell on the dog's head and touched hers.

"Luce!" he said.

She looked up, saw that the words she had been longing for were trembling on his lips, and her face grew pale.

"Luce, I want to speak to you," he said, in a low voice. Lady Angleford had gone to a table to collect her work; there was no one within hearing. "I want to ask you——"

Before he could finish the all-important sentence, Wolfer and one or two other men who had been riding came in at the door.

"Bell gone?" exclaimed Wolfer. "Afraid we are late. Had a capital ride, Angleford! What a lovely country it is! Is my wife in yet?"

Drake bit his lip; for, having made up his mind to the plunge, he disliked being pulled up on the brink.

"After dinner," he whispered, bending still lower, and he went upstairs with the other men. Lord Turfleigh, who was with them, paused at the landing, murmured an excuse, and toddled heavily down again. Lady Luce had picked up her book and risen, and she lifted her head and looked at her father with an unmistakable expression on her face.

He raised his heavy eyebrows and stretched his mouth in a grin of satisfaction.

"No!" he said, in a thick whisper. "Really?"

She nodded, and flashed a smile of exultant triumph round the hall.

"Yes. He had nearly spoken when you came in! My luck, of course! Another minute! But he will speak to-night!"

"My dear gyurl!" he murmured. "You make your poor old father a proud and happy man. My own gyurl!"

She glanced at Lady Angleford warningly, and going up to her, took her arm and murmured sweetly:

"Let us go upstairs together, dear."

Lady Angleford looked at her with a meaning smile.

"How changed you have suddenly become, Luce!" she said. "Where are all your yawns gone? One would think you had heard news!"

Luce turned her face with a radiant smile.

"Perhaps I have," she said, in a low voice. "I—I will tell you—to-morrow!"

They parted at the door of Lady Angleford's room, Lady Luce's being farther down the corridor. Next to Lady Angleford's was the suite which had been prepared for Drake, and he came out of the room which adjoined the one she used as a dressing room as she was going into it.

"I'm sorry if my absence to-day was inconvenient, countess," he said.

"Not in the least! Everybody was disposed of; indeed, I was so free that Lady Wolfer and I went for a long drive. How changed she is! I don't know a happier woman! And she has given up all that woman's rights business."

Drake nodded, with, it must be admitted, little interest.

"By the way," he said, as casually as he could, "what is the name of the young engineer and his sister who are staying at the lodge?"

"Lorton," replied the countess. "So stupid of me! I thought it was Norton, and I addressed the invitation so; but Mrs. Hawksley tells me that it is Lorton. The brother comes from Bardsley & Bardsley."

Drake nodded. He needed no confirmation of the fact of Nell's presence.

"And she's engaged to this Mr. Falconer?"

"Oh, yes," replied the countess. "There can be no doubt of it. Mrs. Harksley says that his attentions to her last night—at the ball, I mean—were quite touching. They walked home together arm in arm. I really must call on her. They say she is extremely pretty."

"No need to call, I think," he said. "I mean," he went on, as the countess looked surprised, "that—that they will be gone directly."

"Oh, but I thought he might be going to remain as resident engineer."

"No, I think not," said Drake, almost harshly. "From all I hear, he's too young."

Lady Angleford nodded, and went into her room, where her maid was awaiting her.

"Will you wear your diamonds, my lady?" she asked.

The countess nodded absently, and took the key of the safe from her purse; but when the maid placed the square case which held the marvelous jewels on the dressing table, Lady Angleford changed her mind.

"No, no," she said; "not to-night. It is only a house party. Put them back, please."

The maid replaced the case in the safe, but she could not turn the key.

"You must be quick. I am afraid I'm late," said the countess.

"I can't turn the key, my lady," said the woman.

Lady Angleford rose and tried to turn it, but the key remained obstinately immovable.

"Knock at the earl's door and ask him if he will be kind enough to come to me," she said.

The maid did so, and Drake came in.

"I can't lock the safe, Drake," said the countess. "I am so sorry to trouble you."

"It's no trouble," he responded. "Literally none," he added, with a short laugh. "You hadn't quite closed the door. See?"

"We were stupid. How like a woman!" she said penitently.

"Take care of the key," he said. "The diamonds had better be sent to the bank the day after to-morrow, unless you want to wear them again soon."

"No," she said. "They make such a fuss about them; and—well, they are rather too much of a blaze for such a little woman as I am."

"Nonsense!" he said. "Here's the key."

He laid it on the dressing table, and she was about to take it up to replace it in her purse, and put the purse in one of the small drawers of the dressing table, when there came a knock at the door, and Burden entered.

"I—I beg your ladyship's pardon," she faltered, drawing back.

"What is it?" asked the countess.

"I wanted to borrow some eau de Cologne for my lady," said Burden. "I thought your ladyship had gone down, or I wouldn't——"

"Give her the eau de Cologne," said the countess to her maid. "Please ask Lady Luce to keep it. I shall not want it."

