Arabella Trefoil left her uncle\'s mansion on the day after her lover\'s departure, certainly not in triumph, but with somewhat recovered spirits. When she first heard that Lord Rufford was gone,—that he had fled away as it were in the middle of the night without saying a word to her, without a syllable to make good the slight assurances of his love that had been given to her in the post carriage, she felt that she was deserted and betrayed. And when she found herself altogether neglected on the following day, and that the slightly valuable impression which she had made on her aunt was apparently gone, she did for half an hour think in earnest of the Paragon and Patagonia. But after a while she called to mind all that she knew of great efforts successfully made in opposition to almost overwhelming difficulties. She had heard of forlorn hopes, and perhaps in her young days had read something of C?sar still clinging to his Commentaries as he struggled in the waves. This was her forlorn hope, and she would be as brave as any soldier of them all. Lord Rufford\'s embraces were her Commentaries, and let the winds blow and the waves roll as they might she would still cling to them. After lunch she spoke to her aunt with great courage,—as the Duchess thought with great effrontery. "My uncle wouldn\'t speak to Lord Rufford before he went?"

"How could he speak to a man who ran away from his house in that way?"

"The running away, as you call it, aunt, did not take place till two days after I had told you all about it. I thought he would have done as much as that for his brother\'s daughter."

"I don\'t believe in it at all," said the Duchess sternly.

"Don\'t believe in what, aunt? You don\'t mean to say that you don\'t believe that Lord Rufford has asked me to be his wife!" Then she paused, but the Duchess absolutely lacked the courage to express her conviction again. "I don\'t suppose it signifies much," continued Arabella, "but of course it would have been something to me that Lord Rufford should have known that the Duke was anxious for my welfare. He was quite prepared to have assured my uncle of his intentions."

"Then why didn\'t he speak himself?"

"Because the Duke is not my father. Really, aunt, when I hear you talk of his running away I do feel it to be unkind. As if we didn\'t all know that a man like that goes and comes as he pleases. It was just before dinner that he got the message, and was he to run round and wish everybody good-bye like a schoolgirl going to bed?"

The Duchess was almost certain that no message had come, and from various little things which she had observed and from tidings which had reached her, very much doubted whether Arabella had known anything of his intended going. She too had a maid of her own who on occasions could bring information. But she had nothing further to say on the subject. If Arabella should ever become Lady Rufford she would of course among other visitors be occasionally received at Mistletoe. She could never be a favourite, but things would to a certain degree have rectified themselves. But if, as the Duchess expected, no such marriage took place, then this ill-conducted niece should never be admitted within the house again.

Later on in the afternoon, some hours after it became dusk, Arabella contrived to meet her aunt in the hall with a letter in her hand, and asked where the letter-box was. She knew where to deposit her letters as well as did the Duchess herself; but she desired an opportunity of proclaiming what she had done. "I am writing to Lord Rufford. Perhaps as I am in your house I ought to tell you what I have done."

"The letter-box is in the billiard-room, close to the door," said the Duchess passing on. Then she added as she went, "The post for to-day has gone already."

"His Lordship will have to wait a day for his letter. I dare say it won\'t break his heart," said Arabella, as she turned away to the billiard-room.

All this had been planned; and, moreover, she had so written her letter that if her magnificent aunt should condescend to tamper with it all that was in it should seem to corroborate her own story. The Duchess would have considered herself disgraced if ever she had done such a thing;—but the niece of the Duchess did not quite understand that this would be so. The letter was as follows:
 

    Mistletoe, 19th Jany. 1875.

    Dearest R.,

    Your going off like that was, after all, very horrid. My aunt thinks that you were running away from me. I think that you were running away from her. Which was true? In real earnest I don\'t for a moment think that either I or the Duchess had anything to do with it, and that you did go because some horrid man wrote and asked you. I know you don\'t like being bound by any of the conventionalities. I hope there is such a word, and that if not, you\'ll understand it just the same.

    Oh, Peltry,—and oh, Jack,—and oh, that road back to Stamford! I am so stiff that I can\'t sit upright, and everybody is cross to me, and everything is uncomfortable. What horrible things women are! There isn\'t one here, not even old Lady Rumpus, who hasn\'t an unmarried daughter left in the world, who isn\'t jealous of me, because—because—. I must leave you to guess why they all hate me so! And I\'m sure if you had given Jack to any other woman I should hate her, though you may give every horse you have to any man that you please. I wonder whether I shall have another day\'s hunting before it is all over. I suppose not. It was almost by a miracle that we managed yesterday—only fancy—yesterday! It seems to be an age ago!

    Pray, pray, pray write to me at once,—to the Connop Greens, so that I may get a nice, soft, pleasant word directly I get among those nasty, hard, unpleasant people. They have lots of money, and plenty of furniture, and I dare say the best things to eat and drink in the world,—but nothing else. There will be no Jack; and if there were, alas, alas, no one to show me the way to ride him.

    I start to-morrow, and as far as I understand, shall have to make my way into Hampshire all by myself, with only such security as my maid can give me. I shall make her go in the same carriage and shall have the gratification of looking at her all the way. I suppose I ought not to say that I will shut my eyes and try to think that somebody else is there.

    Good-bye dear, dear, dear R. I shall be dying for a letter from you. Yours ever, with all my heart. A.

    I shall write you such a serious epistle when I get to the Greens.
    

This was not such a letter as she thought that her aunt would approve; but it was, she fancied, such as the Duchess would believe that she would write to her lover. And if it were allowed to go on its way it would make Lord Rufford feel that she was neither alarmed nor displeased by the suddenness of his departure. But it was not expected to do much good. It might produce some short, joking, half-affectionate reply, but would not draw from him that serious word which was so necessary for the success of her scheme. Therefore she had told him that she intended to prepare a serious missile. Should this pleasant little message of love miscarry, the serious missile would still be sent, and the miscarriage would occasion no harm.

But then further plans were necessary. It might be that Lord Rufford would take no notice of the serious missile,—which she thought very probable. Or it might be that he would send back a serious reply, in which he woul............