Lord Arleigh turned away with a sigh.  How little could any one guess what life meant for him—­life spent without love—­love—­without Madaline!

“I have known several lose their lives in this way,” continued the same voice.  “Only last year poor Charley Hartigan was caught in a similar storm, and he lay for four days dead before he was found.  This gentleman has been fortunate.”

Lord Arleigh roused himself and looked around.  He found himself the center of observation.  The room in which he was lying was large and well furnished, and from the odor of tobacco it was plainly used as a smoking-room.

Over him leaned a tall, handsome man, whose hair was slightly tinged with gray.

“I think,” he said, “you are my neighbor, Lord Arleigh?  I have often seen you on the moors.”

“I do not remember you,” Lord Arleigh returned; “nor do I know where I am.”

“Then let me introduce myself as the Earl of Mountdean,” said the gentleman.  “You are at Rosorton, a shooting-lodge belonging to me, and I beg that you will make yourself at home.”

Every attention was paid to him.  He was placed in a warm bed, some warm, nourishing soup was brought to him, and he was left to rest.

“The Earl of Mountdean.”  Then this was the tall figure he had seen striding over the hills—­this was the neighbor he had shunned and avoided, preferring solitude.  How kind he was, and how his voice affected him!  It was like long-forgotten melody.  He asked himself whether he had seen the earl anywhere.  He could not remember.  He could not recall to his mind that they had ever met, yet he had most certainly heard his voice.  He fell asleep thinking of this, and dreamed of Madaline all night long.

In the morning the earl came himself to his room to make inquiries; and then Lord Arleigh liked him better than ever.  He would not allow his guest to rise.

“Remember,” he said, “prevention is better than cure.  After the terrible risk you have run, it will not do for you to be rash.  You must rest.”

So Lord Arleigh took the good advice given to him to lay still, but on the second day he rose, declaring that he could stand no further confinement.  Even then Lord Mountdean would not hear of his going.

“I am compelled to be despotic with you,” he said.  “I know that at Glaburn you have no housekeeper, only men-servants—­and they cannot make you comfortable, I am sure.  Stay here for a few days until you are quite well.”

So Lord Arleigh allowed himself to be persuaded, saying, with a smile, that he had come to Glaburn purposely for solitude.

“It was for the same thing that I came here,” said the earl.  “I have had a great sorrow in my life, and I like sometimes to be alone to think about it.”

The two men looked at each other, but they liked each other all the better for such open confession.