Well, it was a happy hour, and the memory of it remained all the more vividly because of the contrast which it afforded to the dark days which followed. At twelve o'clock the same evening, Mr Bertrand took up his candle and went the usual tour of inspection through the house. He peered into the drawing-room, fragrant with plants and cut blossoms, into the dining-room, where the village carpenters were already putting up the horse-shoe table; into the pantry, where the more valuable presents were locked away in the great iron safe. All was quiet and secure. He returned to his study, and was just settling down for a quiet read, when the sound of footsteps smote on his ear. He opened the door, and started back at the sight of a white figure which came floating towards him, with flowing locks and outstretched hands. "What is it?--who is it? What is the matter?--_Lettice_!" The next moment two arms were clasped round his neck; he felt the heaving of breathless sobs, and an agonised voice called on him by name-- "Oh, father, father! save me! save me! I can't go on! I can't marry him! My heart will break--!" CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. BROKEN PLANS. The light was still dim the next morning when Hilary woke with a start to find her father standing by her bedside. Even in the first sleepy glance she was struck by the pale distress of his face, and sat up hurriedly, pushing back the hair from her face, and murmuring a confused "What--what--what?" "My dear, I am sorry to disturb you, but I need your help." Mr Bertrand seated himself on the edge of the bed, and took the girl's hands in his. "Hilary, a great trouble has come upon us. Lettice wishes to break off her engagement. She cannot bear the idea of marrying Arthur Newcome. There will be no wedding on Thursday as we expected." Hilary stared at him with dazed eyes. Her awakening from sleep had been so sudden, and the news was so overwhelming, that it was some moments before she could grasp its full meaning. No wedding! But the preparations were made--everything was ready. It could not be stopped at the very last moment. She drew in her breath with a quick, frightened respiration: "Oh, father! is it true? Is she _sure_? Does she really mean it?" "I am afraid there is no doubt about that, Hilary. Now that she has summoned up courage to speak, she acknowledges that she has been unhappy all along. She is in great distress, as is only natural. Norah is with her. I put off disturbing you as long as I could, for you have had too much fatigue lately, but I need your help, dear. You must get up at once. We have some painful duties before us." "Oh, father--Arthur! What will he--how will you--?"