“I’ve a message from Lord Carfield,” said Colonel Summerford. “He wishes me to tell you that Lord Bertie has gone home with the squire--poor fellow! and that he--Lord Carfield--doesn’t wish to intrude upon you; but that he will feel honored--I repeat his words, Lord Clydesfold--if you will go straight to him and stay with him.” Lord Clydesfold inclined his head, deeply moved. “Thank him for me, Summerford,” he said; “but I will go to my own place. I--I must have time to think. Bertie has gone with the squire?” and he breathed a sigh of satisfaction. “That is like his thoughtfulness!” “Yes; he said he knew you would rather he went and took care of him and Miss Vanley than come to you. And now, if there is anything I can do, my lord, I shall be only too happy.” Lord Clydesfold thought for a moment or two. “This unhappy man who lies dead,” he said; “we must not forget that she bore his name, though for only a few days, Summerford.” “I understand, my lord,” said the colonel, gravely. “Everything shall be done as quietly as possible. Leave it all to me and McAndrew here, who feels that he owes you something for his part--unwilling one as it was--in the terrible trial you have so nobly borne. And now, will you have my carriage?” But Lord Clydesfold shook his head. “I think I should like to walk,” he said quietly, and, shaking hands with them, he set off, followed by the cheers of the people, who still lingered and watched him with eager but respectful interest. An hour later Lord Clydesfold was seated in his little dining-room of The Dell. His man had rushed home and prepared a meal, and with affectionate anxiety had insisted upon his master’s eating some of it; and Clydesfold sat thinking of the woman he loved, the woman for whose sake he would have given his life, and yet whom he dared not go near, when the door opened and the servant announced: “Mr. Vanley.” Faradeane sprang to his feet, and took the trembling hands which the squire held out to him; and for a space the two men looked into each other’s eyes in silence. Then the old man found his voice. “What can I say, my lord?” he faltered. “No words I could find would express a tenth part of all I feel--of my gratitude, my unspeakable gratitude to you! I have never read of a nobler act than yours. You would have given your life to shield my child’s name from even the reflection of shame!” “Yes,” said the other in a low, grave voice, as he led the old man to a chair, “and would do it again to-morrow. Tell me how she is, sir. All concealment between us is destroyed forever. You know how it is with me, how it has been ever since we first met. I have loved her, sir----” He stopped.