Quiet as the wedding was intended to be, there was necessarily some stir; the society papers had got hold of it, and dilated upon it in paragraphs, in which Lenore was spoken of as "our reigning beauty," and Leycester described as the son of a well-known peer, and a man of fashion. Quite an army of upholsterers had been at work at the house in Grosvenor Square, and another army of milliners and dressmakers had been preparing the bride's _trousseau_. A pile of imperials and portmanteaus stood in the dressing-room, each bearing the initials "I," with the coronet. One or two of the Beauchamps, the present earl and a brother--together with three young lady cousins, who were to act as bridesmaids--had been invited, and were to arrive the following evening. Certainly there must be some slight fuss, and Lenore, as she thought of Leycester's absence, ascribed it to his dislike to the aforesaid fuss, and his desire to escape from it. The maid went at last, and Lenore, with a happy sigh, went to sleep. At that time Leycester was pacing the beach at Carlyon, and Jasper and poor Frank were lying dead. Surely if dreams come to warn one of impending trouble, Lady Lenore should have dreamed to-night; but she did not. She slept the night through without a break, and rose fresh and beautiful, with only twenty-four hours between her and happiness. But when she entered the breakfast-room, and met the pale, anxious face of the countess, and the grave one of the earl, a sudden spasm of fear, scarcely fear, but apprehension, fell upon her. "What is the matter?" she asked, gliding to the countess, and kissing her. "Nothing--really nothing, dear," she said, attempting to speak lightly. "Where is Leycester?" she asked. "That is it," replied the countess, pouring out the coffee, and keeping her eye fixed on the cup. "The foolish boy hasn't returned yet." "Not returned?" echoed Lenore, and a faint flush came into her face. "Where did he go?" "I don't know, my dear Lenore, and I cannot find out. He didn't tell you?" Lenore shook her head, and fastened a flower in her dress with a hand that quivered faintly. "No. I did not ask him. I saw him go." "Was he on foot, or riding?" asked the earl. "On foot," said Lenore. "He was in his shooting clothes, and I thought he was going for a walk on the hills." The earl broke his piece of toast with a little irritable jerk. "It is annoying," he said. "It is extremely inconsiderate of him, extremely. To-day, of all others, he should have remained at home." "He will be here presently," said Lenore, calmly. The countess sighed. "Nothing--of course nothing could have happened to him." She merely made the suggestion in a suppressed, hushed, anxious voice. Lenore laughed--actually laughed.