"I _must_ see her, and alone, too, at all risks; perhaps dear little Dora will assist me," I muttered, and went towards the drawing-room, which was now considerably involved in shadow, being on the western side of the Court; and I felt with the tender Rosalind, when her lover said, "For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee," "Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours." I entered the room and found only Winifred Lloyd. She was seated in the deep bay of a very picturesque old oriel window, which seemed to frame her as if in a picture. Her chin was resting in the hollow of her left hand, and she was gazing outward dreamily on vacancy, or along the flower-terraces of the house; but she looked hastily round, and held out a hand to me as I approached. I caressed the pretty hand, and then dropped it; and not knowing very well what to say, leaned over the back of her chair. "I suppose," she began, "you are thinking--thinking--" "How far more pleasing to the eye are a pair of fair white shoulders to the same amount of silk or satin," said I smilingly, as I patted her neck with my glove. She shrugged the white shoulders in question, and said petulantly, with half averted face, "Is it possible that your departure has no place in your thoughts?" "Alas, yes! for do I not leave Craigaderyn by sunset? and its golden farewell rays are lingering on blue Snowdon even now," said I, with a forced smile; for though I had come in quest of Estelle, something--I know not what--drew me to Winifred just then. Her eyebrows were very black, but slightly arched, and they almost met over her nose; and I gazed into the orbs below them, so dark, so clear, and beautiful--eyes that could neither conceal the emotions of her heart, nor the pleasure or sorrow she felt; and I thought how easily a man might be lured to forget the world for her, as friendship between the sexes--especially in youth--is perilous; and some such thought, perhaps, occurred to her, for she turned her face abruptly from me. "You are surely not angry with me?" said I, bending nearer her ear. "Angry--I with you?" "Yes." "Why should I be so?" she asked, looking down upon her folded hands that trembled in her lap--for she was evidently repressing some emotion; thinking, perhaps, of poor Phil Caradoc, who was then ploughing the waters of the Mediterranean with Carneydd Llewellyn to console him. "You should not have come here," said she, after a pause. "Not into the drawing-room?" "Unless to meet Estelle Cressingham." "Do not say this," said I, nervously and imploringly, in a low voice; "what is Estelle to me?" "Indeed!" said the little scornful lip. "Her mamma summoned her, but she may be here shortly." Doubtless Lady Naseby had some dread of the leave-taking. "I shall be so glad to see her once again ere I go." "Of course." "I hope that you and she will often think and speak of me when I am gone."