“My lady,” she said at last, “I am getting frightened. It is killing you in this stifling place. You ought to go for a morning walk every day.” “Am I really looking ill, Nina?” asked Lady Elaine, listlessly. “Yes,” she added, looking at herself in a mirror. “What a miserable being I shall be when my lover comes home! This will never do, Nina!” After that Elaine and Nina were often seen in the park, and many people wondered whom the graceful and lovely girl could be. At length another letter came from the viscount, and with it a newspaper. This is what he wrote: MY DEAR LADY ELAINE--I have news for you which you may hate me for sending, but I must honestly confess that I cannot withhold it, for the very reason that it may influence you to look more favorably upon the wishes that are still dearest to my heart. Surely my patience deserves some recognition, and I shall wait in a fever of anxiety for your reply. To be brief, it is proven beyond all doubt that Sir Harold Annesley has been masquerading about the country for some time, and his eccentricities have culminated in his marriage to a young and beautiful girl, named Theresa Hamilton. The ceremony took place a few days since at Tenterden Church, and I forward to you a copy of the _Telegraph_, containing a description of the wedding. I do not wish to force my attentions upon you, but I ask you to give me hope. I care not if it is months before I may look to the happy consummation of my soul’s delightful desire. I only want hope, after your most careful consideration. I love you, and shall ever love you! Till death, yours alone, RIVINGTON. Lady Elaine read this extraordinary letter with the numbness of an awful despair at her heart. Hope! how could he dream of hope? Then she opened the newspaper, and saw a paragraph ruled round with red ink that looked like blood. It was true then--all true! She sat for an hour dimly comprehending the fact that life was at last ended for her. Sir Harold was her lover no longer! Sir Harold--her darling, her king--belonged to another! She mechanically penned a few words to the viscount, as follows: Your letter has filled me with pain. I thought that you understood. I can give you no hope--absolutely none. I shall never marry. My love has been given, and is lost. My heart is dead. ELAINE SEABRIGHT. She told nothing of the crushing facts to Nina until the next day, when they went for their usual walk in Hyde Park, and the girl listened in wonderment and with righteous indignation. The letter to the viscount was posted, and they were returning homeward, when Nina noticed the figure of a man that seemed to be familiar, reclining on one of the park benches. When they came nearer to him, the girl’s eyes dilated wildly and she screamed loudly: “Oh, my lady! my lady! It is Sir Harold himself!”