“And I!” exclaimed Lester Vane, in a tone of voice which compelled Helen to turn towards him; their eyes met--again she felt a strange, thrilling dread pass over her frame; she turned her eyes away. “I am grateful!” she responded with a bow, and hastily quitted the room with her mother and sisters. She did not enter the drawing-room, but ran into her own dressing-room, and, throwing herself in a chair, buried her face in a handkerchief. She gave way to a passionate burst of tears; presently she drew from her bosom a small note, broke the seal, and perused its contents many times, and then she crushed it in her hand. “How inopportune!” she exclaimed, in a vexed tone; “any night but this; still the terms are so peremptory; what is to be done?” She looked at her watch. “It is the hour,” she said; “what if I let it pass by, and go not? we part then to meet no more--no, no, that must not be--oh, fickle heart, to what fate will you drive me!” At this moment her maid entered the room, and she hastily secreted the note. She mused for a second, and then she said-- “Chayter, give me a shawl; I will walk in the garden; my head aches.” “It is very dark, miss,” returned the girl, “and the air is getting cold. It will be dangerous to your health to walk there now.” “Give me a shawl, Chayter,” cried Helen, impatiently. “It is my pleasure to walk there--my brain burns.” The girl knew it was useless to remonstrate further, and handed her a thick shawl, which she threw hastily over her head, and left the room. In a moment she returned, and said-- “Chayter, that dress I bade you alter this morning, you may keep.” “Oh thank you, miss,” exclaimed the girl, joyfully, for it was a rich one. “And, Chayter, remain here until you see me. Remember that if I am sent for, to say that I am lying upon my couch for a few minutes, and do not wish to be disturbed.” “Yes, miss.” “Do not mention a word to any one that I have gone to the garden.” “Not to a soul, miss.” “There’s a good girl; I will reward you on my return.” As she concluded, she hastened down the private staircase. “She’s got a sweetheart, I’ll swear!” murmured Chayter reflectively. “I’ll find that out, see if I don’t that will be many a dress in my way.” Helen hurried on tiptoe until she reached one of the parlours which had a window opening on to the lawn. She passed out thence, closing the window silently after her. She kept upon the lawn, in the shadow of the house, for a short distance, and then pursuing a winding path, did not pause until she reached a small thicket of trees planted on the banks of a tongue of land curving the ornamental waters. Here she stood still for a moment, and then she coughed thrice. A voice whispered, “Helen!” and she clapped her hand. The next instant there issued from the thicket a young man, who immediately placed himself at her side. “I feared you would not come, dearest!” he said, in a low tone.