EVERELL’S last meal at Foxwell Court was not marked by lively conversation. He had his own thoughts, or, rather, his own confused and whirling state of mind, so that he scarce knew whether the others spoke or were silent. Outwardly he still maintained a brave face, so that Georgiana might not yet be alarmed. The young lady herself had never taken much part in the table talk. Lady Strange and Rashleigh felt the occasion too sensibly to be capable of easy discourse, and Foxwell knew a gentleman’s part too well to intrude a gaiety either real or feigned. He quietly kept the ball rolling, however, with Mrs. Winter, who alone—save Georgiana—seemed untouched by the shadow of coming events. As soon as the ladies had finished, Georgiana left the room for the library. Everell, with a bow to the company, turned to follow her. Lady Strange, already risen, laid a gentle hand upon his sleeve and said, softly: “Upon my soul, sir, I pity you!” He looked at her a moment; then, summoning a smile, answered: “I thank you from my heart; but ’tis not near ten o’clock. I have some hours yet remaining. Ladies, your servant.” When he had gone out, Mrs. Winter said: “So you may keep your pity till ten o’clock, Diana. Sure the young fellow carries it off well. ’Twill be worth seeing if he does so to the end. Ten o’clock—’tis several hours off, and card-playing begins to be tedious. What a long evening ’twill be!” “Short enough for those two young lovers,” said Lady Strange, with a sigh, as she passed to the drawing-room. “I suppose you have made your arrangements, Bob,” said Rashleigh, when the two gentlemen were alone; “for delivering him up, I mean.” “They are very simple. I will send Joseph with a message to Jeremiah Filson an hour or so before ten o’clock. Filson will require a little time to muster the justice’s men; he may have to go to Thornby Hall—no doubt Thornby’s clerk will command the party, to make sure that all is regular. So ’twill scarce be possible for them to arrive before ten: in any case, I’ll warn Filson they mustn’t do so. Till ten I may not call the rebel from Georgiana’s presence. I hope he will leave her in ignorance. Well, we shall see.” In the library Georgiana sat reading to her lover. What the words meant, what the book was, he hardly knew; she would have preferred to be the listener, but in that case he would have had to keep his eyes upon the page, and he would rather keep them upon her face. He could interrupt when he chose, and then her eyes rose to meet his; so that he often interrupted. Suddenly he remembered the miniature she had started to get for him in the afternoon; and now the desire to possess it—to have that image of her beauty to carry with him to the end—grew strong in a moment. He reminded her.