But for the shaded lamp, the sudden paleness that overspread the handsome face of Dalton would have been apparent to all at this anecdote of Mrs. Trelawney, who saw that his eyes drooped, and that not even his heavy moustache concealed the quiver of his lip as he took his hat and prepared to retire. 'How strange Captain Dalton looks!' whispered Alison to Goring, as they were parting. 'Yes; poor Tony has become a changed man, moody and irritable, since he has known your friend, Mrs. Trelawney. He is no longer the quiet, gentle, and easy-going fellow he used to be. And now, once again, good-bye, my darling.' And with a pressure of the hand, a kiss snatched, all the sweeter for being so, they parted, knowing when and where they were to meet again. Whatever was the secret, unrevealed yet, that hung on Dalton's heart, he left the house of Mrs. Trelawney with a heaviness of soul and gloom of manner that were but too apparent to Bevil Goring. There was a baffled and dismayed expression in his face that made him all unlike his old soldierly self, and on his lips there was an unuttered vow that he would go near Chilcote Grange no more--a vow, however, that he found himself unable to keep. CHAPTER XI. A WRITTEN PROPOSAL. 'Devilled kidneys, actually,' said Sir Ranald, in high good-humour, next morning at breakfast. 'I thought the anatomy of our butcher's shop seemed never to include kidneys.' Alison was officiating at the tea-board in her plain but pretty morning-dress, and was thinking smilingly of the _tête-à-tête_ in the twilighted garden the evening before, when Archie laid some letters before her father, who glanced at them nervously. All that were in blue envelopes he knew instinctively to be duns, and thrust aside unopened. One in a square cover, that had thereon the initial C. surmounted by a coronet, he knew to be from Lord Cadbury, and opened, and read more than once, with a pleased, yet perplexed face, his brows knitted, yet his lips and eyes smiling. 'From Lord Cadbury, is it, papa?' asked Alison, after a pause. 'Yes, and concerns you.' 'Me?' 'Intimately.' 'In what way--how?' she asked, with a heart that sank with apprehension. 'By making a formal proposal through me.' 'For what?' 'Can you ask, child? Your hand.' 'Oh, papa, nonsense?' exclaimed Alison, growing very pale nevertheless, but in the desperation of her heart resolved to treat the matter with a certain degree of levity, as if too ridiculous for consideration. The truth was that, with all the confidence given him by his wealth and position, and all the coolness acquired by many past but coarse intrigues, he had not the courage to propose personally to a girl like Alison Cheyne, but did so thus, through her father, whose selfishness and impecuniosity made him, as he was well aware, an ally. 'He writes very humbly and modestly for a man of such wealth and weight in the country,' said Sir Ranald. 'Do you wish to see his letter?'