It was June when he went—­bright, smiling, perfumed, sunny June—­and Beechgrove was at its best; the trees were in full foliage, the green woods resounded with the song of birds, the gardens were filled with flowers, the whole estate was blooming and fair.  He took up his abode there.  It was soon noticed in the house that he avoided the picture-gallery—­nothing ever induced him to enter it.  More than once, as he was walking through the woods, his heartbeat and his face flushed; there, beyond the trees lived his wife, his darling, from whom a fate more cruel than death had parted him.  His wife!  The longing to see her grew on him from day to day.  She was so near him, yet so far away—­she was so fair, yet her beauty must all fade and die; it was not for him.

In time he began to think it strange that he had never heard anything of her.  He went about in the neighborhood, yet no one spoke of having seen her.  He never heard of her being at church, nor did he ever meet her on the high-road.  It was strange how completely a vail of silence and mystery had fallen over her.

When he had been some time at Beechgrove he received one morning a letter from the Earl of Mountdean, saying that he was in the neighborhood, and would like to call.  Lord Arleigh was pleased at the prospect.  There was deep and real cordiality between the two men—­they thoroughly understood and liked each other; it was true that the earl was older by many years than Lord Arleigh, but that did not affect their friendship.

They enjoyed a few days together very much.  One morning they rode through the woods—­the sweet, fragrant, June woods—­when, from between the trees, they saw the square turrets of the Dower House.  Lord Mountdean stopped to admire the view.

“We are a long distance from Beechgrove,” he said; “what is that pretty place?”

Lord Arleigh’s face flushed hotly.

“That,” he replied, “is the Dower House, where my wife lives.”

The earl looked with great interest at Lady Arleigh’s dwelling-place.

“It is very pretty,” he said—­“pretty and quiet; but it must be dull for a young girl.  You said she was young, did you not?”

“Yes, she is years younger than I am,” replied Lord Arleigh.

“Poor girl!” said the earl, pityingly; “it must be rather a sad fate—­so young and beautiful, yet condemned all her life to live alone.  Tell me, Arleigh, did you take advice before you separated yourself so abruptly from her?”

“No,” replied Lord Arleigh, “I did not ever seek it; the matter appeared plain enough to me.”

“I should not like you to think me curious,” pursued the earl.  “We are true friends now, and we can trust each other.  You have every confidence in me, and I have complete faith in you.  I would intrust to you the dearest secret of my heart.  Arleigh, tell me what I know you have told to no human being—­the reason of your separation from the wife you love.”