He sat, with the unsmoked cigar in his fingers, his head drooped upon his breast, the nightmare of the secret mystery pressing on his shoulders. It was not only the loss of Stella, it was the feeling that she had deceived him that was so bitter to bear; it was the existence of the secret understanding between the two that so utterly overwhelmed him. He could have married Stella though she had been a beggar in the streets, but he could have no part or lot in the woman who shared a secret with such a one as Jasper Adelstone. The smoking-room footman hovered about, glancing covertly and curiously at the motionless figure in the deep arm-chair; acquaintances sauntered in and gave him good-bye; but Leycester sat brooding over his sorrow and disappointment, and made no response. A more miserable young man it would have been impossible to find in all London than this viscount and heir to an earldom, with all his immense wealth and proud hereditary titles. The afternoon came, hot and sultry, and to him suffocating. The footman, beginning to be seriously alarmed by the quiescence of the silent figure, was just considering whether it was not his duty to bring him some refreshment, or rouse him by offering him the paper, when Leycester rose, much to the man's relief, and walked out. Within the last few minutes he had decided upon some course of action. He could not stay in London, he could not remain in England; he would go abroad--go right out of the way, and try and forget. He smiled to himself at the word, as if he should ever forget the beautiful face that had lain upon his breast, the exquisite eyes that had poured the lovelight into his, the sweet girl-voice that had murmured its maiden confession in his ear! He called a cab, and told the man to drive to Waterloo; caught a train, threw himself into a corner of the carriage, and gave himself up to the bitterness of despair. Dinner was just over when his tall figure passed along the terrace, and the ladies were standing under the drawing-room veranda enjoying the sunset. A little apart from the rest stood Lenore. She was leaning against one of the iron columns, her dress of white cashmere and satin trimmed with pearls standing out daintily and fairy-like against the mass of ferns and flowers behind her. She was leaning in the most graceful air of abandon, her sunshade lying at her feet, her hands folded with an indolent air of rest on her lap; there was a serene smile upon her lips, a delicate languor in her violet eyes, an altogether at-peace-with-all-the-world expression which was in direct contrast with the faint expression of anxiety which rested on the handsome face of the countess. Every now and then, as the proud and haughty woman, but anxious mother, chatted and laughed with the women around her, her gaze wandered to the open country with an absent, almost fearful expression, and once, as the sound of a carriage was heard on the drive, she was actually guilty of a start.