"I am at your service, madam," Colonel Lockhart says, obeying a pleading look from Lady Vera, and preceding her to the door, followed by Sir Harry. In a moment more, without word or backward glance, the wicked woman sweeps from the room. Then Vera, broken down by the fierce strain upon her feelings, breaks down utterly, and weeps on Lady Clive's breast until she is thoroughly exhausted. "You see it is all for the best to go away to-morrow," she has said to her friend. "Even my life is not safe here against the machinations of my relentless enemies." CHAPTER XXXIII. It is very lovely down in the country at Fairvale Park in the golden summer weather. A pang goes through Lady Vera's heart as she recalls Sir Harry Clive's warning, and thinks of losing this grand, picturesque place, the only true home she has ever known. Her sweetest, tenderest memories of her father are twined around the spot. Bereft of this, she must indeed be desolate. Not even one spot of brightness will remain in the cold and cruel darkness that has settled over her life. Perhaps it is this thought that drives her, as soon as she is at home again, to seek diligently through her father's papers for some writing bearing on the subject of her supposed death and burial. Sir Harry Clive has so confidently believed in the existence of some such document, that it is with a pang of the bitterest disappointment she sees the first day pass with no tangible success, though her brain is tired, and her eyes weary with poring over the contents of his desk. "I have found nothing, although I have closely scrutinized every little bit of paper," she tells Sir Harry, when they meet at dinner, in a tone of sad disappointment. "You have examined all the papers?" he asks, with disappointment equal to her own. "All, except an old memorandum-book, which I intend to look over to-morrow," she answers, "though I scarcely think it will result in anything. Do you think it worth my while to examine it?" "Yes. It is a forlorn hope, at least, and we must try everything. Strange that your father should have neglected so important a duty," the baronet continues, musingly. "Poor papa! You must remember, his mind was all distraught by grief," Lady Vera answers, with rising tears. "He thought only of his sorrows and his longed-for vengeance on the destroyer of his wedded happiness. We must forgive him for his want of thought." "You must not think that I am blaming him, dear Lady Vera. Nothing is further from my thoughts," Sir Harry answers, gently, but there is a shade of anxiety on his brow that does not clear away during the evening.