The announcement of the fancy dress ball to be held at Barminster had made something like a sensation; for not only was the magnificence of the Castle well known, but the fact that it was so seldom used for festivities of any kind lent importance to the occasion, and had roused society, both in town and country, to the height of expectancy.

Preparations were carried on apace. The whole Castle was to be lighted and decorated, regardless of expense, while even the servants' dresses were to be manufactured by the masters of their craft, and approved of by heraldic authorities, in order that the right effect of the period, that of two hundred years back, might be maintained. Never had a ball been carried out with such a wealth of detail.

Throughout all this, and during the many visits which Adrien found necessary to make to Barminster, journeying backwards and forwards in his great car, Lady Constance maintained a smiling, gentle demeanour; but she allowed him no opportunity for explanation, seeming rather to avoid his presence. Even Lord Barminster, watching his two dear ones closely, was not blind to the gravity of the situation; but he trusted to Constance's love to make matters right in the end.

At last the eventful night came. The temporary stables which the village carpenters had been erecting close to the ordinary ones were rapidly filling. Cars and carriages stood side by side, as guests from town and the surrounding districts arrived; and the air resounded with the clatter and rattle of the horses' hoofs and carriage wheels, mingled with the hooting of motor horns.

Within the Castle all was light and mirth. Ripples of laughter and the buzz of conversation went on incessantly, as the guests arrived in their varied and gorgeous costumes.

The walls of the great reception rooms had all been covered with priceless tapestry, and as far as possible made to represent the ball-room of Antony Leroy, two hundred years ago. But the guests themselves had not been asked to keep to any period of history or fashion, and, therefore, it was the most incongruous crowd that had ever gathered within the walls of Barminster Castle. Never were dresses more regal or more magnificent, alike in materials, colour and decoration.

Cavaliers in silks and satins, with plumed hats and jewelled swords; Crusaders in glittering mail and silver armour. Alsace peasant girls mingled with Carmelite monks and Sicilian nuns. Shakespeare's characters were legion--Portias, Cymbelines, Katherines and Shylocks, all laughed and jested together, their ident.i.ty concealed beneath their black velvet masks. It seemed as if every character and fable had risen to throng the halls of Barminster Castle that night.

Up in the gallery above the great ball-room a famous orchestra poured forth melody, and the guests were awaiting the entrance of their host as a signal to start dancing.

The last visitor had arrived, when Lord Barminster and his sister came from the entrance hall, where they had stood so long. The old man had merely donned a domino over his evening dress and carried his mask in his hand; but Miss Penelope had had her elaborate dress copied from a picture of Lord Antony's wife, which hung in the Picture Gallery. The gown was composed of soft grey satin, over which hung a veil of gold chiffon embroidered with pearls. An embroidery of gold wheat-ears sown with pearls decorated the bodice and the long, grey satin train; this, together with the family diamonds, made Miss Penelope an imposing figure, even in that bevy of fair women and gorgeous gowns.

Immediately behind them came Adrien and Lady Constance. The latter had chosen to represent "Miranda," and her loveliness seemed almost supernatural. The pale gold of her hair and the perfect sh.e.l.l-pink of her complexion were set off to advantage by her gown, which, simple as it was, yet showed by that very simplicity the hand of the master by whom it had been designed. It was of palest green satin, edged with chiffon in such a way as to represent the crested waves, relieved here and there by pink sea-sh.e.l.ls and tiny wreaths of seaweed; while her only ornaments were pearls, the gifts of her guardian. It was little wonder that Adrien had been unable to express the admiration he felt, when he looked upon her fair beauty, which was now, however, covered by a velvet mask.

He himself had taken the character of Charles the First, and, with his dark, deep eyes and melancholy face, fully looked the part of the unhappy monarch. There was a faint murmur of admiration as he entered, for every detail had been so carefully copied, from the lace collar to the jewelled order across his breast, that it was as if Van Dyck's famous picture itself had stepped down from its frame.

Unconscious of the attention they provoked, Adrien led Lady Constance out to the first dance, and opened the ball with her.

Miss Penelope was in the seventh heaven of delight, when some little time later Adrien came up to her.

