"Is Lady Trevlyn at home, Bedford?" asked Paul, as he presented himselfat an early hour next day, wearing the keen, stern expression which madehim look ten years older than he was.

"No, sir, my lady and Miss Lillian went down to the Hall last night."

"No ill news, I hope?" And the young man's eye kindled as if he felt acrisis at hand.

"Not that I heard, sir. Miss Lillian took one of her sudden whims andwould have gone alone, if my lady hadn't given in much against her will,this being a time when she is better away from the place."

"Did they leave no message for me?"

"Yes, sir. Will you step in and read the note at your ease. We are insad confusion, but this room is in order."

Leading the way to Lillian's boudoir, the man presented the note andretired. A few hasty lines from my lady, regretting the necessity ofthis abrupt departure, yet giving no reason for it, hoping they mightmeet next season, but making no allusion to seeing him at the Hall,desiring Lillian's thanks and regards, but closing with no hint ofHelen, except compliments. Paul smiled as he threw it into the fire,saying to himself, "Poor lady, she thinks she has escaped the danger byflying, and Lillian tries to hide her trouble from me. Tender littleheart! I'll comfort it without delay."

He sat looking about the dainty room still full of tokens of herpresence. The piano stood open with a song he liked upon the rack; a bitof embroidery, whose progress he had often watched, lay in her basketwith the little thimble near it; there was a strew of papers on thewriting table, torn notes, scraps of drawing, and ball cards; apearl-colored glove lay on the floor; and in the grate the faded flowershe had brought two days before. As his eye roved to and fro, he seemedto enjoy some happy dream, broken too soon by the sound of servantsshutting up the house. He arose but lingered near the table, as iflonging to search for some forgotten hint of himself.

"No, there has been enough lock picking and stealthy work; I'll do nomore for her sake. This theft will harm no one and tell no tales." Andsnatching up the glove, Paul departed.

"Helen, the time has come. Are you ready?" he asked, entering her rooman hour later.

"I am ready." And rising, she stretched her hand to him with a proudexpression, contrasting painfully with her helpless gesture.

"They have gone to the Hall, and we must follow. It is useless to waitlonger; we gain nothing by it, and the claim must stand on such proof aswe have, or fall for want of that one link. I am tired of disguise. Iwant to be myself and enjoy what I have won, unless I lose it all."

"Paul, whatever happens, remember we cling together and share good orevil fortune as we always have done. I am a burden, but I cannot livewithout you, for you are my world. Do not desert me."

"No, no, you shall not give it up!" cried Helen almost fiercely, whilethe slumbering fire of her southern nature flashed into her face. "Youhave waited so long, worked so hard, suffered so much, you must not loseyour reward. You promised, and you must keep the promise."

"But it is so beautiful, so noble to forgive, and return a blessing fora curse. Let us bury the old feud, and right the old wrong in a new way.Those two are so blameless, it is cruel to visit the sins of the dead ontheir innocent heads. My lady has suffered enough already, and Lillianis so young, so happy, so unfit to meet a storm like this. Oh, Helen,mercy is more divine than justice."

Something moved Paul deeply, and Helen seemed about to yield, when thename of Lillian wrought a subtle change in her. The color died out ofher face, her black eyes burned with a gloomy fire, and her voice wasrelentless as she answered, while her frail hands held him fast, "I willnot let you give it up. We are as innocent as they; we have sufferedmore; and we deserve our rights, for we have no sin to expiate. Go on,Paul, and forget the sentimental folly that unmans you."

Something in her words seemed to sting or wound him. His face darkened,and he put her away, saying briefly, "Let it be so then. In an hour wemust go."

On the evening of the same day, Lady Trevlyn and her daughter sattogether in the octagon room at the Hall. Twilight was falling andcandles were not yet brought, but a cheery fire blazed in the widechimney, filling the apartment with a ruddy glow, turning Lillian'sbright hair to gold and lending a tinge of color to my lady's pallidcheeks. The girl sat on a low lounging chair before the fire, her headon her hand, her eyes on the red embers, her thoughts - where? My ladylay on her couch, a little in the shadow, regarding her daughter with ananxious air, for over the young face a somber change had passed whichfilled her with disquiet.

"You are out of spirits, love," she said at last, breaking the longsilence, as Lillian gave an unconscious sigh and leaned wearily into thedepths of her chair.

"Yes, Mamma, a little."

"What is it? Are you ill?"

"No, Mamma; I think London gaiety is rather too much for me. I'm tooyoung for it, as you often say, and I've found it out."

"Then it is only weariness that makes you so pale and grave, and so benton coming back here?"

Lillian was the soul of truth, and with a moment's hesitation answeredslowly, "Not that alone, Mamma. I'm worried about other things. Don'task me what, please."

"But I must ask. Tell me, child, what things? Have you seen any one? Hadletters, or been annoyed in any way about - anything?"

My lady spoke with sudden energy and rose on her arm, eyeing the girlwith unmistakable suspicion and excitement.

"No, Mamma, it's only a foolish trouble of my own," answered Lillian,with a glance of surprise and a shamefaced look as the words reluctantlyleft her lips.

