Once at night, when Gertrude withdrew to her chamber and before seeking her pillow, prepared to retire as a preliminary to disrobing—­in other words, before going to bed, she flung wide the casement (opened the window) and perceived (saw) the face of Lord Ronald.  He was sitting on a thorn bush beneath her, and his upturned face wore an expression of agonised pallor.

Meanwhile the days passed.  Life at the Taws moved in the ordinary routine of a great English household.  At 7 a gong sounded for rising, at 8 a horn blew for breakfast, at 8.30 a whistle sounded for prayers, at 1 a flag was run up at half-mast for lunch, at 4 a gun was fired for afternoon tea, at 9 a first bell sounded for dressing, at 9.15 a second bell for going on dressing, while at 9.30 a rocket was sent up to indicate that dinner was ready.  At midnight dinner was over, and at 1 a.m. the tolling of a bell summoned the domestics to evening prayers.

Meanwhile the month allotted by the Earl to Lord Ronald was passing away.  It was already July 15, then within a day or two it was July 17, and, almost immediately afterwards, July 18.

At times the Earl, in passing Ronald in the hall, would say sternly, “Remember, boy, your consent, or I disinherit you.”

And what were the Earl’s thoughts of Gertrude?  Here was the one drop of bitterness in the girl’s cup of happiness.  For some reason that she could not divine the Earl showed signs of marked antipathy.

Once as she passed the door of the library he threw a bootjack at her.  On another occasion at lunch alone with her he struck her savagely across the face with a sausage.

It was her duty to translate to the Earl his Russian correspondence.  She sought in it in vain for the mystery.  One day a Russian telegram was handed to the Earl.  Gertrude translated it to him aloud.

“Tutchemoff went to the woman.  She is dead.”

On hearing this the Earl became livid with fury, in fact this was the day that he struck her with the sausage.

Then one day while the Earl was absent on a bat hunt, Gertrude, who was turning over his correspondence, with that sweet feminine instinct of interest that rose superior to ill-treatment, suddenly found the key to the mystery.

Lord Nosh was not the rightful owner of the Taws.  His distant cousin of the older line, the true heir, had died in a Russian prison to which the machinations of the Earl, while Ambassador at Tschminsk, had consigned him.  The daughter of this cousin was the true owner of Nosham Taws.

The family story, save only that the documents before her withheld the name of the rightful heir, lay bare to Gertrude’s eye.

Strange is the heart of woman.  Did Gertrude turn from the Earl with spurning?  No.  Her own sad fate had taught her sympathy.

Yet still the mystery remained!  Why did the Earl start perceptibly each time that he looked into her face?  Sometimes he started as much as four centimetres, so that one could distinctly see him do it.  On such occasions he would hastily drain a dipper of rum and vichy water and become again the correct English gentleman.