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Lady Helena Powyss, in sweeping moire and jewels, receiving her guests, looked at her and drew one long breath of great relief. She might have spared herself all her anxious doubts and fears low-born and penniless as she was, Sir Victor Catheron's bride would do Sir Victor Catheron honor to-night.
I hope poor Mr. Powyss may not be so ill as you fear." He turned away a tumult of jealous rage within him. A deliberate lie he thought it; there could be no doubt of her guilt now. And yet, insanely inconsistent as it seems, he had never loved her more passionately than in that hour. He turned to go without a word. He had reached the door.
Three days after, on Thursday, the fifth of June, Lady Helena Powyss gave a very large dinner-party, followed by a ball in honor of her American guests. When it is your good fortune to number half a county among your friends, relatives, and acquaintances, it is possible to be at once numerous and select.
Two or three old retainers took care of the place and showed it to strangers. Leaning on her lover's arm, Edith Darrell walked through scores of stately rooms, immense, chill halls, picture-galleries, drawing-rooms, and chambers. What a stupendous place it was bigger and more imposing by far than Powyss Place, and over twice as old.
"I am glad of that, at least. And now, as it seems I can do nothing more at present, I will return home. Watch Victor, Inez he needs it, believe me. I will return at the earliest possible moment to-morrow." So, in the chill gray of the fast-coming morning, Lady Helena, very heavy-hearted, returned to Powyss Place and her sick husband's bedside.
A fresh, cool breeze swept over the uplands, and brought a faint trace of life and color into Edith's dark pale cheeks. "This is the Lime Walk the prettiest at Powyss Place, to my mind." This was the young baronet's first commonplace remark. "If you will ascend the eminence yonder, Miss Darrell, I think I can point out Catheron Royals; that is, if you think it worth the trouble."
A stout, elderly lady, in gray moire and chantilly lace, sits on a sort of a throne of honor, beside Mrs. Stuart, and a foreign gentleman, from Washington, all ribbons and orders. To this stout, elderly lady, as Lady Helena Powyss, his aunt, Sir Victor presents Miss Darrell.
Charley lifted his hat, to this large military swell. "I say, Sir Victor," the Captain of Scotch Grays began, "who'd have thought of seeing you here, you know? They said aw you had gone exploring Canada, or the United States, or some of those kind of places, you know. Who's your party?" sotto voce; "Americans hey?" "American friends, and my aunt, Lady Helena Powyss."
Meantime the long sunny hours, that passed so pleasantly for these plighted lovers, lagged drearily enough for one young lady at Powyss Place Miss Beatrix Stuart. She had sent for her mother and told her the news. Placid Aunt Chatty lifted her meek eyebrows and opened her dim eyes as she listened. "Sir Victor Catheron going to marry our Edith! Dear me!
"We were all very sorry to hear of Sir Victor Catheron's death," Charley resumes gravely. "Hammond told us; he writes occasionally. Heart disease, wasn't it? poor fellow! I hope Lady Helena Powyss is quite well?" "She is quite well."
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