With a low cry she rose from her seat and stood with blanched lips; a great dark mist came before her eyes; for one terrible moment it seemed to her that the waters and the sky had met. Then she steadied herself and looked into the face of the man who had uttered her name. She recognized him; it was Gustave, the favorite valet and confidential servant of Lord Chandon. She clasped her hands with a low moan, while he cried again, in a wondering, frightened voice--"Miss Vaughan!" He looked at her, a strange fear dilating his eyes. "I am Hyacinth Vaughan," she said, in a low hoarse voice. The next moment he had taken off his hat, and stood bareheaded before her. "Miss Vaughan," he stammered, "we--we thought you dead." "So I am," she cried passionately--"I am dead in life! You must not betray me, Gustave. For Heaven's sake, promise not to tell that you have seen me!" The man looked anxious and agitated. "I cannot, miss," he replied--"I dare not keep such a secret from my lord." She stepped back with a moaning cry and white lips. She wrung her hands like one who has no hope, no help. "What shall I do?" she cried. "Oh, Heaven take pity upon me, and tell me what to do!" "If you knew, miss," said the man, "what my lord has suffered you would not ask me to keep such a secret from him. I do not think he has ever smiled since you went away. He is worn to a shadow--he has spent a fortune in trying to find you. I know that night and day he knows no peace, no hope, no comfort, no happiness, because he has lost you. I love my lord--I would lay down my life to serve him." "You do not know all," she cried. "I beg your pardon, miss," he returned, sturdily. "I do know all; and I know that my lord would give all he has on earth to find you--he would give the last drop of blood in his heart, the last shilling in his purse. How could I be a faithful servant to him, and see him worn, wretched, and miserable under my very eyes, while I kept from him that which would make him happy?" "You are wrong," she said, with dignity. "It would not add to your master's happiness to know that I am living; rather the contrary. Believing me dead, he will in time recover his spirits; he will forget me and marry some one who will be far better suited to him than I could ever be. Oh, believe me--believe I know best! You will only add to his distress, not relieve it." But the man shook his head doubtfully. "You are mistaken, Miss Vaughan," he said. "If you had seen my master's distress, you would know that life is no life to him without you." A sudden passion of despair seemed to seize her.