This room is known as "my lady's chamber,"--having ever been the exclusive property of the mistress of the house, until Mrs. Dorian Branscombe, in default of any other mistress, had made her own of it during her frequent visits to Hythe, and had refurnished it to suit her own tastes, which were slightly Æsthetic. Now, she too is dead and gone, and the room, though never entirely closed or suffered to sink into disrepair, is seldom used by any of the household. As Lord Sartoris goes in, a young man, who has been standing at one of the windows, turns and comes quickly to meet him. He is of good height, and is finely formed, with brown hair cut closely to his head, a brown moustache, and deep-blue eyes. His whole appearance is perhaps more pleasing and aristocratic than strictly handsome, his mouth being too large and his nose too pronounced for any particular style of beauty. Yet it is his eyes--perfect as they are in shape and color--that betray the chief faults of his disposition. He is too easy-going, too thoughtless of consequences, too much given to letting things go,--without consideration or fear of what the end may bring; too full of life and spirits to-day, to dream of a sadder morrow;--so happy in the present that the future troubles him not at all. "How ill you look!" he says, anxiously, addressing his uncle. "My dear Arthur, you have been overdoing it. You should not have remained so long in that room alone." "Well, it is all over now," Sartoris says, wearily, sinking into a chair near him. "I was glad to finish it once for all. Those private papers he kept in his own room should be examined sooner or later; and now my task is at an end I feel more contented." "Was there anything beyond?----" "Very little. Just one letter sealed and directed to me. It contained a desire that poor Maud's letters should be buried with him. I found them in a drawer by themselves neatly tied with pale-blue ribbon,--her favorite color,--and with them an old likeness of her, faded almost white." "For how long he remembered her!" says the young man, in a tone of slow astonishment. "Too long for our present day," returns his uncle, absently. Then there is silence for a moment or two, broken only by the chatter of the birds in the sunlit garden outside. Presently Sartoris speaks again. "Where is Horace?" he asks, indifferently. "He was here, half an hour ago, with Clarissa. She came over when she heard of----our sad news. They went out together,--to the stables, I think. Shall I find him for you?" "No, I do not want him," says Sartoris, a little impatiently. "How strange no one told me of Clarissa's coming! And why did you not go with her to the stables, Dorian? Surely you know more about horses than he does." * * * * *