Meanwhile, Lady Vera's lover and friends rejoiced in her returning health and strength. She had been so frail and delicate when Colonel Lockhart brought her back to them that they were shocked and frightened. They thought she would die. Lady Clive and the faithful maid, Elsie, wept floods of tears over her. Little Hal took a great deal of blame to himself for Lady Vera's abduction. "Vera, I should never have given you that dreadful old woman's letter if I had known what it was about," he reiterates in her patient ear many times. "I know that, dear," she always answers, kindly. "No one blames you, Hal, for my misfortune. It was my own willfulness that led me into danger. Had I listened to my faithful Elsie, I should not have gone." But their fears for her health are soon dissipated. Happiness, love and hope, are potent restorers. The light returns to Lady Vera's eyes, the roundness to her face and form, the color to her cheeks, and the slight shade of thought and sadness around her lovely lips does not detract from her beauty. No one can tell with what happiness Colonel Lockhart basks in the sunlight of her presence, though when she runs her white fingers through his hair, she wonders at the silver threads that shine in the brown, clustering curls. "They were not there three months ago," she says to him thoughtfully. "Are you growing old so fast, Philip?" "I have grown old in sorrow since we parted, dear," he answers, searching her face, gravely. "Shall you love me less for my gray hairs, dearest?" "No, for they were whitened by your grief for me," she answers, pressing her sweet, shy lips on those silvery tokens of his sorrow. And now Colonel Lockhart begs her to name an early day for their marriage. "We have had so many vicissitudes in our courtship, darling, that I can never feel sure of you until you are my wife. Let it be soon, dear," he pleads. But Lady Vera, blushing her sweetest, answers: "Not until after the trial is decided, Philip." But this is just what the handsome soldier is unwilling to do. "Why wait until after that?" he asks. "Do you mean to throw me over if--all does not go to please you?" The dark eyes look at him gravely. "If it goes against me, Philip, would you be willing to wed one whom the world will brand as an impostor?" she asks him, slowly. "Yes, for I would know the charge was untrue. Oh, Vera, let me make you my own now, while the issue is still in doubt, that you may know that I loved you for yourself alone." "As if I did not know that already," she answers, looking at him with sweet reproach. "That the world may know it, too, then," he urges. He is most anxious that the marriage shall take place before the trial. Then if, as he fears, the trial should go against her, she will be safe in her position as his wife, and none will dare assail her. But he cannot explain this without wounding her sensitive feelings, so he is forced to admit her denial. "Not until after the trial, Philip."