had fancied once or twice that he seemed attached to herself, but in such matters had had little experience, and thought she might possibly have been deceived. It seemed almost absurd to think that a man of such taste and refinement could have been thrown so much as he had recently been into the society of a woman like May without bowing to the spell which her beauty and fascination never failed to exercise. And if such were the case, if Uffington's errand were to implore May to let the decree _nisi_ be confirmed and to trust her future to him, Eleanor felt certain that May would not have the power to resist. What would then become of her? Mrs. Chadwick, from the sanctity of the connubial bedchamber, screamed to Mr. Chadwick, who was washing his hands before luncheon in the adjacent dressing-room, that she thought both Lady Forestfield and Eleanor were 'behaving very oddly,' but she had little idea what was going on or what importance was attached both by her sister and her hostess to the message which had just arrived. Mr. Chadwick, who was always good-tempered, contented himself by remarking that apparently something was 'up,' but that it was 'none of their business;' and adroitly turned the subject by praising the beauty of the place and the friendly warmth of their reception by Lady Forestfield. They were all seated at luncheon, when a fly from the station was seen coming up the avenue, and Lady Forestfield, asking her friends to excuse her, at once proceeded to her boudoir, to which room she directed her servants that Sir Nugent Uffington should be conducted. That sad sinking of the heart, that painful feeling of impending danger which she had before experienced, came upon her strongly as she heard Uffington's footstep on the stairs; and, as the door opened, she had to summon all her fortitude to avoid fainting. Uffington was perhaps a thought paler than usual, and looked anxious and careworn. He advanced towards Lady Forestfield in his usual earnest manner, and taking her hand, and holding it for an instant in his grasp, he said: 'You received the telegram?' 'Certainly,' said May, 'and I was fully expecting you. You said that your business was important--I fear also that your errand is a melancholy one.' 'What makes you think that?' said Uffington, evading her gaze. 'I do not know--I cannot tell, save that I have a certain inward consciousness of coming misery. I have been so happy for the last few weeks that, perhaps, I am more acutely sensitive of even the shadow of sorrow. But you yourself, Sir Nugent, look tired and worn--will you not have some luncheon?' 'Not until I have explained my errand, which, as you have correctly judged, is a melancholy one. You must hear with courage all I have to say, and then quietly and deliberately make up your mind as to what is the best course for you to pursue, for by what you do to-day the whole tenor of your future life will be influenced.'