On the day, therefore, when he conducted Lord Carthew into the presence of his lovely _fiancée_, Sir Philip ascertained first of all that the latter was under the influence of an opiate which would prevent her from recognizing and speaking to her future husband. Thus satisfied that no ill result could ensue, Sir Philip led Lord Carthew to the couch of his pale lady love, as she lay asleep, with her thin face on her thinner hand, Dakin, the black-browed and shifty-eyed, hovering in close attendance. Stella’s heavy mourning accentuated her unearthly pallor. Even Sir Philip was startled, so deathlike was her appearance, while Lord Carthew’s heart was stirred to infinite pity. “Poor child!” he murmured. “Poor child!” Kneeling by her side, he very tenderly, very reverently lifted the hand which hung over the side of the sofa to his lips before he took from his pocket and slipped on her third finger a superb diamond engagement-ring. “I wish she would awaken and speak to me,” he said, wistfully. “I wanted to ask her about our honeymoon--whether she would like to go at once in my yacht to the Mediterranean, or, as she is so delicate, whether a stay of a few days in the Isle of Wight before setting out on our travels might not be the best thing for her. My father has placed Northborough Castle at my disposal, and it would not be much of a journey from here. Has she been asleep long?” he inquired of Dakin. The woman was primed with her answer. “No, my lord, not long. Poor young lady, she was awake all night. She _do_ grieve dreadfully over her mamma’s death; she don’t seem to have the heart to sleep or eat or go out. But she gets a bit excited about her trousseau, my lord. That’s the only thing now that seems to interest her.” This was a daring flight of fancy on the part of Dakin, for Stella had not even troubled to look at the patterns for materials, the gloves, and shoes, and cloaks, and dresses, which every day brought her. “She looks dreadfully ill,” said the lover, anxiously. “What does the doctor say?” “There’s nothing the matter with her but fretting, my lord, and change of scene is bound to cure her in no time.” “I have brought down a present from my mother to my bride,” Lord Carthew next remarked, drawing a large, flat jeweller’s case from his pocket. “I had hoped to have clasped them round Stella’s neck myself.” He opened the lid and displayed before Sir Philip’s approving eyes five rows of superb pearls, caught here and there by diamond clasps.