“Maybe, miss. But not so mad as you think, and not so much beneath you as you think, neither. Anyway, I’m not too mad to have heard and understood every word as you and Sir Philip were saying just now under the trees. And if you are going to be tormented by this Lord Carthew as I shot in the shoulder--lord or no lord, I’d put another lot of shot through him as soon as look at him.” Stella was intensely surprised by the man’s method of address, and still inclined to the belief that he had probably been drinking. But it occurred to her on the instant that there might be danger to the man she loved in allowing Stephen to continue in the dark as to his identity. “The gentleman who was wounded by your clumsiness last night was not Lord Carthew, but a friend of his, named Mr. Pritchard,” she said. “And please understand, Stephen, that the interest you appear to take in my affairs is neither pleasant nor desirable to me. I must ask you to say no more on the subject, and not to offend in this way again.” The young man ground his teeth with anger as she passed him on her way to the house, with heightened color, and her proud little head more erect than usual. “I oughtn’t to ha’ said so much,” he muttered to himself, as he watched her. “But when I see the gray wolf grip her shoulder, I could ha’ murdered him. It would take her haughtiness down a bit to learn as she and me are second cousins, come of the same old gypsy stock. But Granny Sarah will tell her the truth some day, she swears, and bring her pride a peg lower. Sarah’s got some deep game in her wicked old head lately; I can see that by her nods and grins, and mutterings to herself. She and Uncle James are hatching a plot together, I’ll be bound; and between them they’ll serve the gray wolf out, if they swing for it!” Lord Carthew was still chatting comfortably with Lady Cranstoun in the library when Stella returned to the house. On the floor above, she noticed in passing that the two rooms which had been used by Hilary were wide open and empty. Her heart sank at the sight, and she turned eagerly toward Margaret, whom she saw approaching down the corridor. “Has he gone?” the girl asked, anxiously. “And when did he go? And oh, Margaret, do you think it was safe for him to be moved yet?” “Of course it wasn’t safe,” the woman answered, rather crossly. “But, dear me, when young gentlemen get notions in their heads there’s no stopping them. If you’ll come into your room, miss, I notice the hem of your dress is frayed, and I’ll see to it for you.” Stella passed into her bedroom, and Margaret, following her, carefully closed the door. Then she came over to where her young mistress stood, and whispered in her ear: “There’s spies about. One can’t be too careful. Here’s a bit of a note was left for you. Read it, while I pretend to see to your dress.” With trembling fingers, Stella tore open the envelope, and read the following words, written in pencil on a half-sheet of paper: