CHAPTER I. UNDER THE GREENWOOD-TREE. CHAPTER II. ADIEU. CHAPTER III. A RUSE DE GUERRE. CHAPTER IV. TUROY GRANGE. CHAPTER V. WOMAN’S WAYS. CHAPTER VI. THE LAST WALTZ. CHAPTER VII. A NOBLE SACRIFICE. CHAPTER VIII. PAULINE’S TRIUMPH. CHAPTER IX. ALL FOR LOVE. CHAPTER X. A FACE AT THE WINDOW. CHAPTER XI. “WHAT’S IN A NAME?” CHAPTER XII. A WILL-O’-THE-WISP. CHAPTER XIII. DOCTOR MAY’S PATIENT. CHAPTER XIV. MY LOVE--MY LIFE. CHAPTER XV. A JOYFUL AWAKENING. CHAPTER XVI. GWEN AND PAULINE. CHAPTER XVII. WHAT HOPE CAN DO. CHAPTER XVIII. A HAPPY BRIDE. CHAPTER XIX. THE FIRST CLOUD. CHAPTER XX. LOVED AND LOST. CHAPTER XXI. FEAR. CHAPTER XXII. CONVICTION. CHAPTER XXIII. A PAINFUL SURPRISE. CHAPTER XXIV. A COTTAGE BY THE SEA. CHAPTER XXV. SIR LAWRENCE ACTS. CHAPTER XXVI. A LONG EXPLANATION. CHAPTER I. UNDER THE GREENWOOD-TREE. “How on earth did you get up there?” And the speaker put his glass in his eye, and coolly surveyed the dainty figure perched on one of the branches of the huge elm, under which he was standing. “That is the last place I expected to find you.” “I suppose so,” she answered composedly; for Lady Gwendolyn was never flustered or ill at ease under the most trying circumstances. “The fact is, I have had an unpleasant adventure.” “Indeed; I am very sorry. But hadn’t you better let me help you down before we talk it over; unless you like your quarters so well that you are inclined to stay there, and, in that case, I will join you.” “Nonsense, Colonel Dacre!” but she laughed, too. “What would Mrs. Grundy say to such an extraordinary tête-à-tête?” “She would say that it had the merit of novelty; and, considering how tired one is of everything that has happened, and how bored at the thought of prospective repetitions, I consider that any one who strikes out a new line for himself, and refuses to lag along in the old groove, deserves to be canonized.” “Well, it is very nice when people will be a little original, certainly; but I am not sure that a woman dare get out of the old groove. Moreover, you men like pretty nonentities.” “The deuce we do!” exclaimed Colonel Dacre. “Who told you that?” “Nobody. One does not need telling things when one has eyes and ears. I have seen you dance as often as four times in one evening with Mrs. O’Hara.” “Well?” “Well,” echoed Lady Gwendolyn, with a superb sort of insolence, “is she clever?” “No.” “Refined?” “No,” answered Colonel Dacre again. “Or particularly good?” “I am afraid not.” “Then what is it that makes her the most popular woman in London?” “Upon my word, I can’t tell you. I like her because I knew poor O’Hara.” “And is it so pleasant to talk to her of your dead friend?” insinuated Lady Gwendolyn slyly. “I never heard her mention her husband’s name in my life.” “No? Really, you quite astonish me! Then you can’t like her for his sake--you must like her for her own. And I will tell you why, shall I?” “I am all attention.”