"You--you don't know what it is, Miss Stella?" she asked, in a low voice, and with a certain significance in her tone. Stella looked up at her. "No, I don't know--uncle did not tell me," she replied. Mrs. Penfold looked at her curiously, and seemed lost in thought. "And you don't know where he's gone, Miss Stella? I don't ask out of curiosity." "I'm sure of that," said Stella, warmly. "No, I don't know." "And you don't guess?" Stella looked up at her with wide open eyes, and shook her head. Mrs. Penfold turned the waiter in her hand, then she said suddenly: "I wish Mr. Adelstone was here." Stella started. "Mr. Adelstone!" Mrs. Penfold nodded. "Yes, Miss Stella. He is such a clever young gentleman, and he's so friendly, he'd do anything for your uncle. He always was friendly, but he's more so than ever now." "Is he?" said Stella. "Why?" Mrs. Penfold looked at her with a smile, which died away before Stella's look of unconsciousness. "I don't know, Miss Stella; but he is. He is always about the cottage. Oh, I forgot! he called yesterday, and left something for you." And she went out, returning presently with a bouquet of flowers. "I took them in the pantry, to keep cool and fresh. Aren't they beautiful, miss?" "Very," said Stella, smelling them and holding them a little way from her, after the manner of her sex. "Very beautiful. It is very kind of him. Are they for uncle, or for me?" Mrs. Penfold smiled. "For you, Miss Stella. Is it likely he'd leave them for your uncle?" "I don't know," said Stella; "he is uncle's friend, not mine. Will you put them in water, please?" Mrs. Penfold took them with a little air of disappointment. It was not in this cool manner that she expected Stella to receive the flowers. "Yes, miss; and there's nothing to be done?" "No," said Stella; "except to wait for my uncle's return." Mrs. Penfold hesitated a moment, then she went out. Stella made an effort to eat some breakfast, but it was a failure; she felt restless and listless; a spell seemed to have been cast over the little house--a spell of mystery and secrecy. After breakfast she took up her hat and wandered about the garden, communing with herself, and ever watching the path across the meadows, though she knew that her uncle could not possibly return yet. The day wore away and the evening came, and as the daylight gave place to sunset, Stella's heart beat faster. All day she had been thinking--dreaming of the hour that was now so near at hand, longing for and yet almost dreading it. This love was so strange, so mysterious a thing, that it almost frightened her. Almost for the first time she asked herself whether she was not doing wrong--whether she had not better stay at home and give up this precious meeting. But she mentally pictured Lord Leycester's waiting for her--mentally called up the tone of his voice welcoming her, and her conscience was stilled.