There was no question of the gloom near at hand, and to last for many a day. Come what liked in the future, Harry Fane was going, would go to join his ship in the first place, and the war in the second. He might be subjected to work, weariness, and privation, but he had action and change for his portion. As for her, she must abide in her place forlorn, with the brightness passed from the sky, and the zest gone out of the feast. The “Lubin” of the song was indeed on the eve of departure, of long uncertain tarrying, perhaps till his love’s bloom was faded, her heart withered and dry. Lady Bell had asked once in very idleness and restlessness, that movement, passion, even, in its pangs, might ruffle the still waters of her heart. They were ruffled with a vengeance, lashed into a piteous storm, to heave and swell for many a day, ere they settled down again in peace. Knowing what was hanging over her, Lady Bell was fain to forget the knowledge for a moment, in the rousing consideration that Captain Fane, in spite of her frank confession, was half beside himself with jealousy. She did not altogether disapprove of this state of matters, for was it not evidence of how well the self-controlled sailor loved her? She was a little frightened at the strength of his passion, nevertheless. Extravagantly as she herself had loved him, she did not know him fully and closely, after all. One of the charms of her love was its mystery. But Lady Bell thought Harry Fane too severe in his strictures, and certainly needing to be pulled up and taken to task. Aching as her heart was, she tried to make believe for a brief space that the ache was not there, and to do her part in enlightening her lover. She began to pout with her white face and her tearful eyes. “Would I forget you in your absence, Harry? Could you ever believe that? What effect would all the wicked stratagems of the finest gentlemen have on me?” “How can I tell?” he answered gloomily. “I found a whole hornet’s nest buzzing round you when I met you first, and again at the masquerade, and you did not seem able to put them down.” “Why should I put them down? They are entitled to live as well as the rest of us, even though a busy fellow of a bee looks down upon them as drones or butterflies; indeed they are rather that than hornets. They have never done me harm, and they have squired and amused me many a day; you ought to be more generous to them, sir, and to learn to keep a civil tongue in your head.” “We have no time for quarrelling,” cried Harry, “you may teach me better manners one day, if we are spared and restored to each other, and you are still willing to undertake the office. But I could not profit by the best of lessons, and I submit that it would be taking me altogether at a disadvantage to begin when I am just about to bid you farewell.”