They were sitting by the open window of his room. Lilias was with the housekeeper, Norman lounging at the door and “hindering,” as Lilias declared, and Trafford and Ada were walking up and down the terrace. Esmeralda could see them from where she sat. Trafford was pacing slowly, with his head bent and his hands behind him; Ada gliding gracefully by his side, and now and again looking up at him with the expression on her face which always set Esmeralda’s heart beating.“Anybody’s house afire?” inquired another.

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Trafford moved about the house with the restlessness of a lost spirit, yet issuing the necessary orders and answering the inevitable questions with a grim calm. He could not leave Belfayre that day; but the next morning, when Lilias came down and asked, with tremulous eagerness, “Have you heard from Esmeralda?” he answered:She smiled faintly.

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“Money?” she said. “No, no; I know I mustn’t do that. You’d be too proud to take it, and from me. No, I daren’t offer you money. But I don’t think they’ll refuse my wish.” Her eyes flashed. “How could they? They have got all they want. For very shame they dare not refuse me this one little thing. It’s all I shall have of good out of the bargain; it’s all I shall ask. But”—the old Esmeralda of Three Star stood before him, flashed from her eyes, spoke in her voice—“but this I will have!”

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Lord Chesterleigh came up and spoke to him, and he scarcely knew what Chesterleigh was saying or what he himself responded. Esmeralda seemed to evade him like a will-o’-the-wisp; from whatever part of the room she was standing or sitting there came bursts and ripples of laughter; those who were not immediately round her or talking to her were talking of her. Old Lady Desford sung her praises in the duke’s ready ear.

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One of the men brought him a “stiff” whisky, and Bill, clutching it, tossed it off, and drew a long breath.The woman’s hand closed over hers and her lips moved.

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She had been reared amid scenes which would have terrified a London girl to death, and her nerve, strengthened by her rough experiences, did not desert her at this juncture. Once or twice she could even feel that she was capable of a smile, though the smile did not actually come. Very few duchesses had ridden across Australian hills with their heads muffled in[302] a cloth and a couple of ruffians with drawn revolvers at her side. If Lilias could only see her now!“Yes—yes,” she panted, eagerly. “I see. But—but the servants here, they know that she is not?”

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“I confess—I deny—nothing!” she said. “Give me my letter!”

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