"I think it is I who have to speak," said my lord, and marvelled that she should be so sure of this perfect understanding between them, when in reality (and this was strange and piteous) she did not comprehend his motive in being here, nor in the least grasp his feelings towards her. He looked at her keenly, decided she was not foolish, but exalted, and wondered still more in a kind of shame. Miss Boyle stood still. In a quite unconscious way she seemed to be listening to the sweet sound of the bells. Her bearing held no confusion nor agitation; she did not appear to be waiting for either confession or caresses. My lord found himself at a loss; his thoughts flew to Miss Chressham. He smiled to himself and watched the pure profile of Selina Boyle. Presently she glanced round at him and gave a little sigh, as if she awoke reluctantly from a reverie. "Will you tell me how she died?" The Earl was startled beyond concealment. "How she died? Who?" Miss Boyle answered softly. "The Countess." His face darkened. "You must know. It was talked of enough." "She died suddenly. I heard no more." "Let it go at that," said my lord. Miss Boyle observed him intently. "I mean the manner of her death--did she speak of me?" "Of you? No." "And you--how did she leave you?" "There was little enough passed!" replied my lord gloomily. "The Countess fell ill and died before she could be even bled. Why do we speak of it? It is not one of my most pleasant recollections." "Forgive me," said Miss Boyle tenderly; "only sometimes it has weighed on me that she might have died bitterly reviling us--and, also, I am sorry for her. It is so terrible a thing, my lord, to die suddenly." He gave her a sideways look. It was curious that she had not at once, like Susannah Chressham and most other people, guessed the meaning of my lady's tragic end, yet there could be no doubt that she was sincere. He was silent, and Miss Boyle spoke again, moving slowly over the long grass. "Do you put flowers sometimes on her tomb?" The Earl smiled. Her words did not jar; he could be sentimental himself. The garden and her company were both fitted to make him fall in with her delicate moods. She did not give him time to compose an answer. "I have some roses here I want you to take back with you--for that--her tomb." She pointed out a tree on the edge of the rose-garden laden with heavy white blooms, then sank to one knee beside it, and, taking a pair of scissors from her basket severed the thick and thorny stems. As the roses fell one by one upon the grass, my lord felt the tears sting his eyes. He bent over her impulsively. "Selina," he said, in an unsteady voice, "Selina, will you not lay flowers there yourself?" She raised her face and looked at him. "I am not likely to be in London," she answered. He recollected that London, after the crash their marriage must involve, would not indeed be their home.