He had left his sick-chamber for the first time, and was reclining on a couch in a pleasant little sitting-room, which Lady Gwendolyn had filled with fresh roses in the morning, that he might receive a fragrant greeting on entering. He looked up languidly as she opened the door; but his hollow eyes brightened at once when he saw who it was, and he held out his thin hand with a smile. “How long you have been gone, Gwen?” And he patted the chair near him by way of inviting her to occupy it. “Are you tired, dear?” he added suddenly, discovering that she was very pale. “No--that is to say, a little. How do you feel, Lawrence?” “Delightfully frisky! as if I could jump over the moon. Do you know, I shall be able to travel next week.” Lady Gwendolyn shook her head. “Nothing of the kind; don’t talk nonsense, Colonel Dacre. Doctor May says you must not stir for a fortnight.” “Of course; because he wants to keep me under his thumb as long as he can. Doctor May is a capital fellow; but he must take care of himself.” “And of you.” “Pshaw! I polished off nearly a whole grouse for my dinner just now, and I have walked several times across the room. I don’t mind being an invalid for three or four days longer, but after that I mean to take the law into my own hands.” “Why are you in such a dreadful hurry to leave us?” she asked, with some faint signs of pique. “I am not going to leave you, Gwen. I am going to take you with me wherever I go for the rest of my life.” She colored up, and looked at him in a timid, frightened sort of way. He put his hand gently over hers. “I should be sorry to think you did not wish this, Gwen. But, whether or no, it must be now.” “Why?” He kissed her hand almost reverentially before he answered: “This is a cruelly scandalous world. Do you think I should have allowed you to nurse and tend me with such noble devotion unless I had looked upon you as my future wife?” “I did no harm, surely.” “On the contrary, you did an immense deal of good--to me. Only finish your work by giving me the dear right to protect and defend you against the whole world.” “Shall I need a defender?” she asked, lowering her eyes. “I hope not; but I flatter myself you will need me, anyhow. Haven’t you discovered how well we suit each other, Gwen?” “Perhaps. But, oh! Lawrence, tell me truth, I beseech you--and I will trust you altogether now--is there anything that should or ought to prevent our marriage?” “Before Heaven, no!” he answered emphatically. “I must believe you, in spite of my eyes and my reason, in spite of my conscience, for I have only one hope in the world, one thought.” Then she slipped off her seat, hid her head on his breast, and added, in a shrinking whisper: