rt and she were once married, she would not fear; if
she confessed all to him, he would forgive her. He might be very
angry, but he would pardon his wife. If he knew all about it before
marriage, there was no hope for her.

She must temporize with Fernely--write in a style that would convey
nothing, and tell him that he must wait. He could not refuse. She
would write that evening a letter that should give him no hope, nor yet
drive him to despair.

"That is a grand scene, is it not?" said Lord Airlie suddenly; then he
saw by Beatrice's startled look that she had not listened.

"I plead guilty at once," she replied. "I was thinking--do not be
angry--I was thinking of something that relates to yourself. I heard
nothing of what you read, Hubert. Will you read it again?"

"Certainly not," he said, with a laugh of quiet amusement. "Reading
does not answer; we will try conversation. Let us resume the subject
you ran away from before--where shall we go for our wedding trip?"

Only three days since she would have suggested twenty different places;
she would have smiled and blushed, her dark eyes growing brighter at
every word. Now she listened to her lover's plans as if a ghostly hand
had clutched her heart and benumbed her with fear.

* * * * *

That evening it seemed to Beatrice Earle as though she would never be
left alone. In the drawing room stood a dainty little escritoire used
by the ladies of Earlescourt. Here she dared not write lest Lord
Airlie should, as he often did, linger by her, pretending to assist
her. If she went into the library, Lord Earle would be sure to ask to
whom she was writing. There was nothing to be done but to wait until
she retired to her own room.

First came Lady Earle, solicitous about her health, recommending a long
rest and a quiet sleep; then Lillian, full of anxiety, half longing to
ask Beatrice if she thought Lionel Dacre handsomer and kinder than any
one else; then the maid Suzette, who seemed to linger as though she
would never go.

At length she was alone, the door locked upon the outer world. She was
soon seated at her little desk, where she speedily wrote the following
cold letter, that almost drove Hugh Fernely mad:

"My dear Hugh,--Have you really returned? I thought you were lost in
the Chinese Seas, or had forgotten the little episode at Knutsford. I
can not see you just yet. As you have heard, Lord Earle has peculiar
notions--I