to see you alone that you might be prepared
—that, before Millie, you might not show
surprise at seeing me. She does not know
that we have ever met before."

"You are kind, Miss Vynern—considerate.
But I think you have taken an unnecessary
precaution. I have a great deal of self-command,"
Mr. Lyneward said.

Hildred bit her lip, and an angry flush
crossed her face; but she said coldly; "I
acted only for Millie's sake. I have no more
to say."

She rose, and so did Mr. Lyneward: but,
instead of letting her go as she had intended,
he stopped her, laid his hand upon her arm,
and cast a haggard look into her face. She
noticed, then, how many of the lines about
that face had deepened since she had last
seen him. Feeling as if her Heart would break,
she shook off his hand—indeed, she could not
bear it there; it seemed to burn her to the
bone—and proudly returned his gaze.

He resented her haughty gesture, and spoke
with a voice thick with passion:

"I owe it to myself to say that I will not
be scorned by any man or woman—you,
least of all. Hildred Vynern, your pride has
blinded you; you have dashed back the love
of the only man who ever did, or will, love you
worthily. You dared confound me with the
rest: dared to believe I paid my homage to
your expected fortune. Had you not been
utterly blind, you might have seen that could
not be. Would Mrs. Vynern have given you
one penny if you had married me—a Lyneward?
Did she not hate me? Didn't I
know she hated me? I condescended to entreat,
to explain, to offer you my love a
second time, because I thought your heart a
rich great treasure. I was wrong. It is
dross; it is eaten up with pride. You left
unanswered that last letter I wrote you—
ridiculed me and it."

"That is slander. I only,"— she stopped,
remembering that must not be said—"I
received it only two days ago," she had been
about to say.

He did not heed, but went on: "And you
think me light and fickle, and smile contemptuously
at my former protestations to
yourself. I will keep my Millie's name holy
—will not speak of her now, save to say, that
only when she was alone, friendless, poor,
and when I had learnt how incapable you
were of truly loving, did I first think of
making her my wife."

"When I found she loved me," he might
have said.

Hildred did not speak. She stood opposite
to him, erect; her marble-white hands
drooped among the folds of her black
dress; her dark eyes dilated; he thought
with pride and anger. The wild longing
of her heart was to throw herself at his
feet, say once that she loved him, and—die.
But Millie! She kept firm. His next words
sounded almost like a curse:—

"Hildred, as you are a woman, one day
you will love, and then you will suffer—
O Heaven! how fiercely! Only one right
worthy love comes to the life-portion of any
man or woman. You have rejected that.
When you suffer, remember me!"

He moved towards the door. Possessed
by a vague idea that they could not part
thus—even for Millie's sake—Hildred said:

"Mr. Lyneward, you speak harshly— only
for Millie's sake"— He started at the tenderness
with which those haughty lips uttered
those three words—"for Millie's sake,
we must try to be—friends. You have made
me respect you. Some day, perhaps, you
may respect me."

She offered him her hand, but he would
not take it.

"And, Millie?" she said, as he was going,
Had he forgotten Millie? He stopped, and
then said hastily:

"I cannot see her now. Tell her—anything
you please. I am not fit for her innocent eyes,
to look upon. There is something black, fierce
and wild in my heart—hate, perhaps."

He was gone. She turned to the window
and watched him, sure that he would not
look round: he did not. What should she
do?

She walked to a mirror, and looked into it.
The shining of such lustrous eyes in that
white face looked unearthly, and startled even
herself. But she admired and commended
her own behaviour, muttering that she had
acted well; had begun her farce or tragedy,
whichever it was, bravely; bade herself take
courage, and be assured that she would be a
grand actress in time.

Just then Millie came in, full of wonder
and fear. She had seen Mr. Lyneward go
away, and dreaded that he and her sister had
quarrelled. "Was anything wrong?" she
asked, tremblingly.

"Not much," Hildred answered. "We
have been angry. But never mind, love, we
shall be good enough friends in time. My
future brother-in-law is a proud man. Have
a care how you anger him, Millie. But I
forgot," she added, smiling, "you never anger
anyone, do you?"

Hildred stayed a little to talk to her
sister, particularly impressing upon her that
the marriage must be soon.

"Is that Mr. Lyneward's wish?" Millie
asked.

Hildred laughed, and answered that of
course it was.

Millie began to feel reassured, and to think
that, after all, she had been foolishly fearful—
that all would be well; that though Hildred
at first felt grieved and vexed that she must
call a Lyneward brother, she would soon
relent.

Then Hildred said she should go out.
Millie tried to dissuade her, saying it was
dreadful weather, raining and blowing and
very cold; but Hildred answered, that it was