“You must be patient, my dear fellow,” said Lord Bannerdale.  “Ida Heron is a girl in a million, and she is worth waiting for.”

“Oh, I’ll wait,” said Lord Edwin; “but sometimes I feel that all the waiting in the world won’t win her,” he added, with a sigh.

One day—­it was in the Christmas week which Ida had been prevailed upon to spend with the Bannerdales—­Lord Bannerdale came in at luncheon-time with some news.

“I hear the Villa is to be occupied at Christmas,” he said.  “Mr. Falconer and his daughter are coming down to-day.”

“Is there to be a house-party?” said Lady Bannerdale.  “But I suppose not.  No, there could not be, under the circumstances.  Poor girl!  Sir Stephen’s death—­I never can remember that he was Lord Highcliffe! —­must have been a great grief and shock to her.  She and her father will naturally wish to be quiet; but I suppose we ought to call.  You have never seen her, I think, Ida?”

“No,” said Ida, in the impassive, reticent way in which she always spoke and looked when on guard.

“An extremely beautiful woman,” said Lady Bannerdale; “but she always struck me as being a remarkably cold one; though, of course, it may have only been manner.  The present Lord Highcliffe, Sir Stephen’s son, has been away some time now.  I suppose he will come back soon, and they will be married.  They will make a very handsome couple.  You would like him, Edwin.  I took a great fancy to him on the few occasions I met him; and I felt deeply sorry for his misfortunes.  But there will be no lack of money when he and Miss Falconer are married, for her father is immensely rich, I believe.  It would be very nice for all of us if Lord Highcliffe settled at the Villa; and I have an idea that Mr. Falconer has bought it for them.”

Ida’s heart sank, and she seized the first opportunity of getting to her own room.  What hope of forgetfulness could there be for her, what chance of happiness if Stafford came back to the Villa to live, if she should be in hourly dread of meeting him?  The thought haunted her though all the quiet Christmas festivities at the Grange; and she was glad to get back to the Hall, and away from the eyes which watched her, though they watched her with a friendly and affectionate regard.

In her daily rides she avoided the opening on the lake side from which the Villa was visible; and she would sometimes make a long detour rather than go near the spot.  On one occasion, when returning from Bryndermere, instead of crossing by the ferry she rode round by the other side of the lake, keeping well away from the Villa, lest she should meet anyone belonging to it.  She had reached the top of the hill below which wound the road leading to the Hall, and after pausing to look at the magnificent view, was riding across a field, one of the outlying fields of her estate, when she saw a lady riding through a gate at the lower end.  The blood rushed to her