They were daring words, and if she had not known that Lord Chester was the soul of honor she would not have risked them. There was many a man who would have metaphorically "jumped at the chance" to be free of fetters that chafed so cruelly. But Lord Chester, standing before her with arms folded on his broad chest, his dark-gray eyes ablaze with feeling, answered low and reproachfully: "It grieves me, Ethel, to have you display a causeless jealousy for your noble and innocent young sister." Ethel's red lips had curled at Arthur's tribute of praise to her sister, and she cried out quickly: "It is plain that you admire my sister very much." "I do," he replied quietly. "Do you object, Ethel?" She sighed bitterly as she answered: "Forgive me, dearest Arthur; but I love you so dearly that I would fain have you find no woman fair or admirable but myself." He kissed her hand loyally. "My first thoughts must be for you always, my liege lady," he replied, gallantly, then added: "But you must permit me to admire always your lovely mother and sister. Indeed, just before you entered I had begged Precious for the promise of her friendship. She was so shy and cold when I first came in she would not let me clasp her little hand. But I teased her so much, ascribing her coldness to my altered fortunes, that she was compelled to disclaim such cruelty, and gave me her hand in token of unaltered friendship. Will you believe that this was all, Ethel--that in neither word nor deed were we disloyal to you?" She could not doubt the truth in the dear, earnest eyes, and in another moment she was sobbing against his shoulder. "Oh, Arthur, I was wrong; but my jealous nature often goads me almost to madness. Forgive me, and love me, dearest, or my heart will break." The anguished cry went to his heart, and he put his arm about her and soothed her as well as he could, presently winning her to calmness again. But his own heart was very heavy. Ethel's confession of her jealousy pained him and aroused fears for the future, for he had an innate horror of a jealous woman. In two more weeks she would be his wife, and all his happiness would rest in her keeping. Would she torture him always by unreasonable jealousy? The prospect was not pleasant, and he quailed in secret before it, but it seemed to him there was no retreat from this marriage, whose fetters would soon hold him in bondage. It was a point of honor. With a stifled sigh he gave himself up to the task of entertaining his betrothed with an account of his summer, and his trip across, and so well did he succeed that soon the moody shadow faded from her brow and smiles dimpled the crimson lips. CHAPTER XXXI. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. "Let your summer friends go by, With the summer weather; Hearts there are that will not fly, Though the storm should gather.