Lady Wyndward bore it all very patiently; she knew that what Lady Longford had said was quite true, that it was useless to attempt to drive him; but she did say a word to the old countess. "There is something amiss!" she said, with a sigh, and the old countess had smiled and shown her teeth. "Of course there is, my dear Ethel," she retorted; "there always is where he is concerned. He is about some mischief, I am as convinced as you are. But it does not matter, it will come all right in time." "But will it?" asked Lady Wyndward with a sigh. "Yes, I think so," said the old countess, "and Lenore agrees with me, or she would not stay." "It is very good of her to stay," said Lady Wyndward, with a sigh. "Very!" assented the old lady, with a smile. "It is encouraging. I am sure she would not stay if she did not see excuse. Yes, Ethel it will all come right; he will marry Lenore, or rather, she will marry him, and they will settle down, and--I don't know whether you have asked me to stand god-mother to the first child." Lady Wyndward tried to feel encouraged and confident, but she felt uneasy. She was surprised that Lenore still remained. She knew nothing of that meeting between the proud beauty and Jasper Adelstone. And Lenore! A great change had come over her. She herself could scarcely understand it. At night--as she sat before her glass while her maid brushed out the long tresses that fell over the white shoulders like a stream of liquid gold--she asked herself what it meant? Was it really true that she was in love with Lord Leycester? She had not been in love with him when she first came to the Hall--she would have smiled away the suggestion if anyone had made it; but now--how was it with her now? And as she asked herself the question, a crimson flush would stain the beautiful face, and the violet eyes would gleam with mingled shame and self-scorn, so that the maid would eye her wonderingly under respectfully lowered lids. Yes, she was forced to admit that she did love him--love him with a passion which was a torture rather than a joy. She had not known the full extent of that passion until the hour when she had stood concealed between the trees at the river, and heard Leycester's voice murmuring words of love to another. And that other! An unknown, miserable, painter's niece! Often, at night, when the great Hall was hushed and still, she lay tossing to and fro with miserable longing and intolerable shame, as she recalled that hour when she had been discovered by Jasper Adelstone and forced to become his confederate. She, the great beauty--before whom princes had bent in homage--to be love-smitten by a man whose heart was given to another--she to be the confederate and accomplice of a scheming, under-bred lawyer.