She wrapt her mantilla over her head, and walked down the flight of steps into the park.  Deeply immersed in her own sad contemplation, she pursued her way under the avenue trees, and, opening the wicket gate, found herself on the little terrace of the wood—­the terrace so lonely, so quiet—­where she had listened, where she had smiled.  And now to know that he was false!  She sat down on the bench at the foot of the oak, and covered her face with her hands, and wept.

     A low voice was at her ear.  “Alice!”

She looked up, and saw bending over her, with eyes full of admiration and surprise, Harry Lawleigh.  Gradually as she looked, his features assumed a different expression, his voice also altered its tone.

     “You are weeping, Lady Alice,” he said—­“I scarcely expected to
     find you in so melancholy a mood, after the joyous intelligence
     I heard to-day.”

     “Joyous!” repeated Alice, without seeming to comprehend the
     meaning of the word.  “What intelligence do you allude to?”

     “Intelligence which I only shared with the whole party at
     Rosley Castle.  There was no secret made of the happy event.”

     “I really can’t understand you.  What is it you mean? who
     communicated the news?”

     “The fortunate victor announced his conquest himself.  Sir
     Stratford received the congratulations of every one from the
     duke down to—­to—­myself.”

     “I will not pretend to misunderstand you,” said Lady Alice—­“my
     mother, but a few minutes ago, conveyed to me the purport of
     Sir Stratford’s visit.”  She paused and sighed.

     “And you replied?” enquired Lawleigh.

     “I gave no reply.  I was never consulted on the subject.  I know
     not in what words my mother conveyed her answer.”

“The words are of no great importance,” said Lawleigh; “the fact seems sufficiently clear; and as I gave Sir Stratford my congratulations on his happiness, I must now offer them to you, on the brightness of your prospects, and the shortness of your memory.”

“Few can appreciate the value of the latter quality so well as yourself—­your congratulations on the other subject are as uncalled for as your taunts—­I must return home.”  She rose to depart, and her face and figure had resumed all the grace and dignity which had formerly characterized her beauty.

“One word, Lady Alice!” said Lawleigh; “look round—­it was here—­one little year ago, that I believed myself the happiest, and felt myself the most fortunate, of men.  This spot was the witness of vows—­sincerer on one side than any ever registered in heaven—­on another, of vows more fleeting than the shadows of the leaves that danced on the greensward that calm evening in June, when first I told you that I loved you:  the leaves have fallen—­the vows are