"I have arranged it all," said Miss Lyster. "Miss Carleton is going to-day to that grand dinner-party at Macdonald's. She has given orders that the young ladies shall go over to Herrington, and take some refreshments with them—it will be a picnic on a small scale. You can excuse yourself from going. I will volunteer to remain with you, and toward sunset, we will walk through the old orchard. Allan will await us there."
The girl's heart beat; it was a romantic dream after all—that strange, wonderful reality; the interview she had so often imagined was to take place at last.
"I cannot tell an untruth," she said to Miss Lyster; "I could not if I tried. How could I excuse myself from going?"
Adelaide looked slightly shocked.
"I would not ask you to speak untruthfully, not even to save Allan's life, dearly as I love him," she said. "There is no need. Say you are not inclined to go. Miss Carleton will not interfere with the whims of an heiress."
So it was arranged, and everything fell out just as Adelaide Lyster had foreseen. Miss Carleton did not care to interfere with the whims of a great heiress like Marion Arleigh.
"By all means, stay at home, my love, if you wish, and Miss Lyster, too. She is an admirable young person; so prudent, so discreet. I could not leave you in better hands."
Marion Arleigh lived afterward to be presented at Court, but she never again felt the same diffidence, the same trepidation, as when, with her false friend by her side, she went down the steps that led to the orchard. The hedge was high and thick, tall trees formed a complete barrier between the grounds and the high road, no strangers or passersby could be seen. Miss Lyster had chosen her time well. She knew that in the lady superintendent's absence the servants would hold high revels; there was no fear of interruption.
In after life Marion Arleigh remembered every detail of that evening. It was May then, and the hedge was white with hawthorn; there was a gleam of gold from the laburnums, and the scent of the lilacs filled the air; the apple trees were all in blossom, the birds were singing, the sun shining, warmth and fragrance and beauty lay all around her.
Far down the orchard, standing sketching a picturesque old tree, was the artist, Allan Lyster. He looked up as the sound of light footsteps rustled in the grass. When he saw who was coming he flung down his pencils and advanced, hat in hand.