"Lenore," he said, and his deep, grave, musical voice trembled slightly. She lay back in his arms for a moment, looking up at him with an expression of helpless resignation in her eyes, her lovely face revealed in the light which poured from the window full upon her. "Lenore," he said, huskily, "what--what is this?" Her eyes closed for a moment, and a faint thrill ran through her, then she regained her composure, and putting him gently from her, she laughed softly. "It was your fault," she said, the exquisite voice tremulous with emotion. "Why do you steal upon us like a thief in the night, or--like a ghost? You frightened me." He stood and looked at her, and put his hand to his brow. He was but mortal, was but a man with a man's passions, a man's susceptibility to woman's loveliness, and he knew that she loved him. "I----" he said, then stopped. "I did not know. Charlie brought me here. Who are here?" "They are all here," she said, her eyes downcast. "I will go and tell them lest you frighten them as you frightened me," and she stole away from him like a shadow. He stood, his hands thrust in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the ground. She was very beautiful, and she loved him. Why should he not make her happy? make one person happy at least? Not only one person, but his mother, and Lilian--all of them. As for himself, well! one woman was as good as another, seeing that he had lost his darling! And this other was the best and rarest of all that were left. "Leycester!" It was his mother's voice. He turned and kissed her; she was not frightened, she did not even kiss him, but she put her hand on his arm, and he felt it tremble, and the way she spoke the word told of all her past sorrow at his absence, and her joy at his return. "You have come back to us!" she said, and that was all. "Yes, I have come back!" he said, with something like a sigh. She looked at him, and the mother's heart was wrung. "Have you been ill, Leycester?" she asked, quietly. "Ill, no," he said, then he laughed a strange laugh. "Do I look so seedy, my lady?" "You look----" she began, with sad bitterness, then she stopped. "Come in." He followed her in, but at the door he paused and looked out at the night. As he did so, the vision of the slim, graceful girl, of his lost darling, seemed to float before him, with pale face, and wistful, reproachful eyes. He put up his hand with a strange, despairing gesture, and his lips moved. "Good-bye!" he murmured. "Oh, my lost love, good-bye!" CHAPTER XXXVII. Lord Charles' little plot had succeeded beyond his expectation. He had restored the prodigal and shared the fatted calf, as he deserved to do. Although it was known all over the house, in five minutes, that Lord Leycester, the heir, had returned, there was no fuss, only a pleasant little simmer of welcome and satisfaction. The countess had gone to the earl, who was dressing for dinner, to tell him the news. "Leycester has returned," she said.