“I will go with pleasure,” replied Margery, rising. “Who is he, Nugent?” “Sir Douglas Gerant. I knew him years ago in England; but we met abroad principally, and I liked him very much. He is a peculiar, almost uncouth, man, but so kind and good--as tender as a woman and most unselfish. For these weeks past he has been very ill; but he would not let his people know, and has been attended only by his servant, who has been his companion in all his travels.” “And he would really like to see me?” queried Lady Court, putting her dainty work into its basket. “He seemed to wish it. I happened to mention that I was married; and, when I spoke of my happiness, he said, in his old abrupt manner: ‘Bring her to see me, Court, if she will not be frightened by such an old savage;’ so I came at once. But if you would rather not go----” “Oh, I should like to see him!” broke in Margery. “Poor man, all alone! And I have nothing to do this afternoon. I will not be long, Nugent.” With a tender smile the earl watched her graceful figure flit through the doorway; then he walked to the fireplace, and, leaning his back against it, gave himself up to pleasant thoughts. The careworn look, the expression of trouble and pain was gone from his face; hope seemed written on every manly feature, and the handsome, dark eyes flashed with a light of gladness that spoke plainly of his altered life. Margery was soon back. She had put on her sables, a round cap of the same rich fur surmounting her red-gold curls, and for once she wore no veil. She had determined to hide herself no longer. She had nothing to fear; it was she who had been wronged and insulted. Pride lent her strength, and she felt that her eyes could meet Vane’s clearly and coldly now, even though her heart still ached with the pain Stuart Crosbie had caused. The earl settled her comfortably in the carriage, and then stepped in himself. “This weather is terrible,” he said, as they started. “Once this law business is settled, Margery, I think I shall take you to a warmer climate, to see the sunshine and breathe the scent of flowers.” “There is one pilgrimage I must make before we do that,” returned Margery, in a low voice. “I cannot rest till I have visited Enid’s grave.” The earl raised her little black-gloved hand to his lips. “You speak only of my heart’s thoughts, my own; but I hesitated to take you to the manor in this wet, gloomy weather. I thought the sunshine would----” “Sunshine is beautiful; but the manor is home, and is near her.” Margery smiled faintly; she was compelled to speak these words, for she felt almost overpowered by this tender devotion, and suffered miserably as she thought how poorly she could return it. Henceforth it mattered little to her where she lived; but, if her choice of the manor brought him pleasure, she was glad.