And The Man, away in the wilds of Alaska, was feeling, day by day and
hour by hour, the chastening and purifying influences of the wilderness. Hot passions cooled before the breath of the snowfield and the glacier. The moaning of a tortured spirit was lost in the roar of the avalanche
and the scream of the cyclone. Pale sorrow and cold despair were warmed
and quickened by the fierce sunlight which came suddenly and stayed only
long enough to vitalise all nature. And as the first step to understanding, The Man forgot himself. CHAPTER XXVIII--DE LANNOY


Two years! Not much to look back upon, but a world to look forward to. To Stephen,
dowered though she was with rare personal gifts and with wealth and
position accorded to but few, the hours of waiting were longer than the
years that were past. Yet the time had new and startling incidents for
her. Towards Christmas in the second year the Boer war had reached its
climax of evil. As the news of disaster after disaster was flashed
through the cable she like others felt appalled at the sacrifices that
were being exacted by the God of War. One day she casually read in The Times that the Earl de Lannoy had died
in his London mansion, and further learned that he had never recovered
from the shock of hearing that his two sons and his nephew had been
killed. The paragraph concluded: "By his death the title passes to a
distant relative. The new Lord de Lannoy is at present in India with his
regiment, the 35th or 'Grey' Hussars, of which he is Colonel." She gave
the matter a more than passing thought, for it was sad to find a whole
family thus wiped out at a blow. Early in February she received a telegram from her London solicitor
saying that he wished to see her on an important matter. Her answer was:
"Come at once"; and at tea-time Mr. Copleston arrived. He was an old
friend and she greeted him warmly. She was a little chilled when he
answered with what seemed unusual deference:

'I thank your Ladyship for your kindness!' She raised her eyebrows but
made no comment: she was learning to be silent under surprise. When she
had handed the old gentleman his tea she said:

'My aunt has chosen to remain away, thinking that you might wish to see
me privately. But I take it that there is nothing which she may not
share. I have no secrets from her.' He rubbed his hands genially as he replied:

'Not at all; not at all! I should like her to be present. It will, I am
sure, be a delight to us all.' Again raised eyebrows; again silence on the subject. When a servant
answered her bell she told him to ask Miss Rowly if she would kindly join
them. Aunt Laetitia and the solicitor were old cronies, and their greeting was
most friendly. When the old gentlewoman had seated herself and taken her
cup of tea, Mr. Copleston said to Stephen, with a sort of pomposity:

'I have to announce your succession to the Earldom de Lannoy!' Stephen sat quite still. She knew the news was true; Mr. Copleston was
not one who would jest on a business subject, and too accurate a lawyer
to make an error in a matter of fact. But the fact did not seem to touch
her. It was not that she was indifferent to it; few women could hear
such news without a thrill. Mr. Copleston seemed at a loss. Miss Rowly
rose and quietly kissed her, and saying simply, 'God bless you, my dear!' went back to her seat. Realising that Mr. Copleston expected some acknowledgment, Stephen held
out her hand to him and said quietly:

'Thank you!' After a long pause she added quietly:

'Now, won't you tell us about it? I am in absolute ignorance; and don't
understand.' 'I had better not burden you, at first, with too many details, which can
come later; but give you a rough survey of the situation.' 'Your title of Countess de Lannoy comes to you through your ancestor
Isobel, third and youngest daughter of the sixth Earl; Messrs Collinbrae
and Jackson, knowing that my firm acted for your family, communicated
with us. Lest there should be any error we followed most carefully every
descendant and every branch of the family, for we thought it best not to
communicate with you till your right of inheritance was beyond dispute. We arrived independently at the same result as Messrs. Collinbrae and
Jackson. There is absolutely no doubt whatever of your claim. You will
petition the Crown, and on reference to the House of Lords the Committee
for Privileges will admit your right. May I offer my congratulations,
Lady de Lannoy on your acquisition? By the way, I may say that all the
estates of the Earldom, which have been from the first kept in strict
entail, go with the title de Lannoy.' During the recital Stephen was conscious of a sort of bitter comment on
the tendencies of good fortune. 'Too late! too late!' something seemed to whisper, 'what delight it would
have been had Father inherited . . . If Harold had not gone . . . !' All
the natural joy seemed to vanish, as bubbles break into empty air. To Aunt Laetitia the new title was a source of pride and joy, far greater
than would have been the case had it come to herself. She had for so
many years longed for new honours for Stephen that she had almost come to
regard them as a right whose coming should not be too long delayed. Miss
Rowly had never been to Lannoy; and, indeed, she knew personally nothing
of the county Angleshire in which it was situated. She was naturally
anxious to see the new domain; but kept her feeling concealed during the
months that elapsed until Stephen's right had been conceded by the
Committee for Privileges. But after that her impatience became manifest
to Stephen, who said one day in a teasing, caressing way, as was
sometimes her wont:

'Why, Auntie, what a hurry you are in! Lannoy will keep, won't it?' 'Oh, my dear,' she replied, shaking her head, 'I can understand your own
reticence, for you don't want to seem greedy and in a hurry about your
new possessions. But when people come to my age there's no time to
waste. I feel I would not have complete material for happiness in the
World-to-come, if there were not a remembrance of my darling in her new
home!' Stephen was much touched; she said impulsively:

'We shall go to-morrow, Auntie. No! Let us go to-day. You shall not
wait an hour that I can help!' She ran to the bell; but before her hand
was on the cord the other said:

'Not yet! Stephen dear. It would flurry me to start all at once; to-
morrow will be time enough. And that will give you time to send word so
that they will be prepared for your coming.' How often do we look for that to-morrow which never comes? How often do
we find that its looked-for rosy tints are none other than the
gloom-laden grey of the present? Before the morrow's sun was high in the heavens Stephen was hurriedly
summoned to her aunt's bedside. She lay calm and peaceful; but one side
of her face was alive and the other seemingly dead. In the night a
paralytic stroke had seized her.