"We ought to be very much flattered," said Lord Linleigh, with a smile, as he laid an open letter before his wife. "When did we leave London?--in June. It is only the middle of July, yet some of our friends are growing weary for us." It was such a July morning as makes the dwellers in cities ill with envy--when the earth hangs like a huge, shining jewel in the firmament of heaven--a morning when life seems the greatest luxury, when to breathe and to live is a blessing without alloy. The sky was dark blue, without even one little white cloud to obscure it; it looked so far off, so much further than when low-lying clouds touch the earth. The sun was golden bright, warm without intense heat; and the air--ah! well, it would require a poet to tell how balmy and soft it was--how it came over the meadows laden with the breath of sweet clover--how it came from the woods with the odor of wild hyacinths--how it came from the gardens with the fragrance of rose and of lily, with the fragrance of every flower that blows. Then it was filled with soft, delicious thrills--with the cooing of the ring-doves, and the song of the lark. Nature was in her happiest mood. The earl and countess had come down early to breakfast--the long windows were open--the perfumed air came in. They smiled, as among the letters they saw one from Earle to Doris. "He writes every day," said Lord Linleigh. "Quite right," said Lady Estelle. "I like to see lovers deeply in love." They smiled again, when, fresh and fair as the morning itself, Doris came down. Her face flushed when she saw the letter; a sweet, dewy brightness came into her eyes; she laid it aside as though waiting for time. "Read your letter, Doris," said Lady Linleigh, and the girl opened it. Ah! well, perhaps life does not hold a greater pleasure than reading a passionate love-letter on a bright summer morning. Her dainty color deepened as she read; the light grew brighter in her eyes. "My love!" thought the girl; "how he loves me." And with the fragrant breath of the summer morning, with the light of the blue skies, with the song of the birds, there came to her a pang of regret that she was so utterly unworthy of this great pure love, that her soul was so terribly stained by crime. Then, she said to herself that she would atone for it, that she would to the very best of her power make up for it; that she would be so loving, so tender, so true, he should never have cause to regret it. For it was such a love-letter as would have touched any girl's heart; written with the fire of a poet and of a lover. She lost herself in a day-dream, in a golden trance of happiness: it was coming so near, this wedding-day which was to bind her to Earle forever, and free her from all care. It was Lady Linleigh's voice that roused her, and she was asking: "What friend is coming--who is coming, Ulric?" "Lord Vivianne--he does not say how long he intends remaining. There is the letter; read it."