Grey’s heart was beating to suffocation as he put the finishing touches to his toilet. The Old Lion sat beside the fire in his costume of Father Time, bending forward to the blaze, but giving vent from time to time to a hollow cough, which at a less all-engrossing moment might have caused Grey some uneasiness. But to-night his head was filled with other thoughts. He was about to start for Lord Romaine’s house. The representation of "Time and the Youth" was to be given there before a large and fashionable assembly. _She_ would be there! That was his first thought. She would watch the performance. He might even be able to pick her out from crowded audience, and feast his eyes upon her pure, pale beauty. At least for an hour he would be near her. That alone was enough to set his heart beating in tumultuous fashion. She would be there. At Lord Romaine’s own house it was impossible it should be otherwise. Their eyes might meet; and though she would know him not—better that she should not, indeed—he would gaze upon those features which were dearest to him out of all the world. And whether for weal or woe, Grey knew by this time that the love of his whole being was centred in Lady Geraldine Adair, though he was schooling himself to the thought of seeing her and knowing her to be another man’s wife. To him she could only be as a star in the firmament of heaven—as a benignant influence guiding him to higher and nobler paths. That was how he must ever learn to regard her, for her world and his were poles asunder. And what had he to offer to any woman—he whose future lay all uncertain before him, and whose fortunes were yet in the clouds? A message from below warned them that the coach which was to convey them to Lord Romaine’s house was now at the door. "You are tired, sir," spoke Grey, suddenly waking from his reverie and turning to the old man, who rose with an air of lassitude which his strong will could not entirely conceal; "I fear me you are not quite yourself to-night. This constant acting is something too great a strain upon you." "Ay, my boy, I am growing old," answered the other, with a note of pain in his voice; "I feel it as I never felt it before. My triumph has come just a little too late. I am too old to take up the threads of the past again. The Old Lion has risen once again to roar in the forest, but he must needs lay him down soon in his den—to die." Over Grey’s face there passed a quick spasm of anxiety and pain. "Nay, nay; say not so. I have never heard you speak in such vein before. What ails you to-night, dear master?" "No matter, boy, no matter; heed not my groanings," answered Wylde, assuming more of his usual manner, though he held tightly to Grey’s arm as they descended the stairs. "I have been somewhat out of sorts these last few days, and you know how they did tell me at the theatre that my voice was not well heard the other night—"