“I want you to clearly understand,” he said, “that nothing can change my future plans.” “I am content, Sir Harold, whatever they may be,” was the firm reply. “Then let everything be ready for my departure to London to-night.” “To-night!” echoed Stimson. “Very well, Sir Harold.” “You must tell no living soul whither I have gone, and be prepared to join me to-morrow. I may even change my name, my very identity. I never wish to be known to the world as Sir Harold Annesley again. You will deny me to everybody, Stimson. I have said good-by to Colonel Greyson. Yes, deny me to everybody except my cousin, Miss Nugent, if she should wish to see me. There, Stimson, I have nothing more to say. For an hour or two I shall be busy with my letters. In the meanwhile be ready to see me off by the six o’clock train to London.” His manner was now calm, almost perfunctory, and Stimson went about his duties, his mind in a chaos of bewilderment. “Of course,” thought the valet, regretfully, “a woman is at the bottom of the trouble. Women always are. But who would have thought that Lady Elaine could not agree with Sir Harold?” Meanwhile the baronet indited half-a-dozen business letters. They were concise and to the point, as such letters always were with him. Not one betrayed a single emotion beyond the cold facts they stated. Then he turned to his desk and opened it, a groan bursting from his lips. Among other treasures was a tiny bundle of letters, held together with a piece of blue ribbon, and in a secret recess the portrait of a lovely girl. In the haughty eyes there was the soft light of love; the firm mouth was curved with love’s tender lines. The whole face was as beautiful as that of the most idealized angel. This was Lady Elaine Seabright. “Dear God,” Sir Harold groaned, “why should woman be so fair to lure man’s soul to perdition? Who could doubt the goodness and purity of the woman who has made of my life a desolate waste by merely gazing upon this delusive picture!” A cry of rage escaped him, and he nearly tore the photograph in half. Then he bent his face to the table, and his form shook with convulsive sobs. “I am only suffering as thousands have suffered--as thousands of men are suffering now,” he thought. “Can it be that I am the most despicable coward of them all? Let me put it from me! Let me be a man, not a pitiful cur! My heart cries aloud for love and gets a sword-thrust! What is my duty now? A renunciation of every happy dream. My life begins anew from this very day. I have been a lotus-eater; my brain has been steeped in the opium of self-delusion. I will write an answer to Lady Elaine. I did not think that my nerves would permit me to attempt such a thing, but now I feel that this is one of my first duties. It shall not be said that I went away without one word, and my lady will be free to love where she will!” A cold chill passed from head to foot, his brain reeled; he felt that to utter such words were almost blasphemy.