Was it of any use in this her hour of dire need, praying? Why, in all her life--her brief, brilliant life--she had never prayed; was it of any use her beginning now? She did not even remember the simple words of the little prayer she had been used to say with Mattie at her mother's knee--it was all forgotten. She knew there was a God in heaven, although she had always laughed and mocked at religion, deeming it only fit for tiresome children and old women; surely there was more in it than this. She knelt down and stretched out her hands with a yearning look, as though some voice in the skies would surely speak to her; then she could not remember how it happened, the fragrance of the flowers seemed to grow too strong for her, the glass roof, the green, climbing plants, the brilliant blossoms, seemed to fall on her and crush her. With a long, low cry she fell with her face on the ground, a streaming mass of radiant white and golden hair. It was there, that, going in an hour afterward, Earle found her, and raising her from the floor, thought at first that she was dead. Great was the distress, great the consternation; servants came hurrying in, the doctor was sent for. The earl and the countess returning, were driven half frantic by the sight of that white face and silent figure. It hardly reassured them to hear that it was only a fainting fit. "Brought on by what?" asked the earl, in a fever of anxiety. "Nothing more than the reaction after too great physical fatigue," replied the doctor. "The Lady Doris looks stronger than she really is; the best advice I can give is, that she should leave London at once, and have some weeks of perfect rest in the country. Medicine is of no use." Lady Linleigh quite agreed in this view of the subject, and the earl declared impetuously that they should go at once--to-morrow if she is better, he said, "I should not like such another fright." That evening when Lady Doris lay on the little couch in Lady Linleigh's boudoir, and Earle sat by her side, he said to her: "What caused that sudden illness, my darling? Did anything frighten you?" "No; I was only tired, Earle." "Tired! I am beginning to dread the word. Do you know what they told me, Doris?" "No," she replied, looking at him with frightened eyes; "what was it?" "One of the servants said she was quite sure that she had heard some one talking to you in the conservatory; but when I went in you were quite alone. Had any one been there?" "What nonsense," she cried evasively; time and experience had taught her that it was foolish to risk the truth recklessly. "I thought it was a mistake," said loyal Earle. "Who would be likely to be with you there, when you had reserved the morning for me?" She closed her tired eyes, and said to herself how thankful she should be when all this was over. CHAPTER LXXII. THE EARL RELUCTANTLY ASSENTS.