"Not another word," he said, gayly. "I will go and tell Lord Earle. Do not say afterward that you have changed your mind, as many ladies do. Beatrice, say to me, 'Hubert, I promise to marry you on the fourteenth of October.'" She repeated the words after him. "It will be almost winter," he added; "the flowers will have faded, the leaves will have fallen from the trees; yet no summer day will ever be so bright to me as that." She watched him quit the room, and a long, low cry came from her lips. Would it ever be? She went to the window and looked at the trees. When the green leaves lay dead she would be Lord Airlie's wife, or would the dark cloud of shame and sorrow have fallen, hiding her forever from his sight? Ah, if she had been more prudent! How tame and foolish, how distasteful the romance she had once thought delightful seemed now! If she had but told all to Lord Earle! It was too late now! Yet, despite the deadly fear that lay at her heart, Beatrice still felt something like hope. Hope is the last thing to die in the human breast--it was not yet dead in hers. At least for that one evening--the first after Lord Airlie's return--she would be happy. She would throw the dark shadow away from her, forget it, and enjoy her lover's society. He could see smiles on her face, and hear bright words such as he loved. Let the morrow bring what it would, she would be happy that night. And she kept her word. Lord Airlie looked back afterward on that evening as one of the pleasantest of his life. There was no shadow upon the beautiful face he loved so well. Beatrice was all life and animation; her gay, sweet words charmed every one who heard them. Even Lionel forgot to be jealous, and admired her more than he ever had before. Lord Earle smiled as he remarked to Lady Helena that all her fears for her grandchild's health were vain--the true physician was come at last. When Lord Airlie bade Beatrice good night, he bent low over the white, jeweled hand. "I forget all time when with you," he said; "it does not seem an hour since I came to Earlescourt." The morrow brought the letter she had dreaded yet expected to see. It was not filled with loving, passionate words, as was the first Hugh had written. He said the time had come when he must have an answer--when he must know from her own lips at what period he might claim the fulfillment of her promise--when she would be his wife. He would wait no longer. If it was to be war, let the war begin he should win. If peace, so much the better. In any case he was tired of suspense, and must know at once what she intended to do. He would trust to no more promises; that very night he would be at Earlescourt, and must see her. Still, though he intended to enforce his rights, he would not wantonly cause her pain. He would not seek the presence of her father until she had seen him and they had settled upon some plan of action.