ss and disappointment in her heart which a maiden should feel
when she has failed to see her lover.

She was just as much in love with him as ever!--oh! of that she felt
quite sure! she still thrilled at thought of his heroic martyrdom for
the cause which he had at heart, she still was conscious of a wonderful
feeling of elation when she was with him, and of pride when she saw this
remarkable hero, this selfless patriot at her feet, and heard his
impassioned declarations of love, even when these were alloyed with
frantic outbursts of jealousy. She still yearned for him when she did
not see him, even though she dreaded his ill-humor when he was nigh.

She had promised to be his wife, soon and in secret, for he had vowed
that she did not love him if she condemned him to three long months of
infinite torture from jealousy and suspense.

This promise she had given him freely and whole-heartedly more than a
fortnight ago. Since that memorable evening when she had thus plighted
her troth to him, when she had without a shadow of fear or a tremor of
compunction entrusted her entire future, her heart and soul to his
keeping, since then she had not seen him.

Sir Marmaduke had gone to London, also Mistress de Chavasse, and she had
not even caught sight of the weird silhouette of her French prince.
Lambert, too, had gone, put out of her way temporarily--or mayhap,
forever--through the irresistible force of a terrible disgrace. There
was no one to spy on her movements, no one to dog her footsteps, yet she
had not seen him.

When her guardian returned, he seemed so engrossed with Lambert's
misdeeds that he gave little thought to his ward. He and Mistress de
Chavasse were closeted together for hours in the small withdrawing-room,
whilst she was left to roam about the house and grounds unchallenged.

Then at last one evening--it was late August then--when despair had
begun to grip her heart, and she herself had become the prey of vague
fears, of terrors for his welfare, his life mayhap, on which he had oft
told her that the vengeful King of France had set a price--one evening
he came to greet her walking through the woods, treading the soft carpet
of moss with a light elastic step.

Oh! that had been a rapturous evening! one which she oft strove to
recall, now that sadness had once more overwhelmed her. He had been all
tenderness, all love, all passion! He vowed that he adored her as an
idolater would worship his divinity. Jeal