“However, you refused to trust me, and I left your room maddened by anger and the fear of losing you.

“I met my brother in the hall-way; he said Herbert was ill, and I accused him of trying to injure the boy that he might defraud me.  Sharp words passed between us.  I left him, and in blind haste mounted my horse, thinking I would ride over to N., a distance of some twenty miles, to get the clergyman of the parish, an intimate friend of mine, to drive with me to the Hall and perform the important ceremony.

“The ride I accomplished in a few hours, but I found my friend absent from home.  The excitement and disappointment, added to the severe cold to which I was exposed, broke me down, and I was taken suddenly ill.  When I recovered, I returned to Bristed Hall only to find my priceless bird flown, and no clue to be had to her whereabouts.

“As to the tale about Herbert, that is all a ruse; he is not my son, and only distantly connected with either of us.  He is heir to a considerable estate, and Mr. Bristed is managing so that upon Herbert’s decease (and poor child, he cannot live long) the inheritance will fall to his lot.”

Such was his version of the story, and as I loved him I believed it willingly.

CHAPTER XII.

In his gay society the winter passed quickly.  With the opening spring he departed—­on business, as he said.  I felt his loss, but as it was a busy time with me it did not affect me as it otherwise would have done.  Many changes were being made in my seminary.  I was obliged to employ workmen to add new dormitories to the great house, for pupils were crowding in from every point.

The reputation of the school was growing; I was immersed in business.  Some months elapsed; I ceased to hear from Richard, almost to think of him, amid the activity of the spring term.

“Circumstances,” some say, “are the Devil,” and I almost believe that saying.  While employed I was happy, my mind well balanced and energetic; but unfortunately for me, summer vacation drew near.  It came finally; a sultry sun, parched earth, and scorched verdure made life in the city undesirable.  My pupils fled to the country and to their homes until the fall session, and I was left alone.  Even my servants were absent, all save one.

Shut up in the empty mansion alone with my own thoughts, I was growing morbidly lonesome.

It was at this unpropitious moment that Richard Bristed returned.

CHAPTER XIII.

He arranged quiet strolls to the country—­little excursions here and there with himself as my sole companion—­and many sweet happy days of unsullied pleasure I passed in his society.

One sultry morning, to my delight, he came in an open carriage, saying that the atmosphere was so heated he would drive me out of town to a charming little village with which he was familiar.