Thanks to the strange and unexampled circumstances, their courtship had been conducted on very unconventional lines. But to-night an unobtrusive maiden aunt of Wingate's played propriety. At an early hour, they left the restaurant. The maiden aunt was first dropped at her modest house in Kensington, and then the car took them to Chesterfield Street. When Grant had opened the door, Wingate had put out his hand in farewell. He was always punctilious and solicitous about the conventions, in Sheila's unprotected position. But she demurred to this early parting. "It is only a little after nine," she told him. "You must come in for five minutes' chat before you go." What lover could refuse such an invitation, proffered by such sweet lips? As they were going up the staircase to the drawing-room. Grant handed her a letter. "It was left about an hour ago by that young person. Miss; the one who wouldn't leave her name." She opened it, and, after perusal, handed it to her betrothed. "Oh, Austin, what can this mean?" Austin Wingate read the brief words: "There is a great surprise in store. It may come at any moment." They sat down in silence, not trusting themselves to speak, to hazard a conjecture as to this mysterious message. At such a moment, so tense with possibilities, they almost forgot they were lovers. And while trying to read in their mutual glances the inmost thoughts of each other, there came the faint tinkle of the door-bell. Sheila started up as her ears caught the sound. "Listen, Austin! Who's that?" she asked breathlessly. A few moments later they heard old Grant open the door. Next second a loud cry of alarm rang through the house. The voice was Grant's. Austin, hearing it, dashed from the room and down the stairs. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. CONTAINS MANY SURPRISES. Wingate, hearing Grant's cry as he opened the hall-door, had only reached the head of the stairs, followed by Sheila, when he met the faithful old butler rushing towards him, crying--"Oh, Miss Sheila, we have--we have a visitor! Come down." _In the hall stood Reginald Monkton_! He was sadly and woefully changed from the alert, vigorous man from whom his daughter had parted on that fateful night which seemed so far distant. The once upright figure was stooping with fatigue and weariness, his face was thin and shrunken, his fine eyes, that used to flash forth scorn on his opponents, had lost their brilliant fire. Behind him stood Mrs Saxton, dressed in a sober garb of grey. As he caught sight of Sheila, a broken cry escaped from him: "At last, at last, my beloved child." Sheila sprang forward, and in a moment they were locked in each other's arms, tears of happiness raining down her face.