Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they brought no comfort. "He will be here at nine," she said; "it is six now. I will write my letter. He will be at the shrubbery gate. I will manage so that you shall have time. Give him the note I will write, speak to him for me, tell him I am ill and can not see him. Shall you be frightened?" "Yes," replied Lillian, gently; "but that will not matter. I must think of you, not of myself." "You need not fear him," said Beatrice. "Poor Hugh, I could pity him if I did not hate him. Lily, I will thank you when my agony is over; I can not now." She wrote but a few words, saying she was ill and unable to see him; he must be satisfied, and willing to wait yet a little longer. She gave the letter to her sister. Lillian's heart ached as she noted the trembling hands and quivering lips. "I have not asked you to keep my secret, Lily," said Beatrice, sorrowfully. "There is no need," was the simple reply. * * * * * Sir Harry and Lady Laurence dined that day at Earlescourt, and it was nearly nine before the gentlemen, who did not sit long over their wine, came into the drawing room. The evening was somewhat chilly; a bright fire burned in the grate, and the lamps were lighted. Sir Harry sat down to his favorite game of chess with Lady Helena; Lord Earle challenged Lady Laurence to a game at ecarte. The young people were left to themselves. "In twenty years' time," said Lionel to Lillian, "we may seek refuge in cards; at present music and moonlight are preferable, Lily. You never sing to me; come to the piano now." But she remembered the dreaded hour was drawing near. "Pray excuse me," she begged; "I will sing for you presently." He looked surprised; it was the first time she had ever refused him a favor. "Shall we finish the folio of engravings?" he asked. Knowing that, when once she was seated by his side, it would be impossible to get away, she again declined; but this time the fair face flushed, and the sweet eyes drooped. "How guilty you look," he said. "Is there any mystery on hand? Are you tired of me? Or is there to be another important consultation over the wedding dresses?" "I have something to attend to," she replied, evasively. "Get the folio ready--I shall not be long." Beatrice, who had listened to the brief dialogue in feverish suspense, now came to the rescue, asking Lionel to give them the benefit of his clear, ringing tenor in a trio of Mendelssohn's. "My 'clear, ringing tenor' is quite at your service," he said with a smile. "Lily is very unkind to me tonight." They went to the piano, where Lord Airlie awaited them; and Lillian, looking at her small, jeweled watch--Lord Earle's present--saw that it wanted three minutes to nine. She at once quitted the room, unobserved, as she thought; but Lionel saw her go.