be mixed up with a wretched clandestine love affair
like this! She, to steal out of her father's house at night, to meet a
stranger, and plead her sister's cause with him! The thought horrified
her; but the beautiful face in its wild sorrow, the sad voice in its
passionate anguish, urged her on.

Lillian went hastily to her own room. She took a large black shawl and
drew it closely round her, hiding the pretty evening dress and the rich
pearls. Then, with the letter in her hand, she went down the staircase
that led from her rooms to the garden.

The night was dark; heavy clouds sailed swiftly across the sky, the
wind moaned fitfully, bending the tall trees as it were in anger, then
whispering round them as though suing for pardon. Lillian had never
been out at night alone before, and her first sensation was one of
fear. She crossed the gardens where the autumn flowers were fading;
the lights shone gayly from the Hall windows; the shrubbery looked dark
and mysterious. She was frightened at the silence and darkness, but
went bravely on. He was there. By the gate she saw a tall figure
wrapped in a traveling cloak; as she crossed the path, he stepped
hastily forward, crying with a voice she never forgot:

"Beatrice, at last you have come!"

"It is not Beatrice," she said, shrinking from the outstretched arms.
"I am Lillian Earle. My sister is ill, and has sent you this."

Chapter XXXVI

Hugh Fernely took the letter from Lillian's hands, and read it with a
muttered imprecation of disappointment. The moon, which had been
struggling for the last hour with a mass of clouds, shone out faintly;
by its light Lillian saw a tall man with a dark, handsome face browned
with the sun of warm climes, dark eyes that had in them a wistful
sadness, and firm lips. He did not look like the gentlemen she was
accustomed to. He was polite and respectful. When he heard her name,
he took off his hat, and stood uncovered during the interview.

"Wait!" he cried. "Ah, must I wait yet longer? Tell your sister I
have waited until my yearning wish to see her is wearing my life away."

"She is really ill," returned Lillian. "I am alarmed for her. Do not
be angry with me if I say she is ill through anxiety and fear."

"Has she sent you to excuse her?" he asked, gloomily. "It is of no
use. Your sister is my promised wife, Miss Lillian, and see her I
will."

"You must wait at least until she is willing," said Lillian, and he