lips; his eyes, searching in the dim light his surroundings, swiftly
passed from the rich furnishings, the artistic decorations, to the
bright-colored robe, the little slippers before the fire. Here they
lingered, but only for a moment! Did the intruder hear a sound, a quick
breath? His gaze swerved to the opposite end of the room where it saw a
living presence. For a moment they looked at each other; the man's face
turned very pale; his hand touched the back of a chair; he steadied
himself.

"I thought--to enter armory hall--did not know your rooms were here," he
managed to say in a low tone, "at this corner of Strathorn House."

She did not answer; so they stood, silently, absurdly. Her face was like
paper; her hair, in contrast, most bright; her eyes expressed only
incomprehension. The man had to speak first; he pulled himself together.
The bad fortune that had dogged him so long, that he had fought against
so hard, now found its culmination: it had cast him, of all places,
hither, at her feet.

So be it; well, destiny now could harm him little more! His eyes
gleamed; a reckless light shone out, a daredevil luster. He continued to
look at her, then threw back his head.

"I had hoped you would never know; but the gods, it seems," he could
even laugh, "have ordained otherwise. '_Fata obstant_.'" Still that
startled, uncomprehending look on the girl's white face! He went on more
quickly, like a man driven to bay. "You do not understand; you are
credulous; take people for what they seem,--not for what they are; or
have been."