He stood before her as pale as she had been; something wrathful and something reverential contended in his expression. She waved her hand with a slight gesture, and went on "Now I have done with myself; there is no more question of me. But of you, Sir Laurence, there is much and serious question. Your life is aimless and unreal. Give it an object and an aim; invest it with truth, occupy it with duty. I am speaking with you face to face for the last time, and I go back to the old relation which you have destroyed for a few minutes. In that relation I speak to you of your father's death-bed request. Fulfil it; and by doing so, end this vain and sinful strife,--quell this demon which deludes you." "You mean that I should marry my father's ex-ward, I presume?" said Alsager, coldly. "I do." "Thank you, Lady Mitford. Your proposition is full of wisdom, however it may lack feeling. But there are sundry objections to my carrying it into effect. The lady does not love me, nor do I love the lady." "You hardly know her," Lady Mitford said with a timid smile; "you have not given yourself any opportunity of testing your power of obedience to your father's dying wish. You cannot judge of how she would be disposed towards you." Once more she smiled timidly and sadly. "You would have little cause to fear ill-success, I should think." "Except that in this case, Lady Mitford, the lady's affections are preëngaged, and she is doubtless a miracle of constancy." "You speak bitterly, Sir Laurence, but your bitterness will pass, and your better nature will assert itself." "Is this all you intend to say to me, Lady Mitford?" "This is all. My words will supplement themselves in silence and reflection, and you will acknowledge that I have spoken the truth--that I am as true as you believe me." "And are we to part thus?" he asked in a slightly softened tone. A quick spasm crossed her face, but she answered him at once, and looked at him as she spoke, "Yes!" He bowed profoundly. She held out her hand, On the third finger was a heavy-looking seal-ring, which she constantly were. As he coldly took the hand in his, his eyes fell upon this ring. She marked the look, and when he released her hand, she drew off the ring and offered it to him. "You are angry with me now," she said; "but your anger will pass away. When no shade of it remains, wear this for my sake, and make its motto, which is mine, yours." He took the ring, and without looking at it, dropped it into his waistcoat-pocket. Then he stood quite still as she passed him with her usual graceful step, and watched the sweep of her soft black robe as she walked down the long room, and disappeared through a door which opened into her boudoir. Late that night Alsager, angry still, dark and wrathful, tossed the ring with a contemptuous frown into a jewel-case; but he first took an impression of it in wax, and read, the motto thus: "Fortiter--Fideliter--Feliciter." CHAPTER XXVIII. SIR LAURENCE'S LETTER.