Sleep kept afar off from Stella's eyelids that night. The momentous morrow loomed before her, at one moment filling her with a nameless dread, at another suffusing her whole being with an equally nameless ecstasy.

Could it be possible that to-morrow—in a few hours—she would be Leycester's wife? There was enough in the reflection to banish sleep for a week.

Let us do her justice. Love and not ambition was the sentiment that moved and agitated her. It was not the thought of the title and the wealth which awaited her, not the future Wyndward coronet which set her trembling and her heart throbbing, but the reflection that Leycester, her lover, her ideal of all that was great and noble, and manfully beautiful, would be her own, all her own.

At an early hour she heard Frank wandering up and down outside her door, and at last he knocked.

"Are you getting up, Stel?" he asked, in a whisper.

Stella opened the door and stood before him in her plain stuff dress, which Frank was wont to declare became her better than the satins and silks of a duchess, and he looked up at her with an admiring nod.

"That's right!" he said. "I've been up ages. I've taken my bag and hidden it in the lane. Is yours ready?"

She gave him a small handbag—gave it with a certain reluctance that hung about her still; but he took it eagerly.

"That's a good girl! It isn't too big! I can carry both of them. Keep up your spirits, Stel!" he added, smiling encouragingly, as he stole off with the bag.

The warning was not altogether unnecessary, for Stella, when she came down stairs and found the old man standing before his easel, his white locks stirred by the light wind which came through the open window, felt very near tears.

It was a great blot on her happiness that she could not go to him and throw her arms round his neck and say, "Uncle, to-day I am to be married to Lord Leycester; give me your blessing!"

As it was she went up to him and kissed him with more than her usual caressing tenderness.

"How quietly happy you always are, dear," she said, with a little tremulous undertone in her voice. "You will always be happy while you have your art, uncle."

"Eh!" he said, patting her arm, and letting his eye wander over her face. "Yes, art is long, life is short, Stella. Happy![187] yes; but I like to have you as well as my art. Two good things in life should make a man content."

"You have Frank, too," she said, as she poured out his coffee and drew him to the table.

Frank came in and breakfast proceeded. They were all very silent; the old man rapt in dreams, as usual—the two young ones stilled by the weight of their guilty secret.

Once or twice Frank pressed Stella's feet under the table encouragingly, and when they rose and Stella went to the window, he followed her and whispered:

"Good news, Stel!"

She turned her eyes upon him.

"I've just learned that the fellow Adelstone has gone to London. I was half afraid that he might turn up at the last moment and spoil our plans; but the groom at the vicarage, whom I just met, told me that Jasper Adelstone had been summoned to London on business."

Stella felt a sense of relief, though she smiled.

"Mr. Adelstone is your bête noire, Frank," she said.

He nodded.

"I'd rather have his room than his company, any day." Then, after a pause, he added, "I don't think we'd better start together, Stel. I'll walk on directly, and you can follow. Whatever you do, avoid a collision with Mrs. Penfold; her eyes are sharp, and there's something in your face this morning that would set her curiosity on the qui vive."

A few moments afterward he left the room, and Stella was left alone. Her heart beat fast, and, try as she would, she could not keep her eyes from the silent, patient figure at the easel, and at last she went up and stood beside him.

"You seem restless this morning, my child," he said. "Meditating any secret crime?" And he smiled.

Stella started guiltily.

"I wonder what you would say, what you would think, uncle," she murmured, with a little laugh that bordered on the hysterical, "if I were to do anything wrong—if I were to deceive you in anything?"

He stepped back to look at his picture.

"I should say, my dear, that the last shred of faith and trust in women to which I have clung had given way, and landed me in despair."

"No, no! Don't say that!" she said, quickly.

He looked at her with a sad smile.

"My dear," he answered, "I do not speak without cause. I have reason to be incredulous as to the faith and honesty of women. But my trust in you is as limitless as the sky yonder. I don't think you will destroy it, Stella," and he turned to his picture again.

The tears came into Stella's eyes, and she clung to his arm in silent remorse.

"Uncle!" she said, brokenly, then she stopped.

The clock chimed the half-hour; it was time that she started, if she intended to obey Leycester.

[188]

Unconsciously the old man helped her.

"You look pale this morning, my dear," he said, patting her shoulder. "Go and run in the meadows and get some color on your cheeks; I miss it."

Stella took up her hat, which was generally lying about ready to be snatched up, and kissed him without a word, and left the room.

Five minutes afterward she passed out into the lane and hurried toward the road.

Frank was waiting for her with boyish impatience.

"I thought you were never coming!" he exclaimed. "We haven't over much time," and he slung the two bags together and led the way; but Stella paused a moment to look back with a pang at her heart, and it was not until Frank seized her arm that she moved toward the railway station.

But once there, when the tickets were taken, the excitement buoyed her up. Frank, with the two bags, was perpetually on the alert, watching for someone they knew, and preparing to meet them with some excuse.

But no one of the village people appeared on the platform, and much to Frank's relief, the train drew up.

With all the pride of a chief conspirator and guardian, he put Stella into a carriage and was stepping in after her, when a groom came up to the door and touched his hat.

"Mr. Etheridge—Mr. Frank Etheridge, sir?" he said, respectfully.

Frank stared, but the man seemed prepared for some little hesitation, and without waiting for an answer, thrust a note into Frank's hand.

"From Lord Guildford, sir," he said.

The train moved off, and Frank tore open the envelope.

"Why, Stella," he exclaimed, in an excited whisper, though they were alone in the carriage, "it is from Lord Leycester. Look here! he wants us to get out at the station before London—at Vauxhall—he has changed his plans slightly," and he held the note out to her.

Stella took it. It was written on paper bearing the Wyndward crest; the hand-writing was exactly like that of Lord Leycester. No suspicion of its genuineness crossed her mind for a moment, but yet she said:

"But—Frank—isn't Lord Leycester in London?"

Frank thought a moment.

"Yes," he said; "but he must have sent this down to Lord Guildford; sent it down by special messenger—special train perhaps. It wouldn't matter to him what trouble or expense he took. And yet how careful he is. He asks us to destroy it at once. Tear it up, Stella, and throw it out of the window."

Stella read the note again, and then slowly and reluctantly tore it into small fragments and dropped it out of the window.

"Of course we must stop," said Frank. "I think I know what it is. Something had prevented him from meeting us, and he thought you would rather get out at a nearer station than go[189] through the crowd at the terminus. Isn't it thoughtful and considerate of him?"

"He is always thoughtful and considerate," said Stella, in a low voice.

Then Frank launched forth in a p?an of praise.

There was nobody like Leycester; nobody so handsome and so brave or noble.

"You'll be the happiest girl in the whole world, Stel," he exclaimed, his bl............