“I think that the bar is removed, and if you are sure of your own heart, my darling child is yours. That she loves you with the pure love of a romantic girl there is no doubt, and with the passing years this will ripen into the deep affection of a warm-hearted and noble woman. I pray of the great Master of our lives that you may never misunderstand my child, Sir Harold. She is giving to you unreservedly every thought of her innocent life, and to meet with coldness or indifference in return would kill her as surely as a flower dies for lack of sunshine! In some way I have all confidence in your chivalry and devotion, and if there is any passing shade of doubt it is when I think of the position that my child must occupy as your wife. The world of fashion will be so new and strange to her at first that you may suffer some sense of disappointment if she prefers the quiet life of home to the giddy whirl of society. But,” he added, proudly, “I have no fear for the result. Theresa is a lady by birth and instinct. In a few years she will fall easily into the ways of fashion.” A warm flush mantled the young man’s cheek and a sparkle came into his eye. “Theresa will be my fondest care,” he said. “I am quite content with her as she is.” He turned to the newspapers, and his lips curled with scorn. “The world makes light of the folly that is past. Some day I may meet Lady Elaine Seabright again, and if my contempt for her is as great as that which I feel for myself it will be immeasurable.” CHAPTER XIII. A STRANGE WILL. Miss Nugent was bitterly mortified by the action of Colonel Greyson. He had promised to call upon her mother, and instead had taken himself off, no one knew whither, and with him the secret of Sir Harold’s movements. He had not even troubled himself to write one word of explanation. She had waited for whole days in miserable expectation, and then suddenly announced her determination of calling upon the colonel. “You will come with me, mamma, dear. I believe that Colonel Greyson has news of Harold. He hinted as much to me at Lady Gaynor’s ball, and I am so anxious. It is not more than an hour’s drive to the colonel’s place.” Mrs. Nugent rarely attempted to combat the wishes of her handsome daughter. She was one of those invalids who find pleasure in nursing their own ailments, and though it was a positive martyrdom to leave her lounge for several hours, to be jolted over miles of stony ground, she assented to the proposal with a long-drawn sigh of resignation. The carriage was ordered, and immediately after lunch Mrs. Nugent and her daughter were driven to the colonel’s cottage at Crayford. To Margaret’s dismay there was an air of desertion about the place, and she was informed by his house keeper that her master was going abroad for the autumn and winter. “Then he has not yet gone?” asked Miss Nugent, with a gasp of relief. “No, ladies; but his man is upstairs packing, and he knows more about it than I do.”