The presence of Richard Lambert, his humble devotion, his whole-hearted sympathy and the occasional moments of conversation which she had with him were the only bright moments in her dull life at the Court:  and there is small doubt but that the friendship and trust which characterized her feelings towards him would soon have ripened into more passionate love, but for the advent into her life of the mysterious hero, who by his personality, his strange, secretive ways, his talk of patriotism and liberty, at once took complete possession of her girlish imagination.

She was perhaps just too young when she met Lambert; she had not yet reached that dangerous threshold when girlhood looks from out obscure ignorance into the glaring knowledge of womanhood.  She was a child when Lambert showed his love for her by a thousand little simple acts of devotion and by the mute adoration expressed in his eyes.  Lambert drew her towards the threshold by his passionate love, and held her back within the refuge of innocent girlhood by the sincerity and exaltation of his worship.

With the first word of vehement, unreasoning passion, the mysterious prince dragged the girl over that threshold into womanhood.  He gave her no time to think, no time to analyze her feelings; he rushed her into a torrent of ardor and of excitement in which she never could pause in order to draw breath.

To-night she had promised to marry him secretly—­to surrender herself body and soul to this man whom she hardly knew, whom she had never really seen; she felt neither joy nor remorse, only a strange sense of agitation, an unnatural and morbid impatience to see the end of the next few days of suspense.

For the first time since she had come to Acol, and encountered the kindly sympathy of Richard Lambert, she felt bitterly angered against him when, having parted from the prince at the door of the pavilion, she turned, to walk back towards the house and came face to face with the young man.

A narrow path led through the trees, from the ha-ha to the gate, and Richard Lambert was apparently walking along aimlessly, in the direction of the pavilion.

“I came hoping to meet your ladyship and to escort you home.  The night seems very dark,” he explained simply in answer to a sudden, haughty stiffening of her young figure, which he could not help but notice.

“I was taking a stroll in the park,” she rejoined coldly, “the evening is sweet and balmy but ...  I have no need of escort, Master Lambert ...  I thank you....  It is late and I would wish to go indoors alone.”

“It is indeed late, gracious lady,” he said gently, “and the park is lonely at night ... will you not allow me to walk beside you as far as the house?”

But somehow his insistence, his very gentleness struck a jarring note, for which she herself could not have accounted.  Was it the contrast between two men, which unaccountably sent a thrill of disappointment, almost of apprehension, through her heart?