“She has been false to me,” he cried, in his passionate rage. “She has lured me on to my death! She has duped me with smiles that meant nothing, with fair words that were all false, with looks that were all lies! She was, I believed, the truest, the fairest, the purest of women; yet she has duped me! She who had, I believed, the white wings of an angel, let me kiss her lips, and yet never meant to marry me. Does the curse of coquetry and falseness lie upon all women, I wonder?” Passionate anger flamed in his face; his eyes flashed, his lips quivered. The Alden rage was strong upon him. Hot words leaped to his lips, but he would not utter them. “I shall not curse her,” he said; “the ruin of a man’s life shall be at her door, but I will say nothing harsh of her. She was my first, last, and only love.” He turned away and re-entered the house. He looked like a man who had suddenly aged twenty years, on whom the blight of some awful trouble had fallen, whose life had been suddenly checked in its full, sweet flow, and frozen into living death. For some days Sir Ronald did not leave Aldenmere; he was too miserable to either care to see friends or strangers. His thoughts were all steeped in bitterness. At one time he thought he would go abroad; then he said to himself: “No; she shall not have the triumph of seeing she has driven me from her! she shall never boast that for love of her an Alden flew from his home.” Then business called him from home, and people told each other that Sir Ronald Alden had been very ill, he looked so changed from his brighter, better self. On the first day, as he was riding to a near town, he met the party from Leeholme. There was no time to avoid them, or he would have turned away. With the keen eyes of love, he saw Lady Hermione. She was riding with Kenelm Eyrle by her side. He was obliged, by every rule of courtesy, to speak to her. He reined in his horse by her side. “Good-morning, Lady Hermione,” he said, gravely. “I did not expect the pleasure of seeing you.” “We waited half an hour for you,” said Mr. Eyrle. “Did you not promise to join us in an excursion to the Holy Well?” “I do not remember making such a promise,” he said; and then he could not control his longing desire to look at her. He raised his eyes to her face, and was astonished at what he saw there. Some great change had come over that brilliant beauty. Her face was pale and grave--stern as one who is nerved to go through a disagreeable duty. The smiles that had been wont to play round her sweet, proud lips had died away. There was no light in the eyes that met his so coldly. She bowed coolly in reply to his greeting, but spoke no word. He saw her draw her slender figure to its full height; then she said something to a lady near her. Sir Ronald felt as though a sharp sword had pierced his heart.