But the carriage was only that of one of the guests, and the countess sighed and turned to her duties again. Lenore, with head thrown back, watched her with a lazy smile. She was suffering likewise, but she had something tangible to fear, something definite to hope; the mother knew nothing, but feared all things. Presently Lady Wyndward happened to come within the scope of Lenore's voice. "You look tired to-night, dear," she said. The countess smiled, wearily. "I will admit a little headache," she said; then she looked at the lovely indolent face. "You look well enough, Lenore!" Lady Lenore smiled, curiously. "Do you think so!" she answered. "Suppose I also confessed a headache!" "I should outdo you even then," said the countess, with a sigh, "for I have a heartache!" Lenore put out her hand, white and glittering with pearls and diamonds, and laid it on the elder woman's arm with a little caressing gesture peculiar to her. "Tell me dear," she whispered. The countess shook her head. "I cannot," she said, with a sigh. "I scarcely know myself. I am quite in the dark, but I know that something has happened or is happening. You know that Leycester went suddenly yesterday?" Lady Lenore moved her head in assent. The countess sighed. "I am always fearful of him." Lenore laughed, softly. "So am I. But I am not fearful on this occasion. Wait until he comes back." The countess shook her head. "When will that be? I am afraid not for some time!" "I think he will come back to-night," said Lenore, with a smile that was too placid to be confident or boastful. The countess smiled and looked at her. "You are a strange girl, Lenore," she said. "What makes you think that?" Lenore turned the bracelet on her arm. "Something seems to whisper to me that he will come," she said. "Look!" And she just moved her hand toward the terrace. Leycester was coming slowly up the broad stone steps. Lady Wyndward made a move forward, but Lenore's hand closed over her arm, and she stopped and looked at her. Lenore shook her head, smiling softly. "Better not," she murmured, scarcely above her breath. "Not yet. Leave him alone. Something has happened as you surmised. I have such keen eyes, you know, and can see his face." So could Lady Wyndward by this time, and her own turned white at sight of the pale, haggard face. "Do not go to him," whispered Lenore, "do not stop him. Leave him alone; it is good advice." Lady Wyndward felt instinctively that it was, and so that she might not be tempted to disregard it, she turned away and went into the house.