Two days later the following announcement appeared in a society paper: We have pleasure in being able to inform our readers that the famous beauty, Lady Elaine Seabright, and Viscount Henry Rivington have become engaged. The match is suitable in every way, and gives unbounded satisfaction to both families. It will be remembered that the Earl of Seabright’s beautiful daughter was to have been married to Sir Harold Annesley, of Annesley Park, who recently disappeared in so mysterious a manner. Poor fellow! He is gone! _N’importe!_ Off with the old love and on with the new. Such is life! We offer the happy couple our sincere congratulations. CHAPTER XI. MY PLACE IS HERE TO PROTECT THERESA. John Hamilton’s cottage was one of the prettiest of its kind. It was built of brown stone, and seemed to be a combination of nooks and gables. To the doors, both at the back and the front, there was a trellised porch, wreathed with trailing vines, roses and sweet-smelling clematis. On every window-sill there was a box of bright-hued flowers and fragrant mignonette, while the garden that surrounded the house was a veritable maze of bewildering beauty. At the farther end was a summer arbor, and there Sir Harold spent many happy hours, a cigar between his teeth and a book in his hands. Sometimes he would dream lazily, and try to think of the mystery of his life, but always gave up these efforts with a sigh. John Hamilton and his daughter attended to the household duties, and the labor was equally divided. No stranger ever crossed the threshold of the little cottage door. Sir Harold would watch the girl in wonderment, and listen with rapture to her sweet singing as she worked about the house. Oh, how happy she was, though at times a great black cloud would rise before her, and she would clutch at her heart to still its agony! When her work was done, her sweetest delight was to sit near to Sir Harold, and drink in eagerly every word that he uttered. John Hamilton saw all this, and frowned, but he felt that he was helpless at present. One day he spoke harshly to his daughter, and she listened half-ashamed. “Theresa,” he said, “you must not seek the society of our guest so much, or I shall send him away.” The girl started, and a swift blush leaped into her cheeks. “Father!” “Do you not understand that your conduct is unbecoming a lady?” he continued. “What have I done?” murmured Theresa. “You are wasting your thoughts upon a stranger, my dear,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes. You are not so much to blame for this, because you are purely a child of Nature, but it will be best if Sir Harold Annesley is left more to himself.” “Oh, father, must this be?” cried Theresa. “Must I not speak to him again? Must I not listen to his reading while I work? It is like heaven to me! I never understood the meaning of life until he came here!” She rocked herself to and fro bitterly.