He recognized his present favorable opportunity, and hastened to improve it. “I am afraid we took you by storm to-day, Neva,” said the young earl, as they slowly walked down the avenue, considerably behind Mr. Atkins and Sir John, who had now mounted. “But Sir John Freise was determined to make an effort to save Lady Wynde from a union which she is likely to regret. Her ladyship is too pure and true to comprehend the character of her suitor, and she will cling to him all the more determinedly because of our well-meant warning.” By this it will be seen that Lord Towyn, with his frank nature, and honest soul, had not the slightest suspicion of the real character of Lady Wynde. If Craven Black was bad, she was also bad. She could never have loved or been wholly at ease in the society of a good man. “I am sorry for her,” said Neva, sighing. “She must ‘go her own gait,’” said Lord Towyn, “but you must not be involved in her unhappiness. Neva, darling Neva, I would almost die to spare you one pang of sorrow, one shadow of grief. I love you, and each day only adds to that love,” and his voice grew unsteady and impassioned. “You have held me off at arms’ length ever since that evening in which I told you so prematurely how dear you were to me. Do not repulse me now. Tell me honestly, my darling, whether you could be happy with me--whether I am dearer to you than another?” His blue eyes, radiant with the warmth of his glowing soul, flashed an electric light into hers. His passionate face, so fair and handsome, so noble in expression and feature, looked love upon hers. Neva’s eyelids trembled and drooped. An answering thrill convulsed her heart, and she knew in that moment that, come what would, she loved Arthur Towyn with all her soul, even as he loved her, and that she would know perfect happiness only as his wife. Yet the conviction came upon her as a painful shock, and in that instant the struggle between her love and her duty of obedience to the supposed wishes of her dead father began in her heart. “You love me?” whispered the young earl ardently, and with a passionate tremor of his voice. “Neva, with all my soul I love you, and I never loved before. Do I love in vain?” The shy, red-brown eyes were upraised for a brief glance, but in their swift flash Lord Towyn read his answer, and knew himself beloved. There was a brief silence between them full of rapture. They exchanged no betrothal kiss, no embrace, but Lord Towyn held Neva’s hand in his, and in his fervent pressure his soul spoke to hers. “I may tell Sir John and Mr. Atkins that we are betrothed, may I not, my darling?” said the young earl softly, as they walked on yet more slowly. “Not yet, Arthur--not yet. I love you,” and the girl’s voice sank to a whisper her lover’s ears could scarcely catch, “but I want a little time to decide. Don’t look surprised, Arthur; I do love you better than all the world, but it is all so new and strange, and--and--”