hateful disguise! Nothing earthly will ever
induce me to put it on again."

"I trust not," he said, gravely; "let us hope it may never be
necessary. You are safe here, Miss Silver, from the tyranny of your
uncle and cousin. The friendless and unprotected shall never be turned
from Kingsland Court."

She took his hand and lifted it to her lips, and once more the luminous
eyes were swimming in tears.

"I would thank you if I could, Sir Everard," the sweet voice murmured:
"but you overpower me! Your goodness is beyond thanks."

A footstep on the marble stair made itself unpleasantly audible at this
interesting crisis. Miss Silver dropped the baronet's hand with a wild
instinct of flight in her great black eyes.

"Return to your room," Sir Everard whispered. "Lock the door, and
remain there until I apprise my mother of your presence here and
prepare her to receive you. Quick! I don't want these prying prigs of
servants to find you here."

She vanished like a flash.

Sir Everard walked down-stairs, and passed his own valet sleepily
ascending.

"I beg your parding, Sir Heverard," said the valet; "but we was all
very anxious about you. Sir Galahad came galloping home riderless,
and--"

"That will do, Edward. You did not disturb Lady Kingsland?"

"No, Sir Heverard."

Sir Everard passed abruptly on and sought the stables at once. Sir
Galahad was there, undergoing his morning toilet, and greeted his
master with a loud neigh of delight.

The young baronet dawdled away the lagging morning hours, smoking
endless cigars under the waving trees, and waiting for the time when my
lady should be visible. She rarely rose before noon, but to-day she
deigned to get up at nine. Sir Everard flung away his last cigar, and
went bounding up the grand stairs three at a time.

Lady Kingsland sat breakfasting in her boudoir with her daughter--a
charming little bijou of a room, all filigree work, and fluted walls,
delicious little Greuze paintings, and flowers and perfume--and Lady
Kingsland, in an exquisitely becoming robe de matin, at five-and-fifty
looked fair and handsome, and scarce middle-aged yet. Time, that deals
so gallantly with these blonde beauties, had just thinned the fair hair
at the parting, and planted dainty crow's-feet about the patrician
mouth, but left no thread of silver under the pretty Parisian lace cap.

Mildred Kingsland, opposite her mother, scarcely bore her thirty years
so gracefully. Sh