glare of the three lamps, held by Hugh, his wife, and the servant-girl.
Their combined rays seemed to form a focus exactly at the point where they
reached her; and the beholders, had any been sufficiently calm, might have
watched her features in their agitated workings and frequent change of
expression, as perfectly as by the broad light of day. Terror had at first
blanched her as white as a lily, or as a marble statue, which for a moment
she resembled, as she stood motionless in the centre of the room. Shame
next bore sway; and her blushing countenance, covered by her slender white
fingers, might fantastically be compared to a variegated rose with its
alternate stripes of white and red. The next instant, a sense of her pure
and innocent intentions gave her strength and courage; and her attitude
and look had now something of pride and dignity. These, however, in their
turn, gave way; for Edward Walcott pressed forward, and attempted to
address her.

"Ellen, Ellen!" he said, in an agitated and quivering whisper; but what
was to follow cannot be known; for his emotion checked his utterance. His
tone and look, however, again overcame Ellen Langton, and she burst into
tears. Fanshawe advanced, and took Edward's arm. "She has been deceived,"
he whispered. "She is innocent: you are unworthy of her if you doubt it."

"Why do you interfere, sir?" demanded Edward, whose passions, thoroughly
excited, would willingly have wreaked themselves on any one. "What right
have you to speak of her innocence? Perhaps," he continued, an undefined
and ridiculous suspicion arising in his mind,--"perhaps you are acquainted
with her intentions. Perhaps you are the deceiver."

Fanshawe's temper was not naturally of the meekest character; and having
had a thousand bitter feelings of his own to overcome, before he could
attempt to console Edward, this rude repulse had almost aroused him to