a small table, with her face turned toward her cousin, and her two
hands resting, the one upon her breast, the other on the table, in an
attitude of antagonism. But before the sudden pang which shot through
me at the sight of her beauty had subsided, her head had turned, her
gaze had encountered mine; all the horror of the situation had burst
upon her, and, instead of a haughty woman, drawn up to receive and
trample upon the insinuations of another, I beheld, alas! a trembling,
panting human creature, conscious that a sword hung above her head, and
without a word to say why it should not fall and slay her.

It was a pitiable change; a heart-rending revelation! I turned from
it as from a confession. But just then, her cousin, who had apparently
regained her self-possession at the first betrayal of emotion on the
part of the other, stepped forward and, holding out her hand, inquired:

"Is not this Mr. Raymond? How kind of you, sir. And you?"
turning to Mr. Gryce; "you have come to tell us we are wanted below,
is it not so?"

It was the voice I had heard through the door, but modulated to a
sweet, winning, almost caressing tone.

Glancing hastily at Mr. Gryce, I looked to see how he was affected
by it. Evidently much, for the bow with which he greeted her words was
lower than ordinary, and the smile with which he met her earnest look
both deprecatory and reassuring. His glance did not embrace her cousin,
though her eyes were fixed upon his face with an inquiry in their
depths more agonizing than the utterance of any cry would have been.
Knowing Mr. Gryce as I did, I felt that nothing could promise worse, or
be more significant, than this transparent disregard of one who seemed