"_I_ don't like him," said Stella, in a low tone, "but I am quite 'safe,' as you call it, without marry--without doing what you and Leycester wish." "I don't know," he muttered, gloomily. "At any rate, you _would_ be safe then, and--and, Stella, you _must_ go. See, now, Leycester has trusted you to me--has placed this in my hands. It is as if he said, 'I saved your life--you promised to help me. Here is something to do--do it!' And I will. You will go. Think, Stel!--A few short hours and you will be Lady Leycester!" She did think of it, and her heart beat tumultuously. Yes, she would be safe not only from Jasper Adelstone, but from Lady Lenore, whom she feared more than she did twenty Jasper Adelstones. Leycester would be her own, her very own; and though she did not care much for the Wyndward coronet, she did care for him. She covered her face with her hands, and sat quite motionless for a few minutes, the boy watching her eagerly, impatiently; then she dropped her hands, and looked down at him with the quiet, grave, resolute smile which he knew so well. "Yes, Frank, I will do it," was all she said. He kissed her hand gratefully. "Think it is Lord Leycester thanking you, Stel," he whispered. "And now for the preparations. You must pack a small bag, and I will do the same, and then I must take them down the lane and hide them; it wouldn't do to go out of the house in the morning with the bags in our hands--Mrs. Penfold would raise the neighborhood, and we must stroll out as if we were strolling down to the river. But there!"--he broke off, for he saw Stella's face, always so eloquent, beginning to show signs of irresolution--"leave it all to me--I'll see to it! Lord Leycester knew he could trust me." Stella sat for a few minutes in silence, thinking of the old man who had received her in her helplessness, who had loved and treated her as a daughter, and whom she was about to deceive. Her heart smote her keenly, but still Frank had spoken the truth--husband was more than father, and Leycester would be her husband. She stooped and kissed the boy. "I must go in now, Frank," she said. "Do not say any more. I will go, but I cannot talk of it." She went in; the dusk was falling, and the old man stood beside his easel eying it wistfully. She went and drew him away. "No more to-night, uncle," she said, in tones that quivered dangerously. "Come and sit down; come and sit and watch the river, as you sat the day I came; do you remember?" "Yes--yes, my dear," he murmured, sinking into the chair, and taking the pipe she filled for him. "I remember the day. It was a happy day for me; it would be a miserable day the day you left me, Stella!" Stella hid her face on his shoulder, and her arm went round his neck. He smoothed her hair in silence. "Where is Frank?" he asked, dreamily. "In the garden. Shall I call him? Dear Frank! He is a dear boy, uncle!"