“Who can have arrived?” said Mrs. Lancaster, not sorry, perhaps, for a diversion.  “I did not know that Mrs. Brantley was expecting any one.”

“Who has come, Ellis?” Victor said carelessly to a young man who emerged from the house as they approached.

“Marston Brent,” was the answer.  “It seems the Clytie made a very quick trip, and came into port yesterday; so of course her owner has come at once to report his safe arrival at head-quarters.”

Mrs. Lancaster, whose hand was still on Clare’s arm, felt the quick start which he gave at this information, but she was a discreet woman, and she said nothing until they were standing on the verandah steps and he had bidden her good-night, saying that he must ride back to Claremont.

“I understand why you will not remain,” she said; “but do not make any rash resolution about Egypt—­above all, do not commit yourself to anything.”  Then she bent forward and touched his hand lightly.  “Tell me when you come again that you will join my party for the White Sulphur,” she said softly.  “It will be the wisest thing you can do.”

The result of this disinterested advice was, that as soon as he reached home, after a lonely, starlit ride of six miles, Clare sat down and wrote to General ——­, accepting the position he had offered, and promising to report in Cairo as soon as possible.

After this it was several days before the future Egyptian soldier was seen again at The Willows.  What went on in that gay abode during this interval he neither knew nor sought to know.  He endeavored to banish all memory of the place and the people whom it contained from his mind.  They were nothing to him, he told himself.  It was impossible to say whether he shrank most from the pain of meeting Eleanor Milbourne with her accepted lover by her side, or from the thrill of disgust with which the mere thought of Mrs. Lancaster inspired him.  He buried himself in listless idleness at Claremont for some time:  then ordered his horse one day, rode to a neighboring town and made arrangements for the sale of his property with much the same feeling as if he had ordered the execution of his mother.  It was when he returned weary and depressed from this excursion that he found a note from Mrs. Brantley awaiting him.

“DEAR MAJOR CLARE” (it ran), “why have you forsaken us?  We have looked for you, wished for you and talked of you for days, but you seem to have determined that we shall learn the full meaning of the verb ’to disappoint.’  Will you not come over to dinner to-day?  I think you have played hermit quite long enough.

“Truly yours, L.M.B.”