he said. "I beg your pardon," he broke off. "I--I suppose I ought to call you 'my lord' now. I can scarcely realize yet----"

Drake flushed almost angrily.

"For Heaven's sake, no!" he exclaimed. "There need be no difference between you and me, d.i.c.k, whatever there may be between----I'll come across in the morning to inquire, and I'll tell you all that has happened. d.i.c.k, you'll have to forgive me for hiding my right name down there at Shorne Mills. It was a folly; but one gets punished for one's follies," he added, as he held out his hand.

Still confused by the discovery that his old friend "Drake Vernon" was Lord Angleford, d.i.c.k could only let him go in silence, and Drake pa.s.sed out.

As he did so, he looked up at the window of the sick room. A shadow pa.s.sed the blind, and as he recognized it he sighed heavily. Yes; notwithstanding his wound and his peril, the penniless musician was the lucky man, and he, my Lord of Angleford, the most unfortunate and unhappy.

Slowly he made his way toward the house, and as he went the face and the voice of the woman he loved haunted him. For a moment she had rested in his arms, and he could still feel her head on his breast, still hear the "Drake, Drake!"

She had not forgotten him, then; she still remembered him with some kindness, though she loved Falconer? Well, he should be grateful for that. It would be good to think of all through the weary years that lay before him.

How beautiful she was! With what an exquisite tenderness her eyes had dwelt upon the wounded man! He started, and almost groaned, as he remembered that not so long ago those eyes had beamed love and tenderness upon himself.

"Oh, Nell, Nell!" broke from him unconsciously. "Oh, my dear, lost love!

how shall I live without you, now that I have seen you, held you in my arms again?"

The great house loomed before him; the hall door was open; figures were standing and flitting in the light that streamed on the terrace; and with a pang he awoke to the responsibilities of his position, to the remembrance of his interview with Luce. There she stood on the top of the steps, a shawl thrown round her head, her face eager and anxious.

"Drake! Is it you?" she exclaimed; and she came down the steps to meet him, her hand outstretched.

The others crowded round, all talking at once. He shook her hand, held it a moment, then let it drop.

"He is all right, I hope," he said.

"He!" she murmured. "It is you--you, Drake!"

He frowned slightly.

"Oh! I?" he said, with self-contempt. "I have got off scot-free. Where is the countess?"

Lady Luce looked at him keenly, and with a half-reproachful air.

"I--I--have been very frightened, Drake," she said.

For the life of him he could not even affect a tenderness.

"On my account? There was not the least need."

Lady Angleford came forward hurriedly.

"Drake! You are not hurt! Thank G.o.d!" And her hands clasped his arm.

"You have got your jewels?" he said, in the curt tone with which a man tries to fend off a fuss. "Are they all there?"

She made an impatient movement.

"Yes, yes--oh, yes! As if they mattered! Tell me how that poor man is.

How brave of him!"

He smiled grimly.

"Yes. He will pull round, I hope. We shall know more in the morning.

Hadn't you ladies better go to bed? Wolfer, I have wanted a drink once or twice in my life, but never, I think, quite so keenly as now."

The men gathered round him as he stopped at the foot of the stairs to wish the women good night. Luce came last, and as she held out her hand, looked at him appealingly. Was he going to let her go without the word she had been expecting--the word he had promised? He understood the appeal in her eyes, but he could not respond. Not to-night, with Nell's face and voice haunting him, could he ask Lady Luce to be his wife.

To-morrow--yes, to-morrow!

She smiled at him as he held her hand, but as she went up the stairs the smile vanished, and, if it is ever possible for so beautiful a woman to become suddenly plain, then Lady Luce's face achieved that transformation.

Gnawing at her underlip, she entered her room, flung herself into a chair, and beat a tattoo with her foot. The door opened softly, and Burden stole in. She was very pale, there were dark marks under her eyes, and she trembled so violently that the brushes rattled together as she took them from the table.

Lady Luce looked up at her angrily.

"What is the matter with you?" she demanded. "You look more like a ghost than a human being, or as if you'd been drinking."

Burden winced under the insult, and stole behind her mistress' chair; but Lady Luce faced round after her.

"You're not fit to do my hair, or anything else!" she said. "What is the matter now? Your mother or one of your other relations, I suppose. You always have some excuse or other for your whims and fancies."

"I--I am rather upset, my lady!" Burden responded, almost inaudibly.

"The--the robbery----"

"What does it concern you?" said Lady Luce sharply. "It is no affair of yours; your business is to wait upon me, and if you can't or won't do it properly----"

The brush fell from Burden's uncertain hand, and Lady Luce sprang to her feet in a pa.s.sion.

"Oh, go away! Get out of my sight!" she said contemptuously. "Go down to the kitchen and tremble and shake with the other maids. I can't put up with you to-night."

"I'm--I'm very sorry, my lady. I'm upset--everybody's upset."

"Oh, go--go!" broke in Lady Luce impatiently. "If you are not better to-morrow, you'd better go for good!"

Burden stood for a moment uncertainly; then, with a stifled sob, left the room, and went down the corridor toward the servants' apartments; but halfway she stopped, hesitated, then descended the back stairs and stole softly along one of the pa.s.sages. A door from the smoking room opened on to this pa.s.sage, and against this she leaned and listened.

Sparling and the grooms who had joined in the pursuit of the burglars had come back full of the chase and its results, and there was an excited and dramatic recital going on in the servants' hall at that moment; but she dared not go there, though she was in an agony of anxiety to know the whole truth and the fate of her lover. Her face, her overwrought condition, would have betrayed her; so, at the least, would have caused surprise and aroused suspicion. She could not face the servants' hall, but she knew that the gentlemen would be discussing the affair in the smoking room, and that if she could listen unseen she should hear what had happened to Ted. It was Ted, and nothing, no one else she cared about.

All the men were in the smoking room, and all were plying Drake with questions. Drake, knowing that he would have to go through it, was giving as concise an account of it as was possible. He was wearied to death, not only of the burglary, but of the emotions he had experienced, and his voice was low and his manner that of a man talking against his will; but Burden heard every word, for, at its lowest, Drake's voice was singularly clear.

She listened, motionless as a statue, till he came to the point where the burglar had turned and faced him. Then she moved and had hard work to stifle a moan.

"That was a near thing, Angleford!" said Lord Turfleigh, over the edge of his gla.s.s; "a deuced near thing! If I'd been you, I should have cried a go, and let the fellow off. Dash it all! a man in your position has no right to risk his life, even for such diamonds as the Angleford."

Drake laughed shortly.

"I didn't think of the diamonds," he said quietly. "It was a match between me and the man. He missed me and bolted to cover. I followed, and he slipped behind a tree and aimed; but he missed--fortunately for me."

"Missed you?" said Lord Wolfer, who had been listening attentively and in silence. "How was that? You must have been very near?"