Her heart beat fast, so fast that the delicate veins in her white hands throbbed; but she still smiled, and even glided across to Lady Wyndward, who sat thoughtfully in the shade, looking at the tennis, but thinking of Leycester. She looked up as the tall graceful figure approached. "You are tiring yourself to death, my dear," she said, with a sigh. "No, I am enjoying it. What is the matter?" Lady Wyndward looked at her candidly. "I am troubled about my only troublous subject. Leycester has gone off again." "I know," was the quiet answer. "Where, I know not; he said London. I don't know why I should feel particularly uneasy, but I do. There is some plot afoot between Lord Charles and him." "I know it," smiled Lenore, "Lord Charles is not good at keeping a secret. He makes a very bad conspirator." "He would do anything for Leycester, any mad thing," sighed Lady Wyndward. The beautiful face smiled down at her thoughtfully for a moment, then Lenore said: "Do you think you could keep Lord Charles on the tennis-lawn, here, for half-an-hour?" "Why?" asked Lady Wyndward. "Yes, I think so." "Do so, then," replied Lady Lenore, "I will tell you why afterward. Lord Charles is very clever, no doubt, but I think I am cleverer, don't you?" "I think you are all that is good and beautiful, my dear," sighed the anxious mother. "Dear Lady Wyndward," softly murmured the beauty. "Well, keep him chained here for half-an-hour, and leave the rest to me. I am not apt to ask unreasonable requests, dear." "No. I'll do anything you want or tell me," replied Lady Wyndward. "I am full of anxious fears, Lenore. Do you know what it means?" Lady Lenore hesitated. "No. I do not know, but I think I can guess. See, here he comes." Lord Charles came striding along, swinging the racquet. "Here you are, Lady Lenore. Is that the right one?" "Yes," she said, "but I can't play any longer. I am so sorry, but I have hurt my hand. No, it's a mere nothing. I am going in to bathe it." "Oh, it's an awful pity," said Lord Charles. "I am very sorry. Well, the game is over. We must play it out another day. I'm going down to the village, and I'll call at the chemist's for a lotion. I expect you have sprained your hand." And suddenly, reminded of his mission, he was walking toward his coat, but Lenore glanced at the countess, and Lady Wyndward stopped him with a word. "We can't have the game stopped," she said. "Here is Miss Dalton dying to play, aren't you, dear?" she said, turning to a young girl who had been watching the game. "Yes, I knew it. You must take her in place of Lenore. Go on, my dear." Miss Dalton, or Miss any one else, would as soon have thought of disobeying Lady Wyndward as jumping off the top story of the Hall, and the girl rose obediently and took the racquet which Lenore smilingly held out to her.