The blood of his race stirred with him; he would have liked to have snatched Constance, and borne her away on his trusty steed, as his forefathers would have done.  But instead he must stand aside, and see her married to another.  Nay, he himself would be asked to attend the wedding, perhaps even give her away to the man who was surely no more worthy of her than Adrien himself.

Jasper Vermont had indeed done his work well.  No sooner had he seen the light of love shining in his friend’s face, than he had set to work; and, like the grim spider of evil he resembled, had filled Adrien’s mind with the suggestion that Constance loved—­in fact, was secretly engaged to, Lord Standon.

His reasons for this were twofold.  If Adrien married Constance, Ada Lester would—­whether with or without cause—­hold him responsible, and was more than capable of carrying out her threat to unmask him to his patron.  Moreover, Jasper looked upon Lady Constance with an appreciative and covetous eye, and felt that if he could ever ingratiate himself with her sufficiently for her to promise to become his wife, the summit of his ambition would be reached.

Adrien was easily deceived; for, with all his faults, he was not conceited.  He did not guess that Constance’s very openly expressed pleasure in the company of Lord Standon was to prevent the discovery of her real and passionate longing for that of her cousin.

Henceforth, he told himself, he must do his best to hide the pain that was gnawing at his heart.  Henceforward, the pleasure of life would be as Dead Sea fruit to him.  His hand fell on the balustrade in his unconscious despair; and at that moment, another window farther down the long balcony opened, and the figure of Lord Barminster stepped out into the moonlight.

Adrien was in no humour to meet even his father; he was too weary in spirit to confront the old man’s satire with his usual calm; so he shrank back into the shadow of the buttress against which he leaned.  But Lord Barminster’s eyes were quick to perceive him; and, striding forward, he laid his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Well, Adrien,” he commenced, “what is wrong?  Can’t you sleep, or are you given to spending the small hours in star-gazing?”

“I might retort in kind, sir,” returned Adrien, pulling his scattered thoughts together, and smiling faintly.

“Ah!  I am old,” said his father.  “Age has its penalties as well as its privileges; and the freedom to speak plainly is one of the latter.  Come, my boy, what is wrong?  At your age I was happy enough; but you seem to have taken the troubles of the world on your shoulders.  Are you ill?”

“No, sir, I am well enough,” returned Adrien quietly.

“Then are you worrying over your debts through that unlucky horse?  Because, although, as you know, I do not interfere with your money matters as a rule, you are quite at liberty to draw on my bank if you care to do so.”