"Leycester--good-bye!" Leycester stood, white and motionless as a statue, for the space of a minute; then he turned to Lord Charles, who stood biting his pale lips and looking after the brougham. "I will go with you to-morrow," he said, hoarsely. CHAPTER XXXV. Time--which Lord Leycester had been so recklessly wasting in "riotous living"--passed very quiet indeed in the Thames valley, beneath the white walls of Wyndward Hall. During the months which elapsed since that fearful parting between the two lovers, life had gone on at the cottage just as before, with the one great exception that Jasper Adelstone had become almost a daily visitor, and that Stella was engaged to him. That was all the difference, but what a difference it was! Lord Leycester gone--her tried, her first lover, the man who had won her maiden heart--and in his place this man whom she--hated. But yet she fought the battle womanfully. She had made a bargain--she had sacrificed herself for her two loved ones, had given herself freely and unreservedly, and she strove to carry out her part of the compact. She looked a little pale, a little graver than of old, but there was no querulous tone of complaint about her; if she did not laugh the frank, light-hearted laugh that her uncle used to declare was like the "voice of sunlight," she smiled sometimes; and if the smile was rather sad than mirthful, it was very sweet. The old man noticed nothing amiss; he thought she had grown quieter, but set the change down to her betrothal; he went on painting, absorbed in his work, scarcely heeding the world that ran by him so merrily, so sadly, and was quite content. Jasper's quiet, low-toned voice did not disturb him, and he would go on painting while they were talking near him, dead to their presence. Since that last blow his boy's crime had struck him, he had lived more entirely and completely in his art than ever. Of the two, Frank and Stella, perhaps it was Frank who seemed the most changed. He had grown thinner and paler, and more girlish and delicate-looking than ever. It had been arranged that he should go up to the university for the next term, but Mr. Hamilton, the old doctor, who had been called in to see to a slight cough which the boy had started, had hummed and hawed, and advised that the 'varsity should be shelved for the present. "Was he ill?" Stella had asked, anxiously--very anxiously, for, woman-like, she had grown to love with a passionate devotion the boy for whom she had sacrificed herself. "N--o; not ill," the old doctor had said. "Certainly not ill," and he went on to explain that Frank was delicate--that all boys with fair hair and fair complexions were more or less delicate. "But he has such a beautiful color," said Stella, nervously. "Y--es; a nice color," said the old man, and that was all she could get out of him.