'I am no longer lonely or alone,' said Lady Wantley mysteriously. 'That is why,' she added, looking at the young man standing before her--'that is why I must ask you, Ludovic, to go round my room and give light; for the bridegroom cometh, and must not find me in the dark.' Wondering at her words, he obeyed, and a few moments later they left her, the centre of a circle of glimmering lights. IV It was night. In the dimly-lighted corridor Wantley stood holding a short colloquy with the maid who tended Lady Wantley throughout the day. 'There's nothing to do but sit by quietly,' the woman spoke wearily. 'Her ladyship never speaks all night; but she won't be left alone a minute.' Entering the room, he hoped to find her asleep, for he still felt strangely unfamiliar with the thin, worn face and strange, distraught-looking eyes. There had always been something ample about Lady Wantley's presence, especially a great dignity of demeanour; but the long months of mental agony had betrayed her, and he wondered that those about her had not divined her fear, and asked themselves of what she was afraid. Wantley had been terribly moved by the tragic melancholy of their first meeting, infinitely touched by her cry of welcome to his young wife; but he felt oppressed at the thought of his lonely vigil, and as he sat down by the fire with a book, he hoped most fervently that she would sleep, or remain, as he was told she always had done with the nurse whose place he was now filling, mutinously silent. But he had scarcely read the first words of the story to whose familiar charm he trusted to make him for the moment forget, when Lady Wantley's voice came clearly across the room. 'Cecily,' he said to himself, 'has indeed worked wonders;' for the words were uttered naturally, almost as the speaker might have spoken them in the old days when all was well with her. 'I want to know'--and the words seemed to float towards him--'about you and Cecily. I cannot tell you, Ludovic, how happy it makes me to think that this dear child shares my name with me! I learnt to love her during those days--before----' Her voice faltered. Wantley quickly laid down 'Persuasion.' He rose and went over to the bed, drew up a chair, and very tenderly and quietly took one of the thin hands lying across the counterpane in his. 'Yes, let me tell you all about ourselves,' he said quickly, forcing a light note into his voice. 'After our marriage--such a queer, quiet wedding----' 'Was Penelope there? I can't remember.'