In truth, Mr. and Mrs. Goldsborough were not very sorry to see their party breaking up. It had not, indeed, afforded them that full measure of satisfaction which their princely hospitality deserved. Two circumstances especially annoyed them—the growing friendship between their sole heiress, the fair Alberta, and the Signior Vittorio, a penniless young Italian professor, who was also a guest at the house, on the one hand, and the manifest attachment between their nephew Albert and Farmer Fielding’s pretty daughter. And very much relieved they were when the sensitive young Italian—who was neither adventurer nor fortune-hunter, nor willing to be considered such—feeling the social atmosphere near the presence of his entertainers rather chilly, took the hint that his welcome was worn out and bowed his adieus; and also when Farmer Fielding placed his little girl on her pony and carried her off to Sunnyslopes. Elfrida had entreated Britomarte to go with her to her mountain home, urging that the country was ever most beautiful in the autumn, when all the woods were clothed in colors more gorgeous than the robes of Solomon in all his glory. Miss Conyers had declined the invitation with thanks and with the explanation that her plans for the autumn were fixed. So Elfrida, with a sigh, left her friend. But what of Britomarte? Where would she go from this temporary home? Not certainly to Witch Elms, since there the doors were fast closed against her entrance. Where, then, could she go? What means had she to go anywhere? What, then, were the plans of which she spoke? And how would she carry them out? Who could tell? Not even her lover! Justin knew well enough what his own plans were, and how he should carry them out. Three days before the day appointed for his own party to leave the Rainbows, Justin sought a private interview with Britomarte. He knew where to find her; for by this time he was well acquainted with all her favorite haunts. It was late in the afternoon, and he was sure she would be found on “Lond’s Rock,” a point of land between Crystal Creek and Bennett’s Bay, extending out into the Chesapeake—a solitary desert, though so near the peopled villa, and only frequented by the lonely girl. So down a narrow path leading through the thick woods that lay below the house, he wandered till he came out upon the bluff overhanging the beach. Along the bushy bluff, now burnished bright in the late sunshine of the waning summer and the fading day, he went toward the tip of that long point, extending like a giant’s arm out to the sea. As he approached, he saw that she was sitting on the rock, with her hands clasped upon her knees, her face turned seaward, and her black dress was very conspicuous upon the glistening white stone at the extremity of the point. So absorbed was she in thought that she remained totally unconscious of Justin’s proximity until he picked up her bonnet, which had fallen to the ground, and handed it to her, saying: