For the next three days life went on as it had before Lord Court arrived. Margery took her solitary walks in the square garden, secure from all fears there, and Lady Enid declared herself much better. As the end of the week drew near, Margery felt her heart lighten. Only a few hours more, and she would be safe for a long time! “Have you your canvas and all the necessaries for our pictures, Nugent?” asked Lady Enid, on the afternoon of the day before that fixed for their departure. “I have one or two little commissions to execute this afternoon,” returned the earl; “then I shall be quite prepared for work.” “Let us go with you; it is a lovely day.” “But the fatigue!” he said, warningly. “Remember, Enid, there is the journey to-morrow.” “I should enjoy it,” Lady Enid murmured, a little plaintively. “Then come, by all means, my darling.” With a beating heart, Margery put on her hat; fain would she have stayed at home, but she could think of no excuse, and she did not like to spoil Lady Enid’s pleasure. She shrank from the idea of seeing those two faces again, and the chance of being recognized. The earl was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. “Enid has sent me for you, Miss Daw,” he said, hurriedly, “but I was most anxious to speak to you for a minute alone. Tell me honestly, do you think she wishes this journey to-morrow? Sometimes I fancy I see a hopeless longing in her eyes, and it almost makes my heart ache.” “Indeed, Lord Court,” Margery answered, earnestly, “I am sure Lady Enid lives in the very thought of going to her old home. She has talked of it so often. Please do not distress yourself; I have seen that look in her eyes, too, but I do not think it means more than a longing to be well.” She put out her hand timidly, and he raised it to his lips. “Thank you,” he said, gently; “you always comfort me, Miss Daw.” Their eyes met for an instant, and he saw again the deep sadness in hers. “Enid is waiting,” he said; “let us go to the carriage.” This time they drove through the streets, and Margery forced herself to talk and smile, though she was trembling with fear. If her smile died away suddenly, and if her voice had not the true ring, it was only the earl who remarked it. Lady Enid, lying back on her couch, was too interested in all that was passing to see the effort and notice the constraint. At last all the commissions were executed, and it was with a sigh of relief that Margery found the carriage was rolling homeward. “Shall I ever learn her sorrow?” the earl wondered, as they bowled along, noting her sweet face. “It is only one who has suffered as I have who looks as she does--yet that is impossible in her young life.”