It was when the bright summer weather began to give place to a suspicion of autumn, that Mrs. Carlyon found she must really go; matters in London at her own home needed her. She told Ella that she could not leave her alone, and proposed a chaperon. Ella, who had independent opinions of her own, demurred: she was quite old enough to take care of herself, and quite capable of doing it. But her aunt was inflexible; the proprieties and usages of society must on no account be ignored. Ella perforce yielded, and a suitable lady was sought for. It was just at this time that Mr. Conroy once more made his appearance at Heron Dyke. After the reading of the Squire's will, Mr. Daventry, the Nullington lawyer, had despatched a letter to the office of the "Illustrated Globe," apprising Mr. Conroy of the legacy bequeathed him. For some cause or other the young man had not been able to attend to it until now. He came to Nullington, saw Mr. Daventry, and thence walked to Heron Dyke to pay his respects to its mistress. It was well that Mrs. Carlyon chanced to be looking out of the window when the servant announced Conroy's name. Had she seen Ella's face at that moment, it is probable that a certain vague suspicion, which some time ago had taken root in her mind, would have been turned into a certainty. As it happened, she saw nothing. Conroy stayed but an hour with them; the ladies were engaged out for the latter part of the day. They invited him to spend the morrow at the Hall. He came accordingly, in time for luncheon. Afterwards the carriage was brought round, and they started to visit the ruins of a certain famous castle some dozen miles away. Hubert Stone, looking from his office window, himself unseen, watched them set out. A raging fever of jealousy and unrest was burning in his veins. This Conroy was the one man whom he feared and hated; and yet, if he had been asked to state his reasons for feeling thus towards him, he would have found it difficult to do so. He could only have said that he had dreaded and disliked him from the first. It was Hubert's white face and jealous eyes that Conroy had seen peering from behind the yews into the Squire's sitting-room that first evening he spent at the Hall. It was Hubert himself, peering in, whom the Squire had more than once taken for a spy. Jealousy often lends insight to love, pricking it on to finer issues than it would ever attain to without such stimulus, and this it was that had enabled Hubert Stone to divine that these two people loved each other almost before they were themselves conscious of it. Yes, he hated and feared Edward Conroy. No sooner had the carriage started to-day than he put away his books and papers and wandered out into the park, a moody and miserable man. He strolled about for some hours, neither knowing nor caring whither. At length the sound of a distant clock, striking five, warned him that the party from the Hall might be expected back before long. He knew by which