Margery found a warm love spring up in her breast for Stuart’s father, and the earl and the squire soon became good friends. It was the squire who called Margery’s attention to Lord Court’s quiet manner and worn appearance, as they were talking together one morning. Margery listened with a sense of regret and remorse at her blindness, and, making some excuse, she left the squire in the grounds where they had been sauntering and hurried back to the house. It was a glorious spring day; the sunshine illuminated the old mansion, darting in golden shafts through the long, narrow windows. Margery crossed the hall, above which was seen a massive dome and round which ran the gallery leading to the upper apartments and bedrooms. Several servants were hurrying to and fro; and, asking for the earl, she learned that he was in the study, busy with the new steward. Without hesitation she made her way to the room and opened the door. The earl was alone, leaning his head upon his hand, reading some papers which lay on the table. “This lease is wrong, Robins,” he said, not looking up as the door opened. Margery moved forward softly, and then knelt at his feet. “Nugent!” she said, with a little catch in her breath as she noted his pale, worn face for the first time. The earl turned with a smile so sweet and tender that it made Margery’s lips tremble. “My darling!” he exclaimed, gently. “You here?” “Nugent, you are ill--worried! Ah, I have been blind not to see it before! Oh, forgive me, forgive me!” Lord Court raised her head tenderly. “Why, Margery,” he said, lightly, “what is the matter? Who has been frightening you?” “I am nervous about you; you look so worn and ill. Nugent, you must put away those deeds and writings. They distress me.” “You shall not be distressed then, my darling; see--I have put them away at once. But you are mistaken, Margery; I am not ill, only a little tired.” “Tired?” she repeated, putting her hands on his. “Yes, yes, of course! How forgetful I am! I leave you all this tiresome business to do. I am very selfish.” “You are my dear, sweet Margery!” he said, lightly. “But what has caused you this sudden fear, my darling?” “You have been looking ill for so long! The squire has just spoken to me, and it has frightened me; and, Nugent, I want to ask you something. Will you promise to do it?” “What can I refuse you, Margery?” “Then let us leave here and go back to the manor--the squire is longing to see our dear old home. You will come, dear?” “Home!” repeated the earl, dreamily, as if the word brought content. Then, with a sudden contraction of his brows, as if from pain, he added, “But it will be lonely for you, my dear one; you will not care for it.” “I wish it with all my heart,” said Margery, quietly, glad to see that this proposal brought a gleam of pleasure to his eyes. “Then,” returned her husband, looking with a strange, sad steadfastness into her glorious eyes--“then we will go home, Margery.” CHAPTER XXIX.