"I can hardly tell you in sober words," she replied. "Lord Airlie has
asked me to be his wife--his wife; and oh, Lily, I love him so dearly!"

Pride and dignity all broke down; the beautiful face was laid upon
Lillian's shoulder, and Beatrice wept happy tears.

"I love him so, Lily," she went on; "but I never thought he cared for
me. What have I ever done that I should be so happy?"

The moonbeams never fell upon a sweeter picture than these fair young
sisters; Lillian's pure, spirituelle face bent over Beatrice.

"I love him, Lily," she continued, "for himself. He is a king among
men. Who is so brave, so generous, so noble? If he were a beggar, I
should care just as much for him."

Lillian listened and sympathized until the bright, dark eyes seemed to
grow weary; then she bade her sister goodnight, and went to her own
room.

Beatrice Earle was alone at last--alone with her happiness and love.
It seemed impossible that her heart and brain could ever grow calm or
quiet again. It was all in vain she tried to sleep. Lord Airlie's
face, his voice, his words haunted her.

She rose, and put on a pretty pink dressing gown. The fresh air, she
thought, would make her sleep, so she opened the long window gently,
and looked out.

The night was still and clear; the moon hung over the dark trees;
floods of silvery light bathed the far-off lake, the sleeping flowers,
and the green grass. There was a gentle stir amid the branches; the
leaves rustled in the wind; the blue, silent heavens above bright and
calm. The solemn beauty of the starlit sky and the hushed murmur
appealed to her. Into the proud, passionate heart there came some
better, nobler thoughts. Ah, in the future that lay so brilliant and
beautiful before her she would strive to be good, she would be true and
steadfast, she would think more of what Lily loved and spoke about at
times. Then her thoughts went back to her lover, and that happy half
hour in the rose garden. From her window she could see it--the moon
shone full upon it. The moonlight was a fair type of her life that was
to be, bright, clear, unshadowed. Even as the thought shaped itself in
her mind, a shadow fell among the trees. She looked, and saw the figure
of a tall man walking down the path that divided the little garden from
the shrubbery. He stood still there, gazing long and earnestly at the
windows of the house, and then went out into the park, and disappeared.

She was not start