One fact he had resolved on—that, though the days of bodily assassination had gone out of English society, or existed only in the pages of sensational romance, if he failed to obtain Louisa Loftus, that I should never succeed. *CHAPTER XX.* Not thus the shade may pass, That is upon thy heart, There is no sun in earthly skies Can bid its gloom depart; For falsehood’s stain is on it, And cruelty and guile— And these are stains that never pass, And shades that never smile. MISS LANDON. The mansion of Chillingham is one of the stateliest in that part of England. It consists of a great central block and peristyle, with two wings coming forward, forming a species of quadrangle. Detailed in the taste that existed about 1680, and erected by the second peer of the house, who had been created an earl at the Restoration, it was built entirely of red brick, save the eight Corinthian columns of the peristyle, the great flight of steps that ascended thereto, the elaborate cornices, corners, balustrades, and vases, which were all of white freestone, and in the style that is denominated Palladian. Elaborately carved within the central pediment are the arms of the Loftus family—a chevron engrailed between three trefoils, supported by two eagles; the crest a hand grasping a battle-axe, with the motto, "_Prend mot tel que je suis_," or "Take me as I am." It occupies a gentle eminence in the centre of the spacious park, and every embellishment has been added around to make the natural beauties of the somewhat flat and peaceful scene to harmonize. Though equally aristocratic in tone, it is very different in aspect from the bold and quaint, gloomy, embattled, and romantic mansion of Calderwood, with its turrets and loopholes for bullet or arrow; and is, in fact, a style of edifice almost entirely peculiar to England and Holland. Cora and Berkeley were as yet the only guests at the park, and on handing the ladies from the phaeton, he begged a few minutes’ interview with Lady Louisa, in the library or the conservatory, whichever she pleased, after luncheon. She coloured deeply, almost with annoyance, at a request so odd, and looking at her watch, said— "We lunch at two. Papa and mamma are in Canterbury; I have letters to write, but shall be in the library at six—that is, two hours before dinner." "Thanks; after we have tiffed then," said he, lifting his hat, and passing after her and Cora into the marble vestibule, with a self-satisfied smile. "What on earth can the man have to say in such a solemn fashion, Cora?" whispered Louisa. "I cannot conceive," replied my cousin, thinking of something else. The luncheon, at which those three were present, with a great whiteheaded and white-waistcoated butler, and three powdered and liveried servants in attendance, passed over almost in irksome silence, for all were fully occupied by their own thoughts or plans.