depths of her dark eyes I forgot that she was an earl's daughter, with a noble dowry and an ambitious mother, and that I was but a sub of the Royal Welsh, with little more than his pay. I forgot that the route for Varna hung over my head like the sword of Damocles; that a separation, certain and inevitable, was hourly drawing closer and closer, though the accident which had occurred might protract it a little now. Estelle Cressingham was a grand creature, certainly. She naturally seemed to adopt statuesque positions, and thus every movement, however careless and unstudied, was full of artistic grace. Even the misshapen garments of Mrs. Evan Rhuddlan could not quite disfigure her. The turn of her head was stately, and at times her glance, quick and flashing, had a pride in it that she was quite unconscious of. She was, as Caradoc had said, "decidedly a splendid woman--young lady, rather--but of the magnificent order." But there were tender and womanly touches, a gentler nature, in the character of Estelle, that lay under the artificial strata of that cumbrous society in which she had been reared. She had many pets at home in London and at Walcot Park--birds and dogs, which she fed with her own hands, and little children, who were her pensioners; and if her nose seemed a proud one, with an aristocratic curve of nostril, her short upper lip would quiver occasionally when she heard a tale of sorrow or cruelty. And now, from our mutual daydream, we were roused by the sound of wheels, of hoofs, and several voices, as some of our friends from the Court arrived. CHAPTER XVII.--WHAT FOLLOWED IT. To expatiate upon the joy of all when we found ourselves safe in Craigaderyn Court again were a needless task. Lady Estelle was conveyed at once to her own room, and placed in charge of Mademoiselle Pompon. For two entire days I saw nothing of her, and could but hover on the terrace which her windows overlooked, in the hope of seeing her; but the same doctor who came daily to dress my arm had to attend her, as she was weak, feverish, and rather hysterical after all she had undergone; while I, with my broken limb, found myself somewhat of a hero in our little circle. "This adventure of yours will make the Bôd Mynach the eighth wonder of Wales, if it gets into print," said Sir Madoc. This chance was Lady Naseby's fear. She was "full of annoyance and perplexity," as she said, "lest some of those busybodies who write for the ephemeral columns of the daily press should hear of the affair, and ventilate it in some manner that was garbled, sensational, and, what was worse than either, unpunishable."