" "That fiend is ever in my path," exclaimed Mrs. The terror faded from her eyes. Wood could give him no further information respecting Sir Rowland Trenchard than what he had obtained from Kneebone; but begged him to defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before him, of which he would approve. “Now isn’t this nice!” that lady exclaimed. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. I have said good-bye to it all. In the second, she was wretchedly poor, and assailed by temptations of which you can form no idea. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. ’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. “Rather darker than most of them. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother.
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