Oh, but it seemed to me ominous, the suffering me to sit there all the afternoon alone, no companion but myself and the oak-parlour, and with death in the house! The few words dropped by Emily to her brother about his changed position were beating their sad refrain on my brain. His position was indeed changed: and I was but a poor governess, although I might be the descendant of the Keppe-Carews. I quite thought that the neglect now cast upon me was an earnest of proof that the family at least would not countenance my entrance into it. Well, I would do what was right, and gave him back his fealty: I could but act honourably, though my heart broke over the separation that might ensue. It was quite dusk when Mr. Chandos came back—the old name will slip out. Dr. Laken went upstairs at once; he turned into the oak-parlour. "All alone in the dark, Anne?" he said, drawing up the blind a few inches. It gave a little more light, and I could see his features. He looked preoccupied; but I thought the occasion had come to speak and ought to be seized upon. What should I say? How frame the words necessary for my task? With my hands and lips trembling, brain and heart alike beating, I was about to speak incoherently, when some one came into the room. Emily, as I thought at first; but when she came nearer the window I saw that it was Mrs. Chandos. Being left alone for an instant, she had taken the opportunity to come in search of Sir Harry. "I have not seen you since the Indian mail came in this morning," she said to him. "Why have you not been near me?" "The day has been a busy one for me," he answered, speaking with the gentleness that one uses to a child. "Many things have had to be seen to." "It is sad news." "Very." And the ring of pain in his voice no one could mistake. "Thomas would have come home now." "Instead of that, we shall never see him again; and you, they tell me, are Sir Harry Chandos. Who would have thought once that you would ever inherit!" "Strange changes take place," was his reply, spoken altogether in a different tone, as if he did not care to encourage in her any reminiscence of the past. "It is so singular that they should both die together. At least, die to us. That when we were mourning for the one, news should arrive of the death of the other." "Very singular. But it enables us to mourn openly, Ethel." "Shall you live at Chandos?" she resumed, after a pause. "Certainly." "But mamma says she shall leave it and take me." She sometimes called Lady Chandos mother. "Would you stay on alone?" "I shall not be alone for long." She looked at him questioningly. I could see her lovely blue eyes raised to his in the dim light. "Perhaps you will be marrying, Sir Harry?" "Yes. In a short time." The faint pink on her delicate cheeks deepened to crimson. Could it be that she had ever suffered the old hopes to arise should certain contingencies occur? Surely not! And yet—poor thing!—her intellect was not quite as ours is.