"I--I Tristram of Blent?" She was utterly bewildered. For he was not a lover--no lover ever spoke like that. "Yes, I say, yes." His voice rose imperiously as it pronounced the words that threw away his rule. "You're Lady Tristram of Blent." She did not understand; yet she believed. He spoke so that he must be believed. "This is all yours--yours--yours. You're Tristram of Blent." She rose to her height, and stood facing him. "And you? And you?" "I? I'm--Harry." "Harry? Harry? Harry what?" He smiled as he looked at her; as his eyes met hers he smiled. "Harry what? Harry Nothing," he said. "Harry Nothing-at-all." He turned and left her alone in the room. She sank back into the great arm-chair where Addie Tristram had been wont to sit. XIV THE VERY SAME DAY "Shall I wait up, my lord? Miss Gainsborough has gone to her room. I've turned out the lights and shut up the house." Harry looked at the clock in the study. It was one o'clock. "I thought you'd gone to bed long ago, Mason." He rose and stretched himself. "I'm going to town early in the morning. I shan't want any breakfast and I shan't take anybody with me. Tell Fisher to pack my portmanteau--things for a few days--and send it to Paddington. I'll have it fetched from there. Tell him to be ready to follow me, if I send for him." "Yes, my lord." "Give that letter to Miss Gainsborough in the morning." He handed Mason a thick letter. Two others lay on the table. After a moment's apparent hesitation Harry put them in his pocket. "I'll post them myself," he said. "When did Miss Gainsborough go to her room?" "About an hour back, my lord." "Did she stay in the Long Gallery till then?" "Yes, my lord." "I may be away a little while, Mason. I hope Miss Gainsborough--and Mr Gainsborough too--will be staying on some time. Make them comfortable." Not a sign of curiosity or surprise escaped Mason. His "Yes, my lord," was just the same as though Harry had ordered an egg for breakfast. Sudden comings and goings had always been the fashion of the house. "All right. Good-night, Mason." "Good-night, my lord." Mason looked round for something to carry off--the force of habit--found nothing, and retired noiselessly. "One o'clock!" sighed Harry. "Ah, I'm tired. I won't go to bed though, I couldn't sleep." He moved restlessly about the room. His flood of feeling had gone by; for the time the power of thought too seemed to have deserted him. He had told Cecily everything; he had told Janie enough; he had yielded to an impulse to write a line to Mina Zabriska--because she had been so mixed up in it all. The documents that were to have proved his claim made a little heap of ashes in the grate.