CHAPTER IX.

"Who is 'Lenore,' uncle?" It was the evening of the same day--a day never to be forgotten by Stella, a day marked with a white stone in her mental calendar. Never would she be able to look upon a field of primroses, never hear the music of the river running over the weir, without remembering this morning the first she had spent with Lord Leycester. It was evening now, and the two--the painter and the girl--were sitting by the open window, looking out into the gloaming, he lost in memory, she going over and over aga…