“I am your ladyship’s devoted servant,” was his sufficient answer, and he doffed his plumed bonnet, and bowed low before her. “We shall be private in your bower above stairs,” he added. “Why, we are private anywhere. I am all alone, as you desired.” “That is very wise—most wise,” said he. “Will your ladyship lead the way?” So they went up that steep, spiral staircase, which had loomed so prominently in the plans the ingenious scoundrel had evolved. Across the gallery on the first floor they entered a little room whose windows overlooked the garden. This was her bower—an intimate cosy room, reflecting on every hand the gentle, industrious personality of the owner. On an oak table near the window were spread some papers and account-books concerned with the estate—with which she had sought to beguile the time of waiting. She led the way towards this, and, sinking into the high-backed chair that stood before it, she looked up at him expectantly. She was pale, there were dark stains under her eyes, and wistful lines had crept into the sweet face of that neglected wife. Contemplating his poor victim now, Sir Richard may have compared her with the woman by whom my lord desired so impatiently to supplant her. She was tall and beautifully shaped, despite an almost maidenly slenderness. Her countenance was gentle and adorable, with its soft grey eyes and light brown hair, and tender, wistful mouth. It was not difficult to believe that Lord Robert had as ardently desired her to wife five years ago as he now desired to be rid of her. Then he obeyed the insistent spur of passion; now he obeyed the remorseless spur of ambition. In reality, then as now, his beacon-light was love of self. Seeing her so frail and trusting, trembling in her anxious impatience to hear the news of her lord which he had promised her, Sir Richard may have felt some pang of pity. But, like my lord, he was of those whose love of self suffers the rivalry of no weak emotion. “Your news, Sir Richard,” she besought him, her dove-like glance upon his florid face—less florid now than was its wont. He leaned against the table, his back to the window. “Why, it is briefly this,” said he. “My lord...” And then he checked, and fell into a listening attitude. “What was that? Did you hear anything, my lady?” “No. What is it?” Her face betrayed alarm, her anxiety mounting under so much mystery. “Sh! Stay you here,” he enjoined. “If we are spied upon...” He left the sentence there. Already he was moving quickly, stealthily, towards the door. He paused before opening it. “Stay where you are, my lady,” he enjoined again, so gravely that she could have no thought of disobeying him. “I will return at once.”