"Forgotten! No, I shall not forget until I am dead; perhaps not then; who knows?" and the dreamy look came back. "But that cannot matter. He, Stephen, is content; I have told him all, and he is content. He is easily satisfied." And for the first time a smile of bitterness crossed her lips. "Why should he love me so?" she said, curtly. "Why should he be so anxious to make me his wife? I cannot understand it. Is it because he thinks that I am beautiful? I looked in the glass just now, and it seemed a dead face." "Una!" She turned and smiled. "It is true. But I have made you cry. Don't do that, dear. At least, we shall be together, shall we not?" In answer, the poor woman took her in her arms, and cried over her; but Una shed not a single tear. No, Stephen was not likely to fail. There were not likely to be any hitches in anything he undertook. Even the weather seemed to conform to his plans and wishes, for the morning broke clear and bright, so that he might say: "Happy is the bride whom the sun shines on." Without fuss or bustle, the traveling chariot, with its pair of handsome bays, drew up to the door; a couple of portmanteaus, no larger than was necessary for a day or two's outing, were put in the box; and Slummers, in his tall hat and black overcoat, looking very much like the old-fashioned banker's clerk, stood with the carriage door in his hand. Presently Stephen came down the steps, dressed in a traveling suit, and looking as calm as usual, but for the touch of color in his face. He had grown younger in appearance, less prim and formal, and altogether better-looking. If he could have lost the trick of looking from under his lowered eyelids, he would have been worth calling handsome. He exchanged a word with Slummers. "All right, sir. The horses are at Netherton; everything is arranged exactly according to your wishes." "And no one suspects anything?" "Not a soul," said Slummers, with a smile. This morning's work was the sort of thing Slummers liked. He was enjoying himself, and as happy as his master. Stephen went into the house again, and presently Mrs. Davenant and Una appeared. Notwithstanding Stephen's warning, Mrs. Davenant's eyes were red; but Una showed no traces of emotion; pale, almost white, she looked calmly around her. In the night she had started out of her sleep, calling wildly, piteously, on Jack to come and save her. But there was no Jack here--only Stephen, smiling and watchful as he came to meet her and help her into the carriage. For a moment her hand touched his bare wrist, and he felt it cold as ice even through her glove; but he smiled still as if he had no fear. "Once mine," he thought, "and all will be well!" Quietly, with no fuss or bustle, Slummers closed the door, mounted the box, and the horses started off. Stephen looked at his watch, and smiled. "Punctual almost to the minute," he said. "Are you warm enough, my darling?"