"You--you will go quietly; there will be no--no violence, Ted?"

"Is it likely?"

She shuddered.

"There--there was in that case at Berkeley Square, Ted!" and she shuddered again.

His face darkened.

"That was an accident. The gentleman was an obstinate old fool. But there's no fear of anything of that kind in this affair. I tell you we shall not be in the house more than five minutes, and if we're seen it won't matter. I'm in decent togs, and my pal is the model of a curate.

Any one seeing us would think we were visitors in the house. You shall have a regular wedding dress, Fan. White satin and lace--real lace, mind you! Come, give us a kiss to say that it's done with, Fan!"

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, and with a choking sob she clung to him for a moment as if she could not tear herself away. But, having got what he wanted, the man was anxious to be off.

"Ten o'clock, mind, Fan! And a sharp lookout. There, let me put your shawl round your head. I'll wait here till I hear you're out of the wood."

But he remained only a moment or two after she had left him, and, with quick, light steps, he joined his confederate.

"It's all right," he said, as he got into the dogcart. "I've found out what I wanted. And I've managed with the girl. Had a devil of a job, though! That's the worst of women! You've always got to play the sentimental with them; nothing short of making love or offering to marry 'em is any use. It's a pity this kind of thing can't be worked without a petticoat. There's always trouble and bother when they come in.

To-morrow night, Parson, ten o'clock, you and I are men or mice; but it's going to be men," he added, between his teeth. "Did you bring my barker as well as your own?"

The Parson touched the side pocket of his overcoat, and nodded significantly.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

The day following a big dance is always a slack one, and the house party at Anglemere came down late for breakfast, the last stragglers endeavoring to screen their yawns behind their hands, and receiving the usual "plans for the day" with marked coolness.

Drake, though he had slept but little, did his duty manfully, and proposed sundry rides and drives; but the majority of the party seemed to prefer a lounge in the drawing-room, or a quiet saunter in the garden; but eventually a drag started for some picturesque ruins, and some of the more energetic rode or drove to a flower show in the neighborhood.

It is an understood thing nowadays that your host, having provided for your amus.e.m.e.nt, is not necessarily compelled to join in your pursuits; in short, that his house shall not only be Liberty Hall for his guests, but for himself, and Drake, having dispatched the various parties, started a quiet game in the billiard room, and seen that the drawing-room windows were open and shaded, took his hat and stick and went out for a walk.

Lady Luce had not yet put in an appearance. She remained in bed or in her room on such occasions, and only sallied forth in time for luncheon, thereby presenting a fresh complexion and bright eyes with which to confound her less prudent sisters.

Drake had been thinking of her as well as of Nell. He knew that he would have to marry. The present heir to the t.i.tle and estates was anything but a desirable young man, and it behooved Drake to keep him out of the succession if possible.

Drake, with all his freedom from pride and side, was fully sensible of the alt.i.tude of his position, and he knew the world looked to him for an heir to Angleford.

Yes, he would have to marry, and as he had lost Nell, why, not marry Luce? He had an idea that she cared for him, as much as she cared for any other than herself, and he knew that she would fill the place as well as, if not better than, another.

Their names had been coupled together. Society expected the match. Why should he not ask her to renew the engagement, and ask her at once? The house would be comparatively empty, for most of the guests would not return until dinner time, and he would have the opportunity of making his proposal.

He stopped dead short, half resolved to obey the impulse; then, after the manner of men, he walked on again, and away from Anglemere, and, instead of returning to the house in time for lunch, found himself at one of the outlying farms.

It is needless to say that he was accorded a hearty welcome. They did not fuss over him; the Anglemere tenants were prosperous and self-respecting; and though they regarded their lord and master as a kind of sovereign, and felt greatly honored by his presence under their roof, there was nothing servile in their attentions.

Drake sat down to the midday meal with a ruddy-cheeked child on each side of him, and chatted with the farmer and his wife, the farmer eating his well-earned dinner with his usual appet.i.te, the latter waiting on them with a.s.siduity and perfect composure. Now and again Drake made a joke for the sake of the children, who laughed up at him with round eyes and open mouths; he discussed the breeding and price of poultry, the rival merits of the new churns and "separators" with the dame, and the prospects of the coming harvest with the good man. For a wonder the farmer did not grumble. The Anglefords were good landlords; there was no rack-renting, no ejections, and a farm falling vacant from natural causes was always eagerly tendered for.

