"A broken heart! What do you mean?" said Stella, her face flushed, her eyes challenging his with a touch of indignation. He smiled. "I meant that Lord Leycester is as skilled in breaking hearts as limbs. But I forgot I must not say anything against the heir to Wyndward in your hearing. Pray forgive me. Good-night." And, with a bow and a keen look from his small eyes, he moved away. Stella stood looking after him for a moment, and a shiver ran through her as if from a cold wind. Breaking hearts! What did he mean? An exclamation from her uncle caused her to turn suddenly. He was standing in the light of the window, with the open telegram in his hand, his face pale and anxious. "Great Heaven!" he muttered, "what am I to do?" CHAPTER XIV. "What shall I do?" exclaimed Mr. Etheridge. Stella came to him quickly, with a little cry of dismay. "What is it, uncle? Are you ill--is it bad news? Oh, what is the matter?" And she looked up into his pale and agitated face with anxious concern. His gaze was fixed on vacancy, but there was more than abstraction in his eyes--there was acute pain and anguish. "What is it, dear?" she asked, laying her hand on his arm. "Pray tell me." At the words he started slightly, and crushed the telegram in his hand. "No, no!" he said--"anything but that." Then, composing himself with an effort, he pressed her hand and smiled faintly. "Yes, it is bad news, Stella; it is always bad news that a telegram brings." Stella led him in; his hands were trembling, and the dumb look of pain still clouded his eyes. "Will you not tell me what it is?" she murmured, as he sank into his accustomed chair and leant his white head on his hand. "Tell me what it is, and let me help you to bear it by sharing it with you." And she wound her arm around his neck. "Don't ask me, Stella. I can't tell you--I cannot. The shame would kill me. No! No!" "Shame!" murmured Stella, her proud, lovely face paling, as she shrank back a little; but the next moment she pressed closer to him, with a sad smile. "Not shame for you, dear; shame and you were never meant to come together." He started, and raised his head. "Yes, shame!" he repeated, almost fiercely, his hands clinched--"such bitter, debasing shame and disgrace. For the first time the name we have held for so many years will be stained and dragged in the dirt. What shall I do?" And he hid his face in his hands. Then, with a sudden start, he rose, and looked round with trembling eagerness. "I--I must go to London," he said, brokenly. "What is the time? So late! Is there no train? Stella, run and ask Mrs. Penfold. I must go at once--at once; every moment is of consequence." "Go to London--to-night--so late? Oh, you cannot!" exclaimed Stella, aghast. "My dear, I must," he said more calmly. "It is urgent, most urgent business that calls for me, and I must go."