“Mr. Bradstone is quite right,” said Faradeane, and the pleasant assent chafed Bradstone still more than Lord Carfield’s cold glance. “We’d better be going, hadn’t we?” he said, and almost pushing past Bertie, he offered Olivia his arm. As she put her hand upon it, he felt that she was trembling, and looked at her with an ugly red glowing in his face. “This confounded business has frightened you!” he said, almost loud enough for Faradeane to hear. “In my opinion, that kind of thing isn’t fit for a mixed audience.” “I am not frightened, thanks,” said Olivia, coldly. “You are trembling, then,” he said, with barely suppressed fury. Olivia looked at him very much as Lord Carfield had looked, and taking her hand from his arm, turned to Miss Amelia. “Are you ready, aunt?” she said, and waited until she came up to her. Bartley Bradstone bit his lip at this distinct rebuke, and was forced to walk down the room alone. As he approached the door, chafing with envy and mortification, a lad entered, and, looking round, came up to him with a telegram. “What’s this?” demanded Bartley Bradstone, roughly. “A telegram, sir,” the lad said. “The postmaster said I was to bring it here, as it might be important----” “He is a fool,” said Bartley Bradstone. “Besides, a telegram at this time!” “I had to ride over with it from Wainford, sir,” said the lad, shyly, “and I didn’t like to come in till the entertainment was over.” Bartley Bradstone opened the envelope, scowling, and read the telegram. It ran thus: Have got all you want. The bird is netted. MOWLE. He crushed it in his hand, and looked furtively round as if he almost suspected that the rest of the party knew its purport; then his face cleared, and he glanced at Olivia with an ugly smile of sinister significance. “You snub me, do you, my lady?” he said, under his breath. “You’ll change your tone presently, I fancy.” And he went into the open air mumbling the words of the telegram. “Mowle’s a fool to send such a wire,” he said, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. “But he’s right. The bird is netted!” CHAPTER X. IN THE MOONLIGHT. When they came out of the schoolroom into the open air, the moonlight was streaming over the pastoral scene, lighting up the crowd of people still talking of the wonderful “Dream of Eugene Aram,” as they made their way through the string of carriages. Faradeane paused to say good-night; but Aunt Amelia would not offer her hand. “My dear Mr. Faradeane!” she exclaimed, “surely you would not leave us! Bertie, the squire quite expects you back to smoke a cigar with him; do, do persuade him to come with you. Really, I feel that I cannot lose you, Mr. Faradeane.” Faradeane hesitated; but Bertie, eager to snatch a few more minutes of his idol’s society, pressed his arm. “Come on,” he said. “The squire will be pleased, I know.” Olivia stood silent, her eyes fixed dreamily on the moonlit scene.