“No, no, of course not,” with a short laugh that had little of mirth in it. “I don’t mean anything—only I think, if ever Conrad is lurking about in his wild moods, that Lord Trevlyn had better keep a sharp look out. Your woods and cliffs are nasty lonely places, and it’s always well to be on the safe side.” Monica sat pale and silent; Mrs. Bellamy laughed again in that half uneasy way. “Now, don’t look like that, and keep your own counsel. I’m a silly woman, as you know, and nobody minds what I say, but I can’t be quite comfortable without just warning you. For mischief is sometimes done in a moment between two angry men that never can be undone so long as the world lasts. Now don’t go and get frightened, Monica—it may be all a ridiculous fancy; but just keep your eyes open.” “Thank you, Cecilia,” said Monica quietly. “I will.” [Illustration] CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. A VISIT TO ARTHUR. “Are you getting tired of this sort of thing, Monica?” asked Randolph, about three days later. He had fancied he detected traces of weariness at times—weariness or anxiety: he could hardly have told which—in the lines of her face; and he thought that possibly some trouble was resting upon her. He was very quick to note the least change in one he loved so well. Her smile, however, was very reassuring. “I think I should never be really tired of any life you shared, Randolph; but I like being alone together best.” “I, too,” he responded, with great sincerity. “Monica, as we have done our duty by society now, shall we indulge ourselves once more, and leave the world to wag on its own way, and forget it again for a few more happy weeks?” Her face was bright and eager. “Go back to the moorland shooting-box, Randolph?” she questioned. “No; not that quite. The season is getting a little late for remaining up in the north. I have a better plan in my head for you.” “Are we going back to Trevlyn, then?” “Trevlyn is not ready for us; it will be some time before it is. Can you think of nothing else you would like to do?—of nobody you want to see?” A flush rose suddenly into Monica’s face: her eyes shone with happiness. “Oh, Randolph! are you going to take me to see Arthur?” “You would like to go?” “Above everything.” “Then the thing is done. We will start next week. I talked about it to the doctor when I saw him, and he advised three months of entire quiet and seclusion whilst he settled down to the new life. After that, he believed there would be no reason at all against his seeing friends from home. I wrote again last week to put the question definitely, and the answer is entirely satisfactory. If you want to go, Monica, the whole question is settled.” She came close up to him, clasping her hands upon his shoulder, and looking up with loving gratitude and delight.