“Tears of joy and gratitude,” said Amy; “gratitude for your kindness, and joy that your brother thinks me worthy to be your wife.” Earl Verner hardly knew what to make of this little outburst of feeling; but he loved his wife all the more for her generosity to her friend, and said he hoped Lionel had never doubted that his wife was equal to any previous Countess of Verner. “Never, your lordship; and this act of gracious consideration for her friend, this sanctifying of the past, if I may use so strong a phrase, by the gift of Barton Hall to Arthur Phillips and his wife, is a crowning act of grace which has no parallel in the history of the ladies of our house.” Earl Verner did not see that there was quite so much in it as Lionel would make out; but he had never doubted his wife’s generosity, and Lionel had. There was a peculiar graciousness in the gift which would especially commend itself to one who knew more intimately than Earl Verner did, the early history of his true and faithful wife. CHAPTER XI. EXPLANATIONS THAT CAME TOO LATE. “I have many times endeavoured to converse with you alone; you have studiously prevented this until now,” said Lionel Hammerton, addressing the Countess, as she sat at the piano the morning after their meeting by the lake. Lord Verner was in the library, indulging in his morning’s devotion at the shrine of his favourite author. “I feared you until yesterday; I fear you no longer, because your sympathies have at last been awakened in my favour,” said Amy. “I thought you mercenary--let me confess it--I thought you worldly and selfish; that you had married not only for revenge, but for riches.” “You are pleased to be candid,” said Amy, a little indignantly. “Not to wound you, any more than myself; for I loved you with all my soul----” “I must not listen to you if you talk of love,” said Amy, interrupting him. “You must, you shall,” said Lionel, firmly. “It will be the last time.” “Have I deserved your reproaches?” said Amy, looking straight into his eyes. “You, who deserted and neglected the woman whom you professed to love,--deserted her because of her lowly birth,--did you think there was no pride as well as humility in love? How did you mention my name to your artist friend when you left England without even saying farewell to me?” “What did I say to Phillips?” “Yes, I asked him. It was the last straw to which I clung.” Lionel remembered his parting conversation with Arthur. “What did he say?” “He would not tell me how you had spoken of me. This was when I was rich, Lionel, an heiress, possessed of fortune--aye, and of modest rank too. I pressed him. He confessed you had spoken of me. ‘Did he speak of me as you would wish to have heard your sister spoken of by the man whom she loved?’ I asked him.” “And what was his reply?”