Surprise, and Una's composure of manner, kept Sylvester silent till she paused, and he said, hurriedly-- "I have long thought--long known, that, whatever the facts were, Miss Haredale was--was above--that nothing could cast a shadow on her." "I suppose she was judged by the facts," said Una, "or by the mistakes about them. It was just as I say." "Is--is she--is she going to marry Grattan?" cried Sylvester, hardly knowing what he said. "I suppose every one will know soon," said Una, diplomatically; but he went on, as if he had not heard her. "That should be nothing to me; but, Miss Haredale--it is no amends for my blind and senseless folly, nothing to set against an hour of the pain I helped to cause her;--but it is impossible that, either then or now, she can be as much to any one as she is, and ever will be, to me. Take that for what it is worth. Tell her, if she cares to know. I suppose she detests me. Let her at least know that she is my queen." Carried away by the sudden rush of his own emotion, Sylvester had paid no heed to Una, nor noticed how her heart was throbbing beneath her little white bodice; but now, she made a little movement. "Mr Riddell--I am faint--I want some water--my sister--" She looked deadly white in the half light of the balcony, as she lay back in her chair, and Sylvester rushed back into the ball-room, where, through the crowd of dancers, he made his way to Amethyst, who stood by Sir Richard's side. He was speaking low and earnestly. "Miss Haredale, excuse me, your sister is faint, she asked for you." "Una? Where is she?" said Amethyst, starting from her attentive attitude, and hurrying forward. Sir Richard followed her, and Sylvester, indicating the balcony where he had left Una, went in search of ice and wine for her. Meanwhile, as Una, too faint to think of what had passed, was lying back, with closed eyes and panting breath, the two or three minutes during which she was left alone seemed to her endless. Would Amethyst never come? Suddenly an arm was put round her, and a voice whispered tenderly. "Una? What, taken bad, my poor little girl? Never mind, it's only old Tony--you know I always take care of my little wifie." The words penetrated to Una's swimming brain. To drop her head on his shoulder, and rest in his arms! How could she help it! But his last word, the pet name that had been the joy and the sting of her old relation to him, spoken in that half-caressing, half-jocose accent, roused in her the passion that was so much more than the equivalent of jesting sentiment. "How dare you make jokes, now?" she said, panting, as she started to her feet. "Don't you know that I daren't do anything else?" cried Major Fowler, suddenly and savagely, his eyes opening wide upon her with new force and fervour. "But this once more--Una--kiss me!"