"To look for a good cigar," he replied. "Neither Airlie nor you need pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave you." He quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room, where a box of cigars awaited him. He selected one, and went out into the garden to enjoy it. Was it chance that led him to the path by the shrubbery? The wind swayed the tall branches, but there came a lull, and then he heard a murmur of voices. Looking over the hedge, he saw the tall figure of a man, and the slight figure of a young girl shrouded in a black shawl. "A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself. "Now that is not precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still, it is no business of mine." But the man's voice struck him--it was full of the dignity of true passion. He wondered who he was. He saw the young girl place her hand in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away. He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and showed in the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of Lillian Earle. * * * * * When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock was chiming half past nine. The chess and card tables were just as she had left them. Beatrice and Lord Airlie were still at the piano. Lionel was nowhere to be seen. She went up to Beatrice and smilingly asked Lord Airlie if he could spare her sister for five minutes. "Ten, if you wish it," he replied, "but no longer;" and the two sisters walked through the long drawing room into the little boudoir. "Quick, Lillian," cried Beatrice, "have you seen him? What does he say?" "I have seen him," she replied; "there is no time now to tell all he said. He sent this note," and Lillian gave the folded paper into her sister's hand, and then clasped both hands in her own. "Let me tell you, Beatrice darling, before you read it," she said, "that I tried to soften his heart; and I think, if you will see him yourself, and ask for your freedom, you will not ask in vain." A light that was dazzling as sunshine came into the beautiful face. "Oh, Lily," she cried, "can it be true? Do not mock me with false hopes; my life seems to tremble in the balance." "He is not cruel," said Lillian. "I am sorry for him. If you see him I feel sure he will release you. See what he says." Beatrice opened the letter; it contained but a few penciled lines. She did not give them to Lillian to read. "Beatrice," wrote Hugh Fernely, "you must tell me with your own lips that you do not love me. You must tell me yourself that every sweet hope you gave me was a false lie. I will not leave Earlescourt again without seeing you. On Thursday night, at ten o'clock, I will be at the same place--meet me, and tell me if you want your freedom. Hugh."