"But, dear old dad, why may I not marry George?" she asked when, after thinking deeply over the truth regarding her parentage, her mind reverted to thoughts of the man she loved. "I cannot sufficiently explain the reason now," he answered vaguely. "Some day, when I am aware of all the facts, you shall know." "But I can love no other man," she exclaimed decisively, with eyes downcast. "You know my wish, Liane," her father answered rather coldly. "I feel sure you will endeavour to respect it." "I cannot, father! I really cannot!" she cried starting up. "Besides, you give me no reason why I should not marry." "I am unable to explain facts of which I am as yet unaware," he said, withdrawing his hand. "We love each other, therefore I cannot see why you should object." "I do not doubt that there is affection between you, but my objection is well based, I assure you, as some day you will be convinced." "Have you any antipathy against George personally?" "None whatever; I rather like him," he said. "I only tell you in plain, straightforward terms that your marriage with him is impossible, therefore the sooner you part the better;" and opening the door, he slowly left the room. Deep in thought, Liane stood leaning against the table, in the same position as Zertho had stood when he had asked the captain for her hand. Evidently her father entertained some deep-rooted prejudice against the Stratfields; nevertheless, after calm reflection, she felt confident that sooner or later she could over-rule his objection, and persuade him to adopt her view, as she had done on previous occasions without number. On the following afternoon a double funeral attracted hundreds of persons to the churchyard of Stratfield Mortimer, where Nelly Bridson was laid to rest in a plain grave, beneath a drooping willow, and the body of Sir John Stratfield, fourteenth baronet, was placed in the family vault, among his ancestors. When the interments were over, George met Liane and managed to whisper a few words to her. It was an appointment, and in accordance with his request, she went at sundown along the chestnut avenue to the Court, and was at once shown to the library, where her lover awaited her. Her mourning became her well. His quick eyes detected that her black dress, though not new, bore the unmistakable cut of the fashionable dressmaker. Her figure, perfect in symmetry, was shown to advantage by her short, French corset, and the narrow band of black satin that begirt her slim waist. "I have to offer my apologies to you, dearest," he said, when the servant had closed the door. "At the inquest I was bound to openly confess that we had met clandestinely." "What apology is needed?" she asked, smiling. "We love each other, and care nothing for what the world may think." "That is true," he answered, deep in thought. "But I--I have an announcement to make to you, which I fear must cause you pain." "An announcement! What?" "I must leave you."