After her meeting with Rufus Sterne, Madeline walked slowly back to the Hall with a very thoughtful look upon her face. She knew that this Christmas Eve was to be a fateful time for her, her whole future seemed to be hanging in the balance. On what happened during the next few days—perhaps, during the next few hours—would depend in all probability the happiness, or the misery, of all the years that would follow.

The point to which her life had been steadily drifting would be reached to-night. The man who had been waiting for her would ask her to come into his arms, the consummation of her girlish dreams was about to be realised. Why did she shrink from the fateful moment? Why did she contemplate the meeting with Gervase with something like alarm? Before she reached the Hall she put a question boldly to herself that she had never dared ask before. Had Rufus Sterne anything to do with this half-defined fear that haunted her. Suppose he had never crossed her path—had never awakened her gratitude by his courage and chivalry, had never touched her sympathy by his vicarious suffering—would she at this moment be almost dreading the appearance of Gervase Tregony on the scene?

Till she met Rufus Sterne, Gervase had been her ideal. His bigness, his masterfulness, his fearlessness, his daring had awakened in her a sense of awe. He was her ideal still in many respects. She never expected to see a more soldierly man, never expected to hear a voice that was more clearly meant to command, never anticipated a stronger arm to lean upon.

And yet there was no denying the fact that the brightness of the image had been somewhat dimmed of late. In point of bigness, in point of masterfulness, and, above all, in point of social position, Rufus Sterne was not to be mentioned in the same day with Gervase Tregony, and yet Rufus Sterne, poor and friendless as he was, had touched her heart and her imagination in a way that Gervase had never done.

Her fingers were tingling still under the pressure of his hand. The tones of his voice were still vibrating through the chambers of her brain, the colour mounted to her cheeks whenever she thought of him.

"Perhaps, when I see Gervase," she said to herself, "all my forebodings will vanish. It will be a comfort to know that I have been worrying myself for nothing. If he loves me for my own sake—and I shall soon find out if he doesn't—and if I—I—like him as I have always done, why there is no reason at all why we should not be two of the happiest people in the world. Nevertheless, I wish Sir Charles was not in such a hurry to arrange things."

She found Lady Tregony and Beryl pretending concern at her long absence, but very little was said, and Madeline did not explain why she had been so long.

"We have ordered dinner, my dear, for half-past seven," Lady Tregony said, in her blandest tones. "We have had another telegram from dear Gervase while you have been out. It was handed in at Bristol. He seems terribly impatient to be at home. I suppose you would not care to drive into Redbourne with Sir Charles to meet him?"

"No, indeed. I would prefer to meet him here, thank you."

"I am sure it would be quite proper, my dear, if you would care to go, and really Gervase seems dying to see you."

"I don't think it would be proper at all," Madeline answered, quite frankly.

"Oh, yes, my dear. Everybody now looks upon the engagement as a settled thing."

"Indeed. I did not know people took so much interest in our affairs, or indeed, knew anything about the matter."

"Oh, yes, my dear; it is impossible that such things can be kept a secret. I expect you will get tons and tons of congratulations on Friday."

"Why on Friday, Lady Tregony?"

"Why, because we shall have the house full of people on Friday, to be sure. I wouldn't that there should be a hitch for the world."

Madeline walked upstairs to her room, feeling very perturbed, and not a little annoyed. It seemed now as if everybody was beginning to show his or her hand. Now that the game was practically won there was not quite so much need for caution or finesse. Indeed, to take the engagement for granted might be a good way of settling the matter once and for all.

"But it is not settled yet," she said to herself, a little bit indignantly; "and what is more I will not have my affairs settled for me by anybody."

It had been her intention to dress herself with the greatest care that evening, to don the smartest and most becoming frock she possessed. But she concluded now she would do nothing of the kind.

"I am not going to lay myself out to make a conquest as though I were a husband hunter," she said to herself, with heightened colour; "and what is more I am not going to let anybody take things for granted," and she dropped into a basket chair before the fire.

It was the first time Lady Tregony had so openly shown her hand, and it made Madeline think more furiously than ever.

Her maid came a little later and lighted the lamp and drew the blinds, then quietly withdrew. Madeline sat staring into the fire, watching the faces come and go, and conjuring up all kinds of visions. She heard the brougham drive away; heard the Baronet's voice for a moment or two, then all grew still again. In another hour he would be back again, accompanied by his son. She wanted to get up and walk about the room, but she held herself in check with a firm hand, and sat resolutely still. She did not attempt to hide from herself the fact that she was painfully excited. Her heart was beating at twice its normal rate. She was longing to see Gervase, and yet she dreaded the moment when she would again look into his eyes.

