As he spoke, he heard a voice calling him: "Mr. Vernon! Mr. Vernon!" And
there, in the garden, which stood out on the hill like a little terrace,
was Nell. She had taken off her hat, and the faint breeze was stirring
the soft tendrils on her forehead, and her eyes smiled joyously down at
him.

"Tea is ready!" she said, her voice full and round, and coming down to
him like the note of a thrush. "Where have you been? Mamma is quite
anxious about you, and I have had the greatest difficulty in convincing
her that there has not been an accident, and that I had not left you at
the bottom of the bay."

He smiled up at her, but his smile came through the darkness of a cloud,
and she noticed it.

"Has--has anything happened?" she asked, as she opened the gate for him;
and her guileless eyes were raised to his with a sudden anxiety. "Are
you ill--or--or overtired? Ah, yes! that must be it. I am so sorry!"

He frowned, and replied, almost harshly: "Thanks. I am not in the least tired. How should I be? Why do you think
so?"

Nell shrank a little.

"I--I thought you looked pale and tired," she said, in a voice so low
and sweet that he was smitten with shame.

"Perhaps I am a bit played out," he said apologetically, and passing his
hand over his brow as if to erase the lines which the scene with Lady
Lucille had etched. "Your convalescent invalid is a trying kind of
animal, Miss Nell, and--and you must forgive it for snapping."