This no doubt had caused him to fret. He loved her and desired her all
his own. Yet 'twere useless of a surety to ask Sir Marmaduke's consent
to her marriage with her French prince. He would never give it, and
until she came of age he had absolute power over her choice of a
husband.

She had explained this to him and he had sighed and murmured angry
words, then pressed her with increased passion to his heart.

To-night as she walked through the park, she was conscious--for the
first time perhaps--of a certain alloy mixed with her gladness. Yet she
loved him--oh, yes! just, just as much as ever. The halo of romance with
which she had framed in his mystic personality was in no way dimmed, but
in a sense she almost feared him, for at times his muffled voice sounded
singularly vehement, and his words betrayed the uncontrolled violence of
his nature.

She had hoped to bring him some reassuring news anent Sir Marmaduke de
Chavasse's intentions with regard to herself, but the conversation round
the skittle-alley, her guardian's cruel allusions to "the foreign
adventurer," had shown her how futile were such hopes.

Yet, there were only three months longer of this weary waiting. Surely
he could curb his impatience until she was of age and mistress of her
own hand! Surely he trusted her!

She sighed as this thought crossed her mind, and nearly fell up against
a dark figure which detached itself from among the trees.

"Master Lambert!" she said, uttering a little cry of surprise, pressing