"What a magnificent sight, is it not, Adrien?" she said excitedly. "I knew it would be a success; but really the dresses are wonderful. Then the mystery is so delightful. I can't recognise any one now under the masks. Look, who is that?" She glanced towards a lady dressed as Undine, who seemed to float by them, so light were her movements, on the arm of a Mephistopheles.

"That," said Adrien, whose quick eyes readily penetrated the majority of the disguises, "that is--yes, I cannot be mistaken--Ev--Lady Merivale."

His voice dropped slightly as he spoke the name; for he had not expected that she would accept Miss Penelope's invitation, and was surprised by her presence.

"Who is the Mephistopheles?" asked his aunt.

Adrien glanced after the couple rather puzzled.

"I don't know," he admitted frankly.

"It is something, a shadow only, like Mr. Vermont," suggested Miss Penelope.

"It cannot be he," said Adrien, "he is not coming to-night."

Lord Barminster, who had approached in time to hear this speech, looked affectionately at his son, and Adrien caught the glance and understood it. But without making any comment, he went in search of his partner for the next waltz.

Meanwhile, Undine and Mephistopheles had seated themselves in the deep recess of one of the alcoves.

"May I get you an ice, madam?" asked the Mephistopheles in a queer, strained voice.

Undine turned her face towards him, and her eyes flashed curiously through the mask.

"You may," she replied, also disguising her voice, "if you will tell me who you are."

"That I dare not," was the guarded reply. "My name is never mentioned in ears polite, you know."

Undine smiled.

"Since you will not tell me your name, perhaps you can tell me mine without the asking."

"I can, madam. You are--Lady Merivale, who is so fond of the river."

Undine started, her face turning suddenly pale.

"I--what do you mean? Who are you?" she asked, as she peered at him with straining eyes, seeking to pierce the clever disguise.

"Mephistopheles!" was the calm retort. Then, as if to turn the subject, he continued lightly: "It is a fair scene, and a fabulous one."

Undine began to have a slight suspicion as to whom her companion might be, and was far from comfortable in her mind. The hit at the river might have been only a chance one; but this was doubtful, if Mephistopheles turned out to be either Mortimer Shelton or Jasper Vermont, as she half feared.

She strove to conceal her uneasiness.

"The best should be happy and satisfied to-night," she said; "it is a great success."

"Yes, happy!" agreed the demon, nodding his horned head, "but not satisfied. That will never be till he sees the marriage of his beloved son----" He stopped short.

"With Lady Constance Tremaine," finished Lady Merivale, in a low voice, from which all attempt at disguise had gone.

Mephistopheles nodded again.

"You have guessed aright, my lady," he said. "See! there they are together. A handsome pair; an admirable match. Yet it is sad to think----" He stopped again.

"What?" cried Lady Merivale, grasping his scarlet-clad arm in a fierce grip.

"It will never be!"

His companion trembled with suppressed eagerness.

"What do you meant?" she exclaimed. "Can you prevent it?"

"I both can and will," was the quiet answer. "But, come, let us seek a more retired spot."

He drew her almost forcibly out of the recess into the shadow of some palms, as Adrien Leroy, with a partner on his arm, approached the alcove.

"Oh! Mr. Leroy," said Lady Chetwold, as they pa.s.sed, "can you tell me who this latest arrival is?"

"I have not seen her," said Adrien rather wearily; his eyes were bent on Lady Constance, who had left him and was now dancing with Lord Standon.

"Oh, there she is!" exclaimed his voluble little companion. "Such a magnificent Cleopatra, isn't she?"

She drew his attention to a tall lady who was looking rather anxiously and constrainedly about her. Her dress certainly deserved the name of magnificent. It was made for the greater part of apricot-coloured satin, with gauze and tinselled chiffon fulled over it; from the shoulders was suspended a long train of imperial purple velvet, on which was embroidered in dull green, various Egyptian symbols. Her jewels too, which were abundant, consisting chiefly of diamonds and large emeralds, made her a regal, though almost theatrical figure. Yet, as her eyes met the steady regard of Adrien's, she looked nervously round as if to make her escape.

Lady Chetwold felt Adrien give a slight start, and looking up, she saw that his lips had grown stern, and even through the mask detected the angry gleam in his eyes.