Something in the outline of her figure, for her face was concealed by a thick black crape veil, attracted Hilary’s attention so strongly that he resolved at once to see her over the crossing, that he might set at rest a strange suspicion which shot across his heart. In a few seconds he was at her side, addressing her as a stranger, and offering to escort her over the road through the crowded traffic. But she, regardless of the publicity of the spot, gave a little cry of surprise and delight at sight of him, and throwing back her veil, displayed the lovely, flushed face and brilliant eyes of Stella. “Hilary!” she murmured, joyfully. “Oh, I _am_ so glad! Yes, see me across the road--I am not used to crowds, and take me somewhere where we can have a beautiful long talk. It is my first walk alone in London, and I haven’t the least idea where we are.” He listened to her in ever-increasing wonder, and after piloting her safely through the vehicles, he led her down to the comparative seclusion of St. James’ Park. There he turned and faced her. “I have just parted from your husband,” he said, sternly. She stared at him, and then burst out laughing. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Is it a jest?” “Is _this_ a jest?” he asked, impressively, taking from his pocket-book the announcement of the marriage, cut from the _Morning Post_, and thrusting it into her hand. She read it with knitted brows and evident amazement, and then looked up at him, pale to the lips. “What can it mean, Hilary?” she faltered. “Surely I can’t have been married without knowing it! And yet of what happened between my leaving the Chase and finding myself here in London I can remember nothing at all!” CHAPTER XX. LORD CARTHEW FINDS HIS WIFE. Hilary stared at Stella in undisguised amazement as she made the astonishing confession that, from the time of leaving the Chase until her arrival in London, she could remember nothing of what had happened to her. Her statement seemed to fit in only too well with Lord Carthew’s belief that she was not in her right mind on her wedding-day. It was necessary to learn fuller details, and Hilary led her to a bench in the Park, and seated himself beside her. “Now, tell me,” he said, kindly but firmly, “all that has happened since you and I were parted by your father at the Cranstoun Arms.” Willingly enough she obeyed, beginning with Lady Cranstoun’s death, and her own subsequent close imprisonment and supervision, and the pressure which was brought to bear upon her to induce her to marry Lord Carthew. She left out nothing, and dwelt particularly over the gypsy Sarah Carewe’s offer of help “on her wedding-eve,” in the note conveyed to her by means of Stephen Lee. Hilary’s brows darkened as she uttered the gamekeeper’s name, and he recalled what Lord Carthew had said of Stella’s extraordinary conduct toward him on her wedding journey.