your hills and come to cheer the long-deserted house of an old man like
me," returned her husband fondly.

"Nay, don't call yourself old, Richard; you are only forty-five, the
boldest, handsomest man in Warwickshire. But lately you look worried;
what is it? Tell me, and let me advise or comfort you."

"It is nothing, Alice, except my natural anxiety for you--Well,
Kingston, what do you want?"

Trevlyn's tender tones grew sharp as he addressed the entering servant,
and the smile on his lips vanished, leaving them dry and white as he
glanced at the card he handed him. An instant he stood staring at it,
then asked, "Is the man here?"

"In the library, sir."

"I'll come."

Flinging the card into the fire, he watched it turn to ashes before he
spoke, with averted eyes: "Only some annoying business, love; I shall
soon be with you again. Lie and rest till I come."

With a hasty caress he left her, but as he passed a mirror, his wife saw
an expression of intense excitement in his face. She said nothing, and
lay motionless for several minutes evidently struggling with some strong
impulse.

"He is ill and anxious, but hides it from me; I have a right to know,
and he'll forgive me when I prove that it does no harm."