It thus fell out that Dick, looking cautiously in from the other chamber, saw the parlor deserted, Wilkins having rushed after his master. Dick instantly beckoned Amabel into the parlor, where it was not likely Sir Hilary would return. He offered her a chair; but she preferred to stand, resting one hand on the table, while she explained: "When we arrived at the inn, we were shown to the room another lady had vacated a few minutes earlier. As Celestine took pains to learn this morning, on account of things that have happened since we came here, that lady was Miss Englefield. When we received Lord George's message, and found he thought one of us was Miss Englefield, and that he had never seen her, I thought it would be amusing to keep up the mistake. Miss Thorpe opposed it, but I longed so to imagine for a time I was somebody else, I wouldn't listen to her. Of course, after the deception was begun, she wouldn't betray me. Well, I couldn't endure to be exposed by others, so I ran from Miss Englefield's brother. You will think me terribly wicked, won't you, sir?" "Why, 'twas a most innocent, harmless jest," protested Mr. Wetheral, gallantly. "If there were any blame, it would belong to Lord George and me, for our impertinence in having Wilkins inquire who the beautiful lady was. His informant, it seems, didn't know Miss Englefield had left and another taken her place. We have now but to send for Miss Thorpe--if she _is_ Miss Thorpe--" "Oh, yes, there was no deception as to Celestine's name." "And as to your own first name?" Dick was slightly apprehensive. "That was given truly. It is Amabel." Dick was rejoiced. "Amabel!" he repeated. "Then that is the only name by which at this moment I know you. 'Tis the loveliest name, and the most fitting one, I swear! If you would but make it needless, as far as concerns my calling you by name, that I should ever know any other! If you would but give me the right to call you by that name alone!" "Give you the right?" said she in a low voice, and with downcast eyes. "As how?" "As by your mere permission." "After what you know?" Her voice was barely audible, her manner agitated. "What do you mean?" asked Dick. "That I am not the person I pretended to be." "What difference does that make? Are you any less charming? 'Fore George, what's in a name,--unless it be Amabel?" "'Tis not a mere matter of names. You remember what you said last night--" "Yes--whatever it was, it all meant that you were adorable, and I mean that now a thousand times over!" He took her hand, which she did not withdraw from him. "But you said something," she went on, in a voice yet lower and more unsteady, "of married persons and single,--of not injuring a man in a matter so sacred,--you remember?" "Why, yes,--I--" "But you said there might be one exception--" "Yes, I remember. Squire Bullcott, a Somerset gentleman. I owe him a very bitter revenge."