When the latter found that he was left alone--for he had seated himself beneath the branches of an oak, to rest for a short time---it abruptly occurred to him that Lester Vane had a motive in being so violently active, and that he purposed distancing him with the object of having somewhere a _tête-à-tête_ with Flora. The fact was that his mind, always dwelling upon her, and being apprehensively jealous of the power of others to win her favour to his disadvantage, he construed circumstances in many instances falsely and absurdly, so as to square with his prevailing impression. Determined, therefore, not to be jockeyed by Vane, he wended his steps in the direction of the Manor House, taking a somewhat circuitous route, not heeding the occasional, though distant reports of Lester Vane’s gun in the opposite direction, because, eaten up by his jealous suspicions, he regarded the continued discharges as a mere blind, and believed them to be kept up by the gamekeeper, under the instructions of Vane, purposely to deceive him. Sick, restless with inflamed thoughts, he pursued his course until he found himself emerge into the open park. As he did so, he perceived Flora emerge by a narrow path between two hills, forming a small natural gorge from the glen where she had met Hal. He watched her proceed to the Manor House, which was in view; he noted the elastic step with which she hastened on, and he felt a painful, burning emotion of wonder as to why her bearing should have, in so brief a period, undergone a change at once evident and to him remarkable. He had not long to wait in wonder. Her form was scarcely lost among the shrubs and trees with which the gardens were profusely adorned, when his eyes suddenly lighted upon the form of young Vivian emerging from the same gorge which Flora had so recently left. Hal made unconsciously direct to the spot where the Colonel was standing, but desirous of not being observed by him the latter instantly retreated, and concealed himself in a small brake until the object of his curiosity and wonder passed. The distance which divided them prevented his recognising at first the person of the stranger, who, he felt convinced, had just terminated an interview with Flora, alone and in a solitary spot. He trembled with rage and agony; his lips became parched, his hands and forehead burned, as he concluded it must be Vane, and he resolved, upon his arrival near where he lay concealed, to advance and tax him, at any risk of consequences, with the ungentlemanly duplicity of which he believed he had been guilty. What, however, was his astonishment and fury when he found that Harry Vivian was the hero of the interview, the stranger who had infused into Flora’s manner that apparent happiness, in which, of late especially, it had been so deficient.