She did her best to put Rufus Sterne out of her mind. She had a vague kind of feeling that she was disloyal to her girlish ideals. The hour, to which all the other hours of her life had steadily and consistently moved, was on the point of striking. She ought to be supremely happy. One face only should fill all her dreams. She had grown to believe that Gervase Tregony had been ordained for her and she for him—until the last few months not a doubt had crossed her mind on this point, and now——

She got up and began to walk about the room. She could sit still no longer. The very air had become oppressive. She felt as though a thunderstorm was brooding over the place.

Her maid came in at length, much to her relief, and began to help her dress for dinner. While her hair was being brushed and combed she listened intently for the sound of carriage wheels. The roads were hard, and sounds travelled far on the still frosty air.

She caught the sounds she had been listening for at length, and her heart seemed to come into her mouth. The beat of the horses' hoofs became as regular as the ticking of a clock. Nearer and nearer drew the sounds, till the maid stopped her brushing, and listened.

"They are coming," she said, with a little catch in her breath. "I did not think they would be here so soon," and she dropped the brushes, and began to twist Madeline's glorious hair into a large coil low on her neck.

"You need not hurry," Madeline said, quietly; "I shall not go downstairs till just before dinner."

"Her ladyship is dressed already," the maid answered.

"Naturally," she answered, significantly, and relapsed into silence.

A few minutes later they heard the gritting of the carriage wheels on the drive. It curved round under Madeline's window, and pulled up at the front door.

She listened for the sound of voices, but Sir Charles and his son alighted in silence. Then a little shrill cry of delight was wafted up from the hall as Lady Tregony fell into her son's arms. The next moment the harsh, raucous voice of the captain echoed distinctly through all the rooms.

Madeline felt her heart give a sudden bound. How often she had heard that voice in her dreams, and thrilled at the sound—not a musical voice, by any means, not a voice to lure and soothe, but a voice to command; a voice to inspire confidence and awaken fear at the same time.

Then a knock came to the door, and Beryl rushed in. "Gervase has come, dear," she said, excitedly.

"Yes, I heard his voice."

"But are you not coming down at once?"

"I cannot very well," she answered, with a smile.

"But he will be terribly disappointed. His first inquiry was for you."

"We shall meet in the drawing-room before dinner is announced."

"But what must I tell him?"

"Anything you like, dear."

Beryl departed with a pout, and a look of disappointment in her eyes. A little later there was a sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.

Madeline disappointed her maid by insisting on wearing her least becoming evening gown, and the only ornament she wore was a bunch of holly berries in her hair.

She went downstairs alone, and was surprised to find the drawing-room empty. Where Lady Tregony and Beryl had taken themselves to she could not imagine. A big fire of logs was blazing in the grate, and in all the sconces candles were alight. She expected every moment that either Beryl or Lady Tregony would come to her; they were both dressed, and there was no reason whatever that they should remain in their rooms.

After several minutes had gone by she began to suspect the truth. They were keeping away so that she might meet Gervase alone. It was very thoughtful of them certainly, but it was taking rather too much for granted. She disliked so many evidences of management and contrivance. If Providence was arranging all these matters she could not see why Providence might not be allowed a free hand. So much human assistance did not seem at all necessary.

She was beginning to feel a little bit resentful when the door was thrown suddenly open, and Gervase entered. For a moment she started back with unfeigned surprise. She had expected seeing him in all the glory and splendour of his uniform, and here he was in ordinary evening dress, looking as common-place as any average country squire. The only splendid thing about him was his moustache, which was waxed out to its fullest dimensions.

"Madeline," he said, huskily, coming hurriedly forward, with outstretched hands. "This is the supreme moment of my life."

She placed both her hands in his, and looked him steadily in the eyes. She was quite calm again now. Her heart had ceased its wild gallop.

"It seemed as if I should never get here," he said, in the same husky tones. "Oh! how impatient I have been to look into your dear eyes."

"If you had missed this train you would not have got here for your Christmas dinner," she said, artlessly, "and that would have been horribly disappointing."

"Would you have been very much disappointed?" he questioned, trying to throw a note of tenderness into his voice.

"Of course, I should have been disappointed," she answered, frankly; "I've been quite consumed with curiosity to see what you look like."

"Not with curiosity only, I hope, Madeline."

"Why, isn't curiosity bad enough without having any other feeling to torment you?"

"Did you think I should have changed toward you?" he said, in hurt tones. "Did you regard me as one of the fickle mob, who hold love so lightly?"

"Nay, I have always regarded you as a brave, strong man who would place duty above everything."

"In that, I trust, I shall never disappoint you," he said, humbly. "Henceforth my duty and my joy shall be to serve you."

"I am only one," she said, quickly. "Is not your first duty to your country and your King?"

