“Now what’s in the wind?” he said, under his breath; aloud he called out: “Do you want the horse?” “Not this morning.” “You ain’t helped me with the boxes.” “True, I had forgotten; I will help you when I come back. I am going to see Miss Follett.” Samson grinned again, but he took care now to withdraw his head from any chance of Rowton’s observation. The morning was clear and frosty; the storm of the night before had completely spent itself; the sky overhead was a watery blue, and the ground beneath felt crisp under Rowton’s feet as he walked. He quickly reached the Grange, and taking a short cut to the house, soon found himself on the lawn, where he had tied Satyr the night before. The door of the old Grange was wide open and Nancy stood on the steps. She heard her lover’s footsteps and greeted him with a very faint smile, which quickly vanished. Her face was ghastly white and red rims disfigured her beautiful grey eyes. “Here I am,” said Rowton. “Good morning, sweetheart; give me a kiss, won’t you?” Nancy raised her trembling lips, then all of a sudden her calm gave way, she flung her arms passionately round Rowton’s neck and burst into convulsive sobs. “There, darling, there,” he said. He patted her on the cheek, kissed her many times and tried to comfort her, showering loving words upon her, and then kissing her more and more passionately. “You know,” she said at last in an almost inaudible whisper. “Of course I know,” said Adrian. “What you feared last night has come to pass—your father’s sufferings are over, he is dead. Peace to his soul, say I. Now it is your duty, Nancy, to take care of yourself and not to fret yourself into an illness. Remember I am here, and it is my privilege and blessing to feel that I have a right to comfort you.” Nancy with some difficulty disengaged herself from her lover’s arms. “I have something to tell you,” she said—her face was like a sheet. “Something happened last night after you left, and—Adrian—I am not free to marry you—I am not free to marry anyone! I am a doomed woman; a doom is on me and I cannot be your wife!” She covered her face with her trembling hands; tears rained down her cheeks. “I swear,” said Rowton, “that there is not a doom on this wide earth which shall part us. What is the matter, child? Tell me.” “I cannot; it is a secret.” “I swear that you shall, and now.” He tried to clasp her again in his arms, but she slipped from him. “I can never tell you,” she said; “and while I hold this secret I must not be your wife!” CHAPTER V. A WILD WOOER. Instead of replying indignantly to her excited words, Rowton gave Nancy a long, attentive and very searching glance. “When did your father die?” he asked at last. “Towards morning. He had gone through a terrible night, but towards morning he dozed off and the nurse who was with him said he passed away in his sleep. He looked quite peaceful in the end; I think he trusted me fully.” “With his secret?” said Rowton.