ly I am guilty of
to-day. She was absurd enough to imagine I had still a chance left. I
speedily convinced her of the contrary."

"Did you?" Norine said, a roguish smile dimpling the pretty mouth. "But
then Mr. Gilbert is famous as a special pleader, and poor Nellie is so
weakly credulous. I don't believe you would find it so easy to convince
_me_."

"Norine!" he stood still, his face pale, his eyes startled, "for pity's
sake what is it you mean? Don't let me hope only to fool me again! I--I
couldn't bear that!"

She came forward, both hands eloquently outstretched, a smile quivering
on her lips, tears in the dusk, lovely eyes.

"Richard, see! I love you with all my heart--I have loved you for years.
Let me atone for the past--let me keep the plight I broke so long
ago--let me be your wife. Life can hold no happiness half so great as
that for me!"

And then, as he folded her in his arms close to the heart that would
shelter her forever, Helen's happy voice came borne to them where they
stood.

"Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,
Say that health and wealth have missed me;
Say I'm growing old, but add--
Jenny kissed me!"

SIR NOEL'S HEIR.

CHAPTER I.

SIR NOEL'S DEATH BED.

The December night had closed in wet and wild around Thetford Towers. It
stood down in the low ground, smothered in trees, a tall gaunt, hoary
pile of gray stone, all peaks, and gables, and stacks of chimneys, and
rook-infested turrets. A queer, massive, old house, built in the days of
James the First, by Sir Hugo Thetford, the first baronet of the name,
and as staunch and strong now as then.

The December day had been overcast and gloomy, but the December night
was stormy and wild. The wind worried and wailed through the tossing
trees with whistling moans and shrieks that were desolately human, and
made one think of the sobbing banshee of Irish legends. Far away the
mighty voice of the stormy sea mingled its hoarse bass, and the rain
lashed the windows in long, slanting lines. A desolate night, and a
desolate scene without; more desolate still within, for on his bed, this
tempestuous winter night, the last of the Thetford baronets lay dying.

Through the driving wind and lashing rain, a groom galloped along the
high road to the village at break-neck speed. His errand was to Dr.
Gale, the village surgeon, which gentleman he found just preparing to go
to bed.

"For God's sake, doctor," cried the man, whit