There was no one in the room when Neva entered it. The large table was laid with covers for five persons. The glazed door was ajar, and the windows were all open, giving ingress to the fresh morning air. The room was all brightness and cheerfulness, the soft gray carpet having a border of scarlet and gold, the massive antique chairs being upholstered in scarlet leather, and the sombreness of the dainty buffet of ebony wood being relieved by delicate tracery of gold, drawn by a sparing hand. Neva crossed the floor and passed out upon the terrace, where a gaudy peacock strutted, spreading his fan in the sunlight, and giving utterance to his harsh notes of self-satisfaction. Neva paced slowly up and down the terrace, shading her face with her hand. A little later she heard some one emerge from the breakfast room upon the terrace, and come behind her with an irregular and unsteady tread. “Good-morning, Miss Neva,” said Rufus Black, as he gained her side. “A lovely morning, is it not?” Neva returned his salutation gravely. She knew that Rufus Black had slept under the same roof with herself the preceding night, after the ball, and that a room at Hawkhurst had been specially assigned him by Lady Wynde, now Mrs. Craven Black. “You ought to have sacrificed your scruples, and come down to the drawing-rooms last night,” said Rufus Black. “I assure you we had a delightful time, but you would have been the star of the ball. I watched the door for your appearance until the people began to go home, and I never danced, although there was no end of pretty girls, but they were not pretty for me,” added Rufus, sighing. “There is for me _now_ only one beautiful girl in the whole world, and you are she, sweet Neva.” “Did you ever love any one before you loved me?” asked Neva, with a quiet frankness and straightforwardness, looking up at him with her clear eyes full of dusky glow. “Ye--no!” stammered Rufus, turning suddenly pale, and his honest eyes blenching. “Almost every man has had his boyish fancies, Miss Neva. Whatever mine may have been, my life has been pure, and my heart is all your own. You believe me?” “Yes, I believe you. Mr. and Mrs. Black have come down to breakfast, Mr. Rufus. Let us go in.” She led the way back to the breakfast room, Rufus following. They found the bride and bridegroom and Mrs. Artress waiting for them. Neva greeted Lady Wynde by her new name, and bowed quietly to Craven Black and Mrs. Artress. The little party took seats at the table, and the portly butler, with a mute protest in his heart against the new master of Hawkhurst, waited upon them, assisted by skillful subordinates. Mrs. Craven Black, dressed in white, looked the incarnation of satisfaction. She had so far succeeded in the daring game she had been playing, and her jet-black eyes glittered, and her dark cheeks were flushed to crimson, and her manner was full of feverish gayety, as she did the honors of the Hawkhurst breakfast table to her new husband.