On hearing that the “Condesa di Valdestillas” was dead, Lord Florencecourt, finally relieved from his fears, openly acknowledged Nouna as his daughter “by a former wife,” as indeed poor Chloris, thinking over the position of affairs on the eve of her first and last attempt at reparation, had foreseen that he would do, and settled a handsome allowance upon her. He came down to Plymouth in the last week of May to make this determination known to his son-in-law. He was accompanied by his niece Ella, who was in a state of strong but subdued excitement, but who gave no reason which her uncle could consider adequate for her entreaty that she might thus leave London for a few days in the height of the gaieties of the season. On their arrival in Plymouth, Ella chose to remain alone at the hotel while the Colonel went to call upon the Lauristons. He thought this decision very extraordinary; but on his return a light came to him; for in the sitting-room, standing close by his niece’s side, and bending over her to speak with a passionate earnestness which seemed to infect the usually self-contained girl, was Clarence Massey. They both started guiltily on Lord Florencecourt’s entrance, and Clarence shook with nervousness as he greeted him. Ella rushed at her uncle, and asked about the health of the invalids with great vivacity and interest. “What were you talking about when I came in?” asked the Colonel bluntly, when he had informed her that George and Nouna were neither better nor worse than they had been three weeks ago. “We were talking about them--about the Lauristons,” answered Ella. And Clarence echoed her words. The Colonel looked from the one to the other incredulously. His niece seized both his hands impulsively, with a light-hearted laugh. “We must tell you--it’s a great secret, but it’s coming out now, and you shall be the first to hear it,” said she. Then she made him sit down, and told him, rather breathlessly, a long story, to which Clarence played Chorus, and to which the Colonel listened with amazement, admiration, and something like consternation too. “And who’s to pay for it all?” he asked at last in bewilderment. “Oh, we’ve arranged all that,” said Ella airily. Again Clarence echoed, “We’ve arranged all that.” And this astonishing unanimity naturally led Lord Florencecourt to a conclusion the expression of which would have filled Ella with the loftiest indignation. In the meantime, having been informed of the plot, he was pressed into the service of the conspirators, and that evening, when it had grown dark, they all three went to the house where the Lauristons were staying, and the Colonel entered, leaving the two young people to walk up and down outside in a state of breathless expectancy. “Break it gently!” was Ella’s last injunction as he left them.