“Poor darling, how badly she looks! Yet I never suspected before that she and her brother’s handsome tutor were in love with each other,” he thought. “Dear uncle, please go on,” she exclaimed, eagerly. “Oh, yes. Where was I when I stopped to think? Yes, Lady Heathcote told us that this morning, at daybreak, a conveyance was sent for Mr. Winthrop. An old gentleman was in it who claimed to be a relative of the young man. He insisted on taking the wounded man away, and as no one had the authority to prevent him, he did so.” “And you followed?” she asked. “No, for he left no address, saying bitterly that the young fellow had no friends to mourn for him. That is all I have to tell you, Edith.” “But Guy will certainly send and let Eustace know where he is, uncle, do you not think so?” Lord Chilton looked relieved at her brightening face. “Certainly, undoubtedly, to-day or to-morrow,” he replied, cheerily. “Keep up your heart, little one. I will go now and send your brother to sit with you this morning if indeed he can tear himself away from the library, dry book-worm that he is. By-by, dear.” He kissed her, smoothed her fair curls lovingly, and went out. Presently came Eustace--pale, studious, quiet--a handsome pair they made--he was twenty, she eighteen. Edith leaned her head on his shoulder and wept softly. Poor Eustace, he hardly knew how to soothe a girl’s grief. He was shy and quiet, his thoughts were up among the stars. He meant to be a great scholar. But he smoothed her hair and said, tenderly: “Don’t cry, sis, Guy will be sure to let us hear from him soon, and I hope he will soon get well. I didn’t know you loved each other, dear, but I’m not sorry it’s so, and uncle and I sha’n’t oppose your marriage. I don’t hold with so much nonsense about rank and blue blood. A scholar is as good as a man of rank, and Guy Winthrop is one of the greatest scholars of his time.” But between tears and blushes Lady Edith whispered the story of old Katharine’s story--the minstrel’s curse that must part her from her lover, and cause his death, Lord Eustace laughed the old tradition to scorn. “Nonsense,” he said, lightly. “There’s nothing in it, and when Guy comes back to us alive and well, you’ll forget old Katharine’s superstitions in your new-found happiness.” “Yes, when he comes back,” croaked the old nurse, entering, and catching the sentence. “But he hasn’t come back yet.” The longest day of Edith’s life dragged wearily to its close. And still no word from Guy. The suspense grew almost unendurable. After dinner she threw a long wrap over her white dress, and walked alone in the garden. Twilight had fallen long ago, and the air was chilly. Lady Edith walked briskly up and down the elm avenue, thinking, thinking, till her brain seemed on fire. Was it only yesterday he had told her how he loved her? How long ago it seemed. Perhaps he was dead now. The dark eyes would never look into hers again. A stifled sob escaped her lips.