now it before long."

The last sentence tickled the earl's fancy, and a grim smile passed over
his lips. "It will be war to the knife, if you do."

"I know that," laughed the viscount. "But I am getting a better match
for mamma in our battles than I used to be."

Nobody saw fit to prolong the discussion. Barbara put her veto upon
the drive in the pony carriage unless John sat behind to look after the
driver, which Lord Vane still resented as an insult. Madame Vine, when
the corridor became empty again, laid her hand upon the boy's arm as he
was moving away, and drew him to the window.

"In speaking as you do of Lucy Carlyle, do you forget the disgrace
reflected on her by the conduct of her mother?"

"Her mother is not Lucy."

"It may prove an impediment, that, with Lord and Lady Mount Severn."

"Not with his lordship. And I must do--as you heard me say--battle with
my mother. Conciliatory battle, you understand, madame; bringing the
enemy to reason."

Madame Vine was agitated. She held her handkerchief to her mouth, and
the boy noticed how her hands trembled.

"I have learnt to love Lucy. It has appeared to me in these few months'
sojourn with her, that I have stood to her in light of a mother. William
Vane," she solemnly added, keeping her hold upon him, "I shall soon
be where earthly distinctions are no more; where sin and sorrow are
no more. Should Lucy Carlyle indeed become your wife, in after years,
never, never cast upon her, by so much as the slightest word of
reproach, the sin of Lady Isabel."

Lord Vane threw back his head, his honest eyes flashing in their
indignant earnestness.

"What do you take me for?"

"It would be a cruel wrong upon Lucy. She does not deserve it. That
unhappy lady's sin was all her own; let it die with her. Never speak to
Lucy of her mother."

The lad dashed his hand across his eyes for they were filling.

"I shall. I shall speak to her often of her mother--that is, you know,
after she's my wife. I shall tell her how I loved Lady Isabel--that
there's nobody I ever loved so much in the world, but Lucy herself. _I_
cast a reproach to Lucy on the score of her mother!" he hotly added. "It
is through her mother that I love her. You don't understand, madame."

"Cherish and love her forever, should she become yours," said Lady
Isabel, wringing his hand. "I ask it you as one who is dying."

"I will--I promise it. But I say, madame," he continued, dropping his
fervent tone, "w