When they started in the morning, Leycester asked no questions and displayed the supremest indifference to the route, and Lord Charles, affecting a little indecision, made for the road to which Oliver had directed him. The two friends rode almost in silence as was their wont, Leycester paying very little attention to anything excepting his horse, and scarcely noticing the fact that Lord Charles seemed very decided about the route. Once he asked a question; it was when the evening was drawing in, and they were still riding, as to their destination, but Lord Charles evaded it: "We shall get somewhere, I expect," he said quietly. "There is sure to be an inn--or something." And Leycester was content. About dusk they reached the entrance to Darlingford. There was no village, no inn. Leycester pulled up and waited indifferently. "What do we do now?" he asked. Lord Charles laughed, but rather consciously. "Look here," he said: "I know some people who have got this place. We'd better ride up and get a night's lodging." Leycester looked at him, and smiled suddenly. "Isn't this rather transparent, Charlie?" he said, calmly. "Of course you intended to come here from the very start, very well." "Well, I suspect I did," said Lord Charles. "You don't mind?" Leycester shook his head. "Not at all. They will let us go to bed, I suppose. You can tell them that you are traveling keeper to a melancholy monomaniac, and they'll leave me alone. Mind, we start in the morning." "All right," said Lord Charles, chuckling inwardly--"of course; quite so. Come on." They rode up the avenue, and to the front of a straggling stone mansion, and a groom came forward and took their horses. Lord Charles drew Leycester's arm within his. "We shall be sure of a welcome." And he walked up a broad flight of steps. But Leycester stopped suddenly; for a figure came out of one of the windows, and stood looking down at them. It was a woman, gracefully and beautifully dressed in some softly-hued evening robe. He could not see her face, but he knew her, and turned almost angrily to Lord Charles. But Lord Charles had slipped away, muttering something about the horses, and Leycester went slowly up. Lenore--it was she--awaited his approach all unconsciously. She could not see him as plainly as he saw her, and she took him for some strange chance visitor. But as he came up and stood in front of her she recognized him, and, with a low cry, she moved toward him, her lovely face suddenly smitten pale, her violet eyes fixed on him yearningly. "Leycester!" she said, and overcome for the moment by the suddenness of his presence, she staggered slightly. He could do no less than put his arm round her, for he thought she would have fallen, and as he did so his heart reproached him, for the one word "Leycester," and the tone told her story. His mother was right. She loved him.