Cecil went away in despair. What should he do now? He had given an address to the old couple, and told them to send word when their daughter came, but how could he wait so long in the fever of remorse, unrest and longing that possessed him? Surely it was his good angel that made him meet Lord Westerley coming out of a fashionable club. The urbane nobleman was delighted at the _rencontre_ with Doctor Charley, but he was decidedly stiff with Cecil, who in his preoccupation did not observe the coolness. “Everybody is out of town,” he said, shrugging his shoulders in the chill November air. “I brought Madelon up from the country this morning for a few days’ shopping. You will come and dine with us this evening?” Cecil was about to decline, but his brother hastily accepted. When they had parted from Lord Westerley he said: “Perhaps Lady Westerley can find out where Florine is staying.” * * * * * Somehow Cecil got a good chance to confide all his painful story to the beautiful lady who had been his wife’s dearest friend. She listened to him with emotion. The tears even fell from her beautiful eyes. “But these are tears of joy,” she said, pensively. “I am so glad that the martyrdom of that dear girl is over, and that you had some cause for your apparent heartlessness. Florine Dabol, yes, I can tell you where she is!” “Oh, Lady Westerley.” She smiled at the interruption, but continued: “She is down in the country at The Oaks, our ancestral home. You are aware, Mr. Laurens, that my father and mother both are dead, and that Sir Edward’s grandson has come into the title and estates. Well, Florine is maid to the heir’s mother, my beautiful niece, Ernestine Trueheart.” She glanced at him sharply as she pronounced the name, but it did not seem to strike his attention. “I shall go down there tonight,” he said, eagerly. “Nonsense!” she replied, with a merry laugh. “You would arrive there in the middle of the night. Wait until the morning train. When you get to The Oaks ask for Mrs. Trueheart. When she comes to you tell her what you want of the maid and you will get your wish.” He obeyed Lady Westerley’s instructions to the letter. He waited till the morning train. When they reached the station where his journey ended he took a shabby fly to The Oaks. “The lady of The Oaks must excuse the dust of travel. I am too impatient to linger a moment,” he thought. They drove several miles through one of the most beautiful estates in the country, and at length drew up before a magnificent abode, one of “The stately homes of England.” He paid the driver and dismissed him. The sun shone brightly on the terraced walks as he proceeded on his way, but suddenly he came to a dead stop and cried out in surprise. He had come face to face with a woman and a little boy--a lad with a handsome, spirited face, blue eyes, and chestnut curls. It struck him as strangely familiar.