"Shall we ever meet again, Mr. Dale?" she said, wonderingly. "Why should we not?" "You will not be able to endure England, perhaps, after this terrible calamity. You will go abroad. You will seek distraction in change of scene. Men are such travellers now-a-days." "I shall not leave England, Miss Graham," answered Douglas, quietly; "I am a man of the world--I venture to hope that I am also a Christian--and I can nerve myself to endure grief as a Christian and a man of the world should endure it. My brother's death will make no alteration in the plan of my life. I shall return to London almost immediately." "And we may hope to see you in London?" "Captain Graham and I are members of the same club. We are very likely to meet occasionally." "And am I not to see you as well as my brother?" asked Lydia, in a low voice. "Do you really wish to see me?" "Can you wonder that I do so--for the sake of old times. We are friends of long standing, remember, Mr. Dale." "Yes," answered Douglas, with marked gravity. "We have known each other for a long time." Captain Graham entered the room at this moment. "The carriage which is to take us to Frimley is ready, Lydia," he said; "your trunks are all on the roof, and you have only to wish Mr. Dale good-bye." "A very sad farewell," murmured Miss Graham. "I can only trust that we may meet again under happier circumstances." "I trust we may," replied Douglas, earnestly. Miss Graham was bonneted and cloaked for the journey. She had dressed herself entirely in black, in respectful regard of the melancholy circumstances attending her departure. Nor did she forget that the sombre hue was peculiarly becoming to her. She wore a dress of black silk, a voluminous cloak of black velvet trimmed with sables, and a fashionable bonnet of the same material, with a drooping feather. Douglas conducted his guests to the carriage, and saw Miss Graham comfortably seated, with her shawls and travelling-bags on the seat opposite. It was with a glance of mournful tenderness that Miss Graham uttered her final adieu; but there was no responsive glance in the eyes of Douglas Dale. His manner was serious and subdued; but it was a manner not easy to penetrate. Gordon Graham flung himself back in his seat with a despairing groan. "Well, Lydia," he said, "this accident in the hunting-field has been the ruin of all our hopes. I really think you are the most unlucky woman I ever encountered. After angling for something like ten years in the matrimonial fisheries, you were just on the point of landing a valuable fish, and at the last moment your husband that is to be goes and gets drowned during a day's pleasure." "What should you say if this accident, which you think unlucky, should, after all, be a fortunate event for us?" asked Lydia, with significance. "What the deuce do you mean?"