Lady Quaintree passed her hand lightly through the proffered support, and, thus escorted, promenaded to and fro for about five minutes; Lois, on her left, attending her. Her ladyship was in charming spirits, and to any less preoccupied companions would have been most amusing. The lively nothings she rattled off fell on dull and indifferent ears, however, and she could extract little beyond abstracted monosyllables from Captain Desfrayne, and an occasional languid smile or a half-absent “yes” or “no” from Miss Turquand. “Would it be of any use offering you shelter for the night, Captain Desfrayne?” she asked, with a winning smile. “My dear young friend has appointed me viceroy over her house for the present. We shall be delighted to show you as much hospitality as our means will admit.” “You are very kind, and I am already indebted to you for the goodness and consideration which you have this day shown me,” answered Paul Desfrayne. “But I really must return to my quarters to-night.” “It will be a long and lonely ride,” objected Lady Quaintree. “Can we order one of the carriages for your service?” “No, thanks. I should greatly prefer riding.” “Do you need a groom, or a guide of any kind?” “I knew this neighborhood perfectly well when a boy, and have not forgotten one lane or valley or hedgerow, I believe.” Presently Lady Quaintree turned to go in, saying they must not neglect their other guests. She passed in first, Paul Desfrayne lingered for a moment, and involuntarily fixed his eyes upon Lois. They were full of an unspoken eloquence, and revealed volumes of despair, of regret, of deep and mute feelings which rose like some troubled revelation. Lois could not but read this glance, which perplexed her more than his few bitter words of absolute renunciation had done. The young man knew that this chance for an explanation was gone. When might the next occur? He scarcely knew whether to feel relieved by the postponement of a painful duty, or vexed by the fact that he was worse placed than if he had remained absolutely silent. “I can write to her to-morrow,” he thought, though he doubted if he could nerve himself to the task. “What can he have wished to tell me?” Lois asked herself vainly; for although she racked her brain for an answer, none sufficiently plausible presented itself. They were not alone for a single moment during the remaining hour that Paul Desfrayne lingered. The Dormers went past the barracks on their way home, but he declined a seat in their carriage, as he preferred to ride, he said. He left the house with them, however, riding a short way by their carriage, and then, putting spurs to his horse, dashed at almost a reckless pace toward his quarters. It might almost be imagined that a kind of second sight, some sort of spiritual influence, was drawing him to the place where Gilardoni awaited him.