Burden took the bottle and went out. On the other side of the door she paused a moment and caught her breath. Chance, or the devil himself, was working on Ted's behalf, for she had happened to enter the room at the very moment the countess had put the key in the purse, and the purse in the drawer. And all day Burden had been wondering how she should get that key.

She went on after a moment or two, and Lady Luce looked up from her chair in front of the dressing table, as Burden entered.

"Where have you been?" she asked sharply.

"I went to borrow some eau de Cologne, my lady," replied Burden.

"Well, please be quick; you know we are late. I will wear——" she paused a moment. She wanted to look her best that night. The beauty which had caught Drake in the past, the beauty which was to ensnare him again, and win for her the Angleford coronet, must lack no advantage dress could lend it. "The silver gray and the pearls, please," she said, after a moment or two of consideration. "Why, what is the matter with you?" she asked sharply, as she saw the reflection of Burden's face in the glass. "Are you ill, or what?"

Burden tried to force the color to her face and keep her hands steady.

"I—I am not very well, my lady," she faltered. "I—I have had bad news."

"Bad news! What news?" asked Lady Luce coldly.

"My—mother is very ill, my lady," replied Burden, on the spur of the moment.

Lady Luce moved impatiently.

"It is a singular thing that persons of your class are always in some trouble or other; you are either ill yourselves, or some of your relations are dying. I am very sorry and all that, Burden, but I hope you were not thinking of asking me to let you go home, because I really could not just now."

"No, my lady; perhaps a little later——"

"Well, I'll see," said Lady Luce irritably. "I don't suppose you could do any good if you were to go home; I suppose there's some one to look after your mother; and, after all, she may not be so bad as you think. Servants always look at the worst side of things, and meet troubles halfway."

"Yes, my lady," said Burden.

"And do, for goodness' sake, try and look more cheerful, my good girl! It's like having a ghost behind me. Besides, if you are worrying yourself about your mother you can't dress me properly; and I want you to be very careful to-night—of all nights!"

She leaned back and smiled at her face in the glass, and thought no more of the maid's pale and anxious one. Had she been not so entirely heartless, had she even only affected a little interest and expressed some sympathy, the unhappy girl might have broken down and confessed her share in the meditated crime; but Lady Luce was incapable of pretending sympathy with a servant. In her eyes servants were of quite a different order of creation to that of her own class; hewers of wood and drawers of water, of no account beyond that which they gained from their value to their masters or mistresses. To consider the feelings of the servants who waited upon her would have seemed absurd to Lady Luce, almost, indeed, a kind of bad form.

The dinner bell had rung before she was dressed, and she hurried down to find herself the last to arrive in the drawing-room. She sought Drake's face as she entered. It still wore the expression of suppressed excitement which she had noticed when he came in from his walk, and he smiled with a kind of reluctant admiration as he noticed the magnificent dress, and the way in which it set off her beauty.

At dinner his altered mood was so marked that several persons who were near him noticed it. He, who had been so quiet and grave, almost stern in his manner and speech, to-night talked much and rapidly, and laughed freely.

The flush on his face deepened, and his eyes flashed so brightly that Wolfer, who was sitting near him, could not help noticing how often Drake permitted the butler to fill his glass, and wondered whether anything had happened, and whether he were drinking too much.

But Drake's gayety was infectious enough, and the dinner was a much livelier one than any that had preceded it.

Lady Luce was, perhaps, the most quiet and least talkative; but she sat and listened to Drake's stories and badinage, with a smile in her eyes and her lips slightly apart.

In a few hours he would speak the word which would make her the future Countess of Angleford!

The ladies lingered at the table rather longer than usual, for Drake's stories had suggested others to the other men, and his high spirits had awakened those of the persons near him. But Lady Angleford rose at last, and the ladies filed off to the drawing-room.

The men closed up their ranks, and Drake sent the wine round briskly. There was no dance to cut short the pleasant "after-the-ladies-have-gone" time; and they sat long over their wine, so that it was nearly ten o'clock when Drake, with his hand on the decanter near him, said:

"No more, anybody? Sure? Turfleigh, you will, surely!"

But the old man knew that he had had enough. He, too, was excited, and under a strain, and he rose rather unsteadily and shook his head.

"No, thanks. Er—er—I fancy we've rather punished that claret of yours to-night, my dear boy."

"It's a sad heart that never rejoices!" Drake retorted, with a laugh which sounded so reckless that Wolfer glanced at him with surprise.

"We'd better have a cigarette in the smoking room before we go into the drawing-room," said Drake, and he led the way.

As they went, talking and laughing, together across the hall, a white-faced woman leaned over the balustrade above, and watched them.

The other servants were in the servants' hall, enjoying themselves; the gentlemen were in the smoking room, and the ladies in the drawing-room. She was alone in the upper part of the house, which was so quiet and still that the sound of a clock, in one of the rooms, striking ten was like that of a church bell in her ears.

She started and pressed her hand to her heart, then stole to the window on the back staircase, and, keeping behind the curtain, listened. Her heart beat so loudly as to almost deafen her, but she heard a slight noise outside, and something fell with a soft tap against the window sill. It was the top of the ladder falling into its place.