en Alice
Wingfield wear. He was puzzled. It flashed to him strange pathos,
affection, and entreaty. He took Delia Gasgoyne to her mother, talked to
Lady Belward a little, and then went quietly back to where he had seen
Alice. She was gone. Just then some people from town came to speak to
him, and he was detained. When he was free he searched, but she was
nowhere to be found. He went to Lady Belward. Yes, Miss Wingfield had
gone. Lady Belward looked at Gaston anxiously, and asked him why he was
curious. "Because she's a lonely-looking little maid," he said, "and I
wanted to be kind to her. She didn't seem happy a while ago."

Lady Belward was reassured.

"Yes, she is a sweet creature, Gaston," she said, and added: "You are a
good boy to-night, a very good host indeed. It is worth the doing," she
went on, looking out on the guests proudly. "I did not think I should
ever come to it again with any heart, but I do it for you gladly. Now,
away to your duty," she added, tapping his breast affectionately with
her fan, "and when everything is done, come and take me to my room."

Ian Belward passed Gaston as he went. He had seen the affectionate
passages.

"'For a good boy!' 'God bless our Home!"' he said, ironically.

Gaston saw the mark of his hand on his uncle's chin, and he forbore
ironical reply.

"The home is worth the blessing," he rejoined quietly, and passed on.

Three hours later the guests had all gone, and Lady Belward, leaning on
her grandson's arm, went to her boudoir, while Ian and his father sought
the library. Ian was going next morning. The conference was not likely
to be cheerful.

Inside her boudoir, Lady Belward sank into a large chair, and let her
head fall back and her eyes close. She motioned Gaston to a seat. Taking
one near, he waited. After a time she opened her eyes and drew herself
up.

"My dear," she said, "I wish to talk with you."

"I shall be very glad; but isn't it late? and aren't you tired,
grandmother?"

"I shall sleep better after," she responded, gently. She then began
to review the past; her own long unhappiness, Robert's silence, her
uncertainty as to his fate, and the after hopelessness, made greater
by Ian's conduct. In low, kind words she spoke of his coming and the
renewal of her hopes, coupled with fear also that he might not fit in
with his new life, and--she could say it now--do something unbearable.
Well, he had done nothing unworthy of their name; had acted, on the