‘You provoking wretch!’ cried Dulcie. ‘I’m sure something has happened; you seem so ridiculously happy.’ ‘Then I look as I feel. Tell me,’ he went on, to stave off further questioning on her part, ‘how are things going on here at the Castle? How is Lord Kilpatrick?’ ‘He’s better in health,’ replied Dulcie, ‘but he’s very glum and silent, and he keeps his room. He has seen nobody but Peebles, and Mr. Conseltine, and me. He’s dreadfully changed--quite sullen and disagreeable. Oh, by the way, Mr. Conseltine and that son of his were out nearly all day, and when they came back, about an hour ago, I happened to pass them in the hall. They were both dreadfully pale, and looked awfully disturbed and frightened. Has your secret anything to do with _them?_ ‘Maybe,’ said Desmond. ‘Sure, ’tis no use you asking questions. But ’tis good news I have for you, when the time comes to speak. And now, darling, give me another kiss, and go back indoors.’ He tried hard to hold himself from embracing her, but his arms were round her before he knew it and he strained her to his breast with all his strength. ‘I’ve ruined your gown,’ he said penitently, when the embrace was finished, ‘but I couldn’t help it. You’d draw the soul out of a stone when you look like that. The mischiefs done now, so I’ll take another! Good-night, my angel. Sweet dreams, and a happy waking for ye! If I stay any longer I’ll be breaking down and telling you all, and ’tis best you shouldn’t know for a while.’ CHAPTER XIII.--FATHER AND SON. During breakfast next morning at the Castle the two Conseltines, father and son, who were usually punctual in their appearance at meal hours, descended late. They were pale and quiet; and Richard, who had his nerves very much less under control than had his astute and resolute parent, was so obviously ill at ease as to bring down upon himself the notice and comments of his lordship. The old nobleman, sick of the seclusion of his solitary chamber, had appeared at the breakfast table, in hopes that a little cheerful society might aid in dissipating the unwelcome reflections which, since Desmond’s departure from the Castle, had beset his waking hours and broken his nightly rest. At no time gifted with the most equable temper in the world, he was particularly snappish and irritable that morning. ‘Your lordship will no’ hae heard the news, I’m thinking,’ said Peebles, standing at the sideboard and breaking in upon the uneasy silence. His eyes dwelt, as if by accident, upon Richard Consel-tine’s face as he spoke, and the young man’s pale complexion assumed a greenish hue. ‘What news are you talking about?’ asked Kilpatrick. ‘There was a fire last night,’ answered Peebles. Richard, conscious of his father’s coldly threatening eye, spilled half the contents of the glass of brandy-and-soda by which he had that morning replaced the soberer beverages usually in demand at the breakfast table, and conveyed the remainder to his lips with a shaking hand.