“Something has happened!” exclaimed the poor lady, apprehensively. “You are dreadfully pale, and your hands are quivering. There are tears in your eyes, too. Tell me, Stella, quickly, what is the matter?” “It is nothing,” she answered. “I am overtired after a bad night. That is all.” “It was not true--what you said last night in fun--about not marrying Lord Carthew, was it, dear?” “No; it was not true.” Sir Philip’s voice broke sharply in upon their talk. He had entered the room unperceived, and was standing on the other side of the bed. Stella rose at sight of him, but remained with her arm round Lady Cranstoun. “The marriage will take place in the second week of May,” Sir Philip proceeded, fixing a threatening glance upon his daughter. “I am so glad; oh, I am so glad, my dear, dear child!” Stella did not speak. She dared not at the moment undeceive her or banish from her face that unwonted look of happiness and hope. Lady Cranstoun kissed her affectionately, and then as though nerving herself for a great effort, and timidly retaining the girl’s hands in hers, she addressed her husband. “I have not told you before, Philip,” she began, “in fact, I have not had an opportunity, that while you were away, feeling that I might die any minute, I sent to town for my father’s lawyer.” “Without consulting _me_?” “Yes. You see, there is that legacy of my Uncle Charles, which I came into last year----” “Well?” “It isn’t very much--only five thousand pounds, in fact--but I have left it by will to Stella when she attains the age of twenty-one. You see, the estates being entailed, I did not like the idea of my little girl being without pocket-money. And it will be a nice little sum for herself when she marries Lord Carthew.” Sir Philip was for the moment struck dumb with surprise and indignation. That his colorless, obedient wife should dare in his absence to make a will, leaving money away from him to his rebellious daughter, struck him as a most unwifely and outrageous liberty, and the desire to sting and humiliate both his wife and daughter became too strong to be resisted. “_Your_ little girl!” he repeated, with a hard laugh. “Haven’t you grown out of that silly delusion yet? _Your_ child died years ago, as a weakly, miserable baby. That girl beside you, to whom you are so anxious to will your money, is no relation to you, but simply the daughter of my first wife, who died at her birth, exactly three months before I married you.” “Philip! Stella! It is not true--say it is not true!” gasped Lady Cranstoun. “How can you be so cruel?” exclaimed the young girl, turning in passionate reproach upon her father. “Don’t worry, and don’t listen, mamma, dear. You know that I am yours, and that I love you!”