"'My Lady Betty,' he said, 'the Court is not the place for a poor man. You have robbed me of my peace of mind, but no lady, however fair, shall rob me of my honour. I am going to win my laurels. To-morrow I sail for America. Fare you well--and God bless you--dear Lady Betty.' And then he bowed to her with his hand on his heart, and for four-and-twenty years she never saw his face again, though she heard of him often. "It was then that Lady Betty returned to the old Hall. And there she lived a quiet life, cherishing her aged parents, and busy with her still-room and herb-garden, after the fashion of those days. She had many lovers, but she never married; for, as she once told her mother, she had never met any one to compare with Sir Bever Willoughby. 'He was a goodly youth,' she said, 'and when I looked on his countenance I bethought me of young David, playing his harp among his sheep; but he had one fault, and it has spoiled both our lives--he was too proud to owe his fortune to the woman he loved.' "Lady Betty was in her comely middle age when she next saw Bever Willoughby. She had grown rather stout, but people said she was handsomer than she had been in her youth. She was dancing a minuet in the picture-gallery at Brentwood Hall, when a tall, soldierly-looking man, with his arm in a sling, attracted her notice. When their eyes met Lady Betty blushed like a girl, but Sir Bever turned very pale. When, a week or two later, Sir Bever asked her to marry him, Lady Betty looked him full in the face. "'There is an old proverb, Sir Bever,' she said, 'that tells us that some things are better late than never; and methinks this wooing of yours is somewhat tardy.' "'Say not so, dear Lady Betty,' he returned, passionately, 'for though I rode away without telling my love, I have had no wife or child, but have been your true lover at heart all these years.' "Then Lady Betty dropped him a low curtsy; but he saw the sparkle of tears in her eyes. "'You have not been more faithful than another,' she replied. 'You are a brave soldier, Sir Bever, but you had no right to break a woman's heart, as mine was broken that evening at Ranelagh.'" "But she married him?" pleaded Mollie, rather piteously, as Gwendoline paused for a moment. "Oh, yes, she married him, and they were very happy; but Sir Bever only lived ten years. As he lay dying he expressed his regret that their wedded bliss had been so brief. "'Dear heart,' returned Lady Betty, 'your mannish, foolish pride kept my husband from me for nigh upon twenty-five years, but we will make up for it hereafter;' and then she fell on his breast weeping. 'Death cannot part true hearts,' she cried, 'and thou wilt be my own Sir Bever in heaven.'" And here Gwen caught her breath, for Jack was looking at her; and actually Mollie, silly little Mollie, was crying.