Mr. Etheridge looked from one to the other and patted Stella's arm. "You must ask Mrs. Penfold," he said, with a smile. "She will be difficult to appease, I'm afraid. We have been very anxious. It was--well, unlike you, Stella." "I hope I shall be able to appease Mrs. Penfold," said Jasper. "I want her good word; I know she has some influence with you, sir." He paused, and the old man looked up, struck by some significance in his tone. Jasper stood looking down at him with a little smile of pleading interrogation. "I have come as a suppliant for your forgiveness on more accounts than one," he continued. "I have dared to ask Stella to be my wife, sir." Stella started, but still looked out beyond him at the green hills and the water glowing in the sunset. Mr. Etheridge put his hand on her head and turned her face. "Stella!" "You wish to know what she has answered, sir," said Jasper to spare Stella making any reply. "With a joy I cannot express, I am able to say that she has answered 'Yes.'" "Is that so, my dear?" murmured the old man. Stella's head drooped. "This--this--surprises me!" he said in a low voice. "But if it is so, if you love him, my dear, I will not say 'No.' Heaven bless you, Stella!" and his hand rested upon her head. There was silence for a moment, then he started and held out his other hand to Jasper. "You are a fortunate man, Jasper," he said. "I hope, I trust you will make her happy!" Jasper's small eyes glistened. "I will answer for it with my life," he said. CHAPTER XXXIII. "Oh, my love, my love!" She stood with her arms outstretched toward the white walls of the Hall, the moon shining over meadow and river, the night jay creaking in silence. In all her anguish and misery, in all her passionate longing and sorrow, these were the only words that her lips could frame. All was still in the house behind her. Frank, worn out with excitement, had gone to his own room. The old man sat smoking, dreaming and thinking of his little girl's betrothal. Jasper had gone--he was too wise to prolong the strain which he knew she was enduring--and she had crept out into the little garden and stood leaning against the gate, her eyes fixed on the great house, which at that moment perhaps held him--Leycester--who, a few short hours ago, was hers, and in a low voice the cry broke from her lips: "Oh, my love, my love!"