"My first duty is to my queen," he answered gallantly, "and that is you."

She drew her hands from his suddenly, and stepped back a pace. "Had we not better understand each other better before we talk so confidently?" she said, in hard decided tones.

"What, after three long years?" he questioned, in an aggrieved voice. "Is it possible that there is anything left unexplained? Have I not opened all my heart to you in my letters? Do I need still to prove my devotion?"

"No, no. You have been very candid and very loyal," she said, quickly. "But a matter of so much importance should not be decided in an hour."

"But we have known each other for years, and did we not understand each other from the very beginning?"

"Perhaps we did," she answered, with downcast eyes.

"And everyone else understood," he went on. "It is true little or nothing was said at the beginning, for you—you—were—were—very young. But I was of full age, and when the proper time came I wrote plainly to you."

"Yes, I know."

"And you were not surprised? You expected I should write in that way, did you not?"

"Yes, I think I did."

"And yet now you talk of our understanding each other better. Oh, Madeline! Let me assure you that no other woman has crossed my path, that no other face has caught my fancy, that my heart has been true to you from the first, and I am prepared now to devote the rest of my life to you."

"But is there not another side to the question?" she asked, seriously. "You said when first we met I was very young. But I have grown to be a woman now."

"That is true, by Jove!" he answered, with a harsh laugh, "and a very lovely woman, too. But that only adds force and weight to what I have already said. If you had grown to be ill-favoured or plain, you might hesitate, thinking my heart would change. But no, Madeline, I am not of the fickle sort. If you were not half so handsome as you are I should still come to you eager, devoted, and determined."

"You fail to understand my point," she said, quickly.

"Not I, indeed," he interposed, with a laugh. "It is natural, I suppose, for a woman to have some doubts about a soldier. I know among the pious folk we have rather a bad reputation, and that we are supposed to have as many wives as Brigham Young. But that's a gross libel. I don't pretend that soldiers are saints, and some of them, I grant, change the objects of their affections frequently. But, Madeline, believe me, I have been true to you. True to that last smile and look you gave me in Washington. I come back offering you a complete and whole-hearted devotion. Now, come and let me kiss you, and settle the matter before dinner."

She drew back a step further. "I think we understand each other less now than when we began our talk," she said, in hard, unnatural tones.

"Well, by Jove, Madeline, you do astonish me," he said, in a tone of well-feigned surprise. "You surely don't think I'm insincere—that I'm putting it on, as it were; that I'm pretending what I don't feel? Let me assure you I'm absolutely certain of my regard for you. Even if I were in doubt before I got here—though, to tell you the candid truth, I never have been in any doubt. But even if I were, the sight of your face, the loveliness of your ripened womanhood, if you will allow me to say so, has drawn out my heart to you more strongly than ever."

"I don't think we shall gain anything by pursuing this subject any further just now," she said, quietly. "And we shall have many opportunities for quiet talks later on."

"And you are not going to let me kiss you?"

"Most certainly not," she said, the colour rising in a crimson tide to her cheeks and forehead.

"Then all I can say, it is a cold welcome," he said, using an adjective that need not be written down.

"You do not understand me, Gervase," she said, a pained look coming into her eyes.

"By Jove! I don't," he said, "and what is worse still, you persist in misunderstanding me."

"I am sorry you put it in that way," she answered; "but there goes the dinner-gong," and the next moment the door was pushed open, and Lady Tregony bustled into the room.

"So you have met!" she said, with a little giggle, "and no one to disturb your tÊte-Á-tÊte. Well, that is delightful."

Gervase frowned, but did not reply, and Madeline took the opportunity of escaping out of the room.

In the dining-room she frustrated Lady Tregony's little design, and instead of seating herself next to Gervase she sat opposite him. She had not seen him for so long a time, that she wanted an opportunity of studying his face. Her first feeling of disappointment was confirmed as she looked at him more closely. In his uniform he looked magnificent—at least, that was the impression left on her mind; but in ordinary swallow-tail coat and patent leather slippers he looked common-place. There was no other word for it. Moreover, three years under the trying skies of India had aged him considerably. His straw-coloured hair no longer completely covered his scalp. The crow's feet about his eyes had grown deeper and more numerous. The skin of his face looked parched and drawn, his cheek bones appeared to be higher, his nose more hooked, and his teeth more prominent.

Moreover, under an ordinary starched shirt-front the well-rounded chest had entirely disappeared. Perkins, the butler, could give him points in that respect.

Madeline felt the process of disillusionment was proceeding all too rapidly. She wished he had come downstairs arrayed in scarlet and gold. As a study in black and white he was not altogether a success, and it was not pleasant to have her dreams blown away like spring blossoms in a gale.