After the meal, which Drake enjoyed exceedingly, he and the farmer sat at the open window with their pipes and a gla.s.s of whisky and water, and continued their conversation.

"I'm hearing that your lordship thinks of coming to Anglemere and living among us," said the farmer. "And I hope it's true, with all my heart.

The land needs a master's presence--not that I've anything to complain of. Wood, the steward, has acted like a gentleman by me, and I hear no complaints of him among the neighbors. But all the same, it ain't like having the earl himself over us. It makes one's heart ache to see that great place shut up and empty most o' the year. Seems as if there ought to be some one living there pretty nigh always, and as if there ought to be little children running about the terrace an' the lawns. Begging your lordship's pardon, if I'm too free."

"That's all right, Styles," said Drake. "I know what you mean."

The farmer nodded, and stopped his pipe with his fat little finger.

"I make so bold because I remember your lordship a wee chap so high." He put his hand about eighteen inches from the floor, as usual. "And a rare, hot-spirited youngster you was! Many's the time you've made me lift you into the cart, and you'd allus insist upon driving, though the reins were most too thick for your hands. Well, my lord, what we feels is that we'd like to live long enough to see another little chap--a future lordship--a-running about the place."

Drake nodded gravely and took a drink. Even this simple fellow was aware of Drake's duty to the t.i.tle and estates.

"Perhaps you may some day, Styles," he said, smiling, and checking the sigh.

The farmer nodded twice, with pleasure and satisfaction.

"Glad to hear it, my lord; and I hope the wedding's to be soon."

"Soon or late, I hope you will come and dance at the wedding ball, Styles," Drake responded, with a laugh, as he got up to go.

But the laugh was not a particularly happy one, and he walked toward home in anything but a cheerful mood; for it is hard to be compelled to have to marry one woman while you are in love with another.

He entered the park by the small gate behind which Ted and Burden had stood on the preceding night, and was treading his way through the wood when he saw two figures--those of a man and a girl--walking in the garden behind the south lodge. He glanced at them absently for a moment, then he stopped, and, leaning heavily on his stick, caught his breath.

The man was Falconer, and the girl was--Nell!

They were pacing up and down the path slowly, she with her eyes downcast, some flowers in her hands, he with his face turned toward her, a rapt look in his eyes, his hands, folded behind his back, twitching nervously. They turned full face to Drake as he stood watching them, and he saw her distinctly. It seemed marvelous to him that he had not fully recognized her last night, that he had not guessed that the young engineer was d.i.c.k. The blood rushed to his face, then left it pale, and he stood, unseen by them, gnawing at his mustache.

In all his musings on the past, all his thoughts and dreams of her, the possibility of her being engaged or married had never occurred to him.

He had always pictured her as still "Nell of Shorne Mills," living at The Cottage as she had done when she and he were lovers.

And it was she--she, Nell!--to whom this musician was engaged! A wave of bitterness swept over him, and in the agony of his jealousy he could have laughed aloud.

He had been sighing for her, longing for her, feeding his soul on his memory of her, all these months, while she had not only forgotten him, but had learned to love another man!

He stood and stared at them, as if he saw them through a mist, too overwhelmed to move; but presently he saw Nell look up with tears in her eyes, and hold out her hand slowly, timidly.

Falconer took it and put his lips to it. The sight broke the spell that held Drake, and, with a muttered oath, he turned and walked away quickly through the wood toward the house.

The first dinner bell was ringing as he entered the hall. Most of the guests had gone up to dress, but one or two still lingered in the hall, and among them Lady Angleford and Lady Luce. The former came to meet him as he entered.

"Why, where have you been, Drake?" she said, with the little maternal manner with which she always addressed him.

Lady Luce was lounging in a chair, playing with a grayhound, and she looked up at him with a smile, then lowered her eyes, as if she were afraid their welcome should be too marked.

"I've been for a walk," he said. His face was flushed, his eyes bright--too bright--with suppressed emotion. "I've been lunching at the Styles' farm----"