Though he seems to thee an angel

Let him not thy heart beguile,

He's a devil from a strange hell,

Evil lurks beneath his smile.

Round the old Grange the winds were howling dismally, and now that the thaw had set in the sadness of the place was increased by the incessant dripping of the melted snow. The dead leaves in the park were sodden and heavy, so heavy, indeed, that they could not be moved by the keen wind, which, in revenge, shook the bare boughs of the trees, or whistled dismally through the cracks and crannies of the old building.

Una sat at the window of the parlour looking out at the heavy, grey sky, to which the bleak trees lifted up their gaunt arms, and listening to the monotonous dripping on the terrace. But, in spite of the dreariness and solitude of the place, surely her heart should have been lighter and her face gayer than it was, seeing that in a few days she was going to be united to the man she loved. But the shadow on the dismal landscape also rested upon her face, and even the lively chatter of Miss Cassy about the wedding could not bring a smile into her mournful eyes.

"I'm sure, Una dear, I'm glad you're going to be married," said Miss Cassy, who had put the tea cosy on her head preparatory to leaving the room, "but really I don't know what's coming over things; you look so sad--quite like a mourner, you know--the Mourning Bride of what's-his-name--and then for Patience to stay away all night! Why does she do it?--why!--why!--she never did it before, and then those letters you got this morning, what are they about?--it's all so odd, I really don't know what things are coming to."

"Things are going very well, aunt," said Una with a faint smile. "Patience stayed all night in the village because of the storm last night, and as to those letters, I'll tell you all about them later on."

"Yes, do, let me share your confidence, at least. I brought you up from pinafores, you know, quite like my own child. Oh, I wish I had one. Why haven't I a child? Now, I know what you're going to say--marriage, of course--but I've never had the chance, nobody wanted to marry me--so odd--I would have made a loving wife--quite like an ivy--really a clinging ivy. Oh, if I could only find my oak."

The little lady fluttered tearfully out of the room, leaving Una sitting alone with the letters on her lap, looking out at the dreary scene. She sighed sadly, and gathering the letters together arose from her chair, when just at that moment a ring came to the front-door bell. Una started apprehensively and her pale face grew yet paler, but she said nothing, only stood like a statue by the window with an expectant look upon her face. Hardly had the harsh jingle of the bell ceased to echo through the house when Jellicks entered, and wriggling up to Una, announced in a hissing whisper that Mr. Beaumont desired to see her.

"Mr. Beaumont," murmured Una, starting suddenly, "what does he want, I wonder? I'd better see him, it may do some good--some good. Yes!" she said aloud, "I will see him; Jellicks, show Mr. Beaumont into this room."

She resumed her seat by the window as Jellicks vanished, and shortly afterwards the door opened and Basil Beaumont, looking haggard and fierce, stood before her. He bowed, but did not attempt any warmer greeting, and she, on her part, simply pointed to a chair near her, upon which he took his seat.

"I suppose you are astonished to see me, Miss Challoner?" he said, after a pause.

"I confess I am a little," she replied calmly, "I thought you were up in London."

"So I was, but I came down to Garsworth yesterday."

"Indeed? Our quiet little village must have great attractions to draw you away from London."

"I did not come down without an object, Miss Challoner," he said gravely, "I have a duty to fulfil."

"Towards whom?"

"Yourself. Yes, I came down from London especially to see you."

"It's very kind of you to take so much trouble upon my account," she said coldly, looking keenly at him. "May I ask what this duty is to which you allude?"

"It is the duty of an honest man towards a wronged woman," said Beaumont quietly.

"Meaning me?"

"Meaning yourself," he asserted solemnly.

"You speak in riddles, Mr. Beaumont," said Una, folding her hands. "I will be very glad if you will explain them."

"Certainly. Two months ago your cousin died and left all his property to a supposed son, who turned out to be Reginald Blake; I have now to inform you that Reginald Blake is no connection whatever of Squire Garsworth, consequently his assumption of the property is a fraud."

"What do you mean, sir?" said Una quickly. "I understood Mr. Blake's identity was fully established----"

"Yes, by Patience Allerby," interrupted Beaumont............