The stranger stood a moment, in silence, an unwonted look of irresolution, on his haughty countenance; then, bowing with profound respect, he begged pardon for his intrusion, in soft and refined tones, which, as also his face, grew strangely familiar to Kate's memory, as she looked and listened. "Pray do not give Lady Desmond the trouble of returning," he said, with a degree of hesitation, marvellously at variance with his air of _un grand seigneur_. Here a servant entered. "Her ladyship is not at home, my lord, I did not know she had gone out again." "I see her returning across the garden," said Miss Vernon, "she will be here immediately," and pointing to a chair, she bent her head gravely to the visitor, and left the room. He remained gazing after her, then muttering to himself, "most surpassingly novel-like, by Minerva," turned to greet Lady Desmond as she entered, with an easy grace and quiet firmness of manner, very different from the demeanour he had exhibited to her gentle, unassuming cousin. CHAPTER II LADY DESMOND. A sketch of the life and character of the lady, whose name stands at the head of this chapter, is necessary for the right understanding of what follows; so while she talks of Italian skies, and her reminiscences of Naples with her reserved visitor, whose well timed observations and profound attention drew forth her most brilliant conversational powers, we will draw upon the reader's imagination, and transport her or him, to the West of Ireland, twenty years back from the period of which we write. Dungar was then at its highest point of gaiety and apparent prosperity, when intelligence reached Colonel Vernon of the death, at sea, of a certain Lieutenant O'Brien, of whom he had an indistinct recollection, as having incurred the displeasure and disapprobation of a large circle of relatives, amongst whom the Colonel himself was numbered, by eloping, and consequent marriage, with a very beautiful but low-born and penniless girl. Of course the hundred cousins, never having done anything, "worthy of death or bonds," themselves, were unanimous as to their right of casting, not only the first, but the last stone at the imprudent couple, who were left to expiate in unpitied and unmitigated poverty the unpardonable error they had committed.