tones of white. But the clothes of the people were of dark colour, and
the one vehicle in sight was a blue box-sleigh, drawn by a shaggy pony.

Eliza was conscious of the picture only as one is conscious of
surroundings upon which the eye does not focus. Her sight fastened on
the old man, now almost opposite the hotel. He was of a broad, powerful
frame that had certainly once possessed great strength. Even now he was
strong; he stooped a little, but he held his head erect, and the
well-formed, prominent features of his weather-beaten face showed forth
a tremendous force of some sort; even at that distance the brightness of
his eyes was visible under bushy brows, grey as his hair. His clothes
were of the most ordinary sort, old and faded. His cap was of the
commonest fur; he grasped it now in his hand, going bareheaded. Tapping
the ground with his staff, he walked with nervous haste, looking upward
the while, as blind men often look.

Harkness did not look much out of the window; he was inspecting Eliza's
face: and when she turned to him he gave her a glance that, had she been
a weaker woman, would have been translated into many words--question and
invective; but her silence dominated him. It was a look also that, had
he been a stronger man, he would have kept to himself, for it served no
purpose but to betray that there was some undercurrent of antagonism to
her in his mind.

"You're very queer to-day, Mr. Harkness," she remarked, and with that
she withdrew.

But when the door closed she was not really gone to the young man. He
saw her as clearly with his mind as a moment before he had seen her with
his eyes, and he pondered now the expression on her face when she looked