and whispered my name, it seems to me I must hear you.

"Beatrice, you promised to be my wife--you will not fail me? Ah, no, it
can not be that the blue heavens above will look on quietly and witness
my death blow! You will come to me, and give me a word, a smile to
show how true you have been.

"Last evening I wandered round the grounds, wondering which were the
windows of my love's chamber, and asking myself whether she was
dreaming of me. Life has changed for you since we sat upon the cliffs
at Knutsford and you promised to be my wife. I heard at the farm all
about the great change, and how the young girl who wandered with me
through the bonny green woods is the daughter of Lord Earle. Your
home, doubtless, is a stately one. Rank and position like yours might
frighten some lovers--they do not daunt me. You will not let them
stand between us. You can not, after the promises you uttered.

"Beatrice, my voyage has been a successful one; I am not a rich man,
but I have enough to gratify every wish to your heart. I will take you
away to sunny lands over the sea where life shall be so full of
happiness that you will wish it never to end.

"I wait your commands. Rumor tells me Lord Earl is a strange,
disappointed man. I will not yet call upon you at your own home; I
shall await your reply at Brookfield. Write at once, Beatrice, and
tell me how and when I may meet you. I will go anywhere, at any time.
Do not delay--my heart hungers and thirsts for one glance of your
peerless face. Appoint an hour soon. How shall I live until it comes?
Until then think of me as

"Your devoted lover, Hugh Fernely.
"Address Post Office, Brookfield."

She read every word carefully and then slowly turned the letter over
and read it again. Her white lips quivered with indignant passion.
How dared he presume so far? His love! Ah, if Hubert Airlie could have
read those words! Fernely's love! She loathed him; she hated, with
fierce, hot hatred, the very sound of his name. Why must this most
wretched folly of her youth rise up against her now? What must she do?
Where could she turn for help and counsel?

Could it be possible that this man she hated so fiercely had touched
her face and covered her hands with kisses and tears? She struck the
little white hands which held the letter against the marble stand, and
where Hugh Fernely's tears had fallen a dark bruise purpled the fair
skin; white hard, fierce words came from