casket hiding a precious gem. Nay, still more, though
knowing and loving her, he had begun to care for everything good and
pure that interested her. Now all was false and hateful.

There was no truth in the world, he said to himself. This girl, whom
he had believed to be the fairest and sweetest among women, was but a
more skillful deceiver than the rest. His mother's little deceptions,
hiding narrow means and straitened circumstances, were as nothing
compared with Lillian's deceit.

And he had loved her so! Looking into those tender eyes, he had
believed love and truth shone there; the dear face that had blushed and
smiled for him had looked so pure and guileless.

How long was it since he had held her little hands clasped within his
own, and, abashed before her sweet innocence, had not dared to touch
her lips, even when she had promised to love him? How he had been
duped and deceived! How she must have laughed at his blind folly!

Who was the man? Some one she must have known years before. There was
no gentleman in Lord Earle's circle who would have stolen into his
grounds like a thief by night. Why had he not followed him, and
thrashed him within an inch of his life? Why had he let him escape?

The strong hands were clinched tightly. It was well for Hugh Fernely
that he was not at that moment in Lionel's power. Then the fierce, hot
anger died away, and a passion of despair seized him. A long, low cry
came from his lips, a bitter sob shook his frame. He had lost his
fair, sweet love. The ideal he had worshiped lay stricken; falsehood
and deceit marked its fair form.

While the first smart of pain was upon him, he would not return to the
house; he would wait until he was calm and cool. Then he would see how
she dared to meet him.

His hands ceased to tremble; the strong, angry pulsating of his heart
grew calmer. He went back to the drawing room; and, except that the
handsome face was pale even to the lips, and that a strange, angry
light gleamed in the frank, kindly eyes, there was little difference in
Lionel Dacre.

She was there, bending over the large folio he had asked her to show
him; the golden hair fell upon the leaves. She looked up as he
entered; her face was calm and serene; there was a faint pink flush on
the cheeks, and a bright smile trembled on her features.

"Here are the drawings," she said; "will you look over them?"

He remembered how he had asked her to sing to him, and sh