"Ah, a love trouble, nothing more? Thank God for that!" And my lady sankback as if a load was off her mind. "Tell me all, my darling; there isno confidante like a mother."

"You are very kind, and perhaps you can cure my folly if I tell it, andyet I am ashamed," murmured the girl. Then yielding to an irresistibleimpulse to ask help and sympathy, she added, in an almost inaudibletone, "I came away to escape from Paul."

"Because he loves you, Lillian?" asked my lady, with a frown and a halfsmile.

"He is wellborn, and now my equal in fortune, and oh, so much mysuperior in all gifts of mind and heart," sighed the girl, still withhidden face, for tears were dropping through her slender fingers.

"It may be, but there is a mystery about him; and I have a vague disliketo him in spite of all that has passed. But, darling, are you sure hedoes not care for you? I fancied I read a different story in his face,and when you begged to leave town so suddenly, I believed that you hadseen this also, and kindly wished to spare him any pain."

"It was to spare myself. Oh, Mamma, he loves Helen, and will marry heralthough she is blind. He told me this, with a look I could not doubt,and so I came away to hide my sorrow," sobbed poor Lillian in despair.

Lady Trevlyn went to her and, laying the bright head on her motherlybosom, said soothingly as she caressed it, "My little girl, it is toosoon for you to know these troubles, and I am punished for yielding toyour entreaties for a peep at the gay world. It is now too late to spareyou this; you have had your wish and must pay its price, dear. But,Lillian, call pride to aid you, and conquer this fruitless love. Itcannot be very deep as yet, for you have known Paul, the man, too shorta time to be hopelessly enamored. Remember, there are others, better,braver, more worthy of you; that life is long, and full of pleasure yetuntried."

"Have no fears for me, Mamma. I'll not disgrace you or myself by anysentimental folly. I do love Paul, but I can conquer it, and I will.Give me a little time, and you shall see me quite myself again."

Lillian lifted her head with an air of proud resolve that satisfied hermother, and with a grateful kiss stole away to ease her full heartalone. As she disappeared Lady Trevlyn drew a long breath and, claspingher hands with a gesture of thanksgiving, murmured to herself in anaccent of relief, "Only a love sorrow! I feared it was some new terrorlike the old one. Seventeen years of silence, seventeen years of secretdread and remorse for me," she said, pacing the room with tightly lockedhands and eyes full of unspeakable anguish. "Oh, Richard, Richard! Iforgave you long ago, and surely I have expiated my innocent offense bythese years of suffering! For her sake I did it, and for her sake Istill keep dumb. God knows I ask nothing for myself but rest andoblivion by your side."

Half an hour later, Paul stood at the hall door. It was ajar, for thefamily had returned unexpectedly, as was evident from the open doors andempty halls. Entering unseen, he ascended to the room my lady usuallyoccupied. The fire burned low, Lillian's chair was empty, and my ladylay asleep, as if lulled by the sighing winds without and the deepsilence that reigned within. Paul stood regarding her with a great pitysoftening his face as he marked the sunken eyes, pallid cheeks, lockstoo early gray, and restless lips muttering in dreams.

"I wish I could spare her this," he sighed, stooping to wake her with aword. But he did not speak, for, suddenly clutching the chain about herneck, she seemed to struggle with some invisible foe and beat it off,muttering audibly as she clenched her thin hands on the golden case.Paul leaned and listened as if the first word had turned him to stone,till the paroxysm had passed, and with a heavy sigh my lady sank into acalmer sleep. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder, Paulskillfully opened the locket, drew out the silver key, replaced it withone from the piano close by, and stole from the house noiselessly as hehad entered it.

That night, in the darkest hour before the dawn, a figure went glidingthrough the shadowy Park to its most solitary corner. Here stood thetomb of the Trevlyns, and here the figure paused. A dull spark of lightwoke in its hand, there was a clank of bars, the creak of rusty hinges,then light and figure both seemed swallowed up.

Standing in the tomb where the air was close and heavy, the pale glimmerof the lantern showed piles of moldering coffins in the niches, andeverywhere lay tokens of decay and death. The man drew his hat lowerover his eyes, pulled the muffler closer about his mouth, and surveyedthe spot with an undaunted aspect, though the beating of his heart washeard in the deep silence. Nearest the door stood a long casket coveredwith black velvet and richly decorated with silver ornaments, tarnishednow. The Trevlyns had been a stalwart race, and the last sleeper broughtthere had evidently been of goodly stature, for the modern coffin was asponderous as the great oaken beds where lay the bones of generations.Lifting the lantern, the intruder brushed the dust from theshield-shaped plate, read the name RICHARD TREVLYN and a date, and, asif satisfied, placed a key in the lock, half-raised the lid, and,averting his head that he might not see the ruin seventeen long yearshad made, he laid his hand on the dead breast and from the folded shrouddrew a mildewed paper. One glance sufficed, the casket was relocked, thedoor rebarred, the light extinguished, and the man vanished like a ghostin the darkness of the wild October night.