too, was wholly unlike herself, for her temper was ordinarily
sweet,--sweet to the extreme of meekness; saddened if the slightest
misunderstanding between us had ever vexed me, and yearning to ask
forgiveness if a look or a word had pained me. I was in hopes that,
before I went away, peace between us would be restored. But long ere her
usual hour for retiring to rest, she rose abruptly, and, complaining of
fatigue and headache, wished me "good-night," and avoided the hand I
sorrowfully held out to her as I opened the door.

"You must have been very unkind to poor Lilian," said Mrs. Ashleigh,
between jest and earnest, "for I never saw her so cross to you before.
And the first day of her return, too!"

"The fault is not mine," said I, somewhat sullenly; "I did but ask Lilian,
and that as a humble prayer, not to make the acquaintance of a stranger in
this town against whom I have reasons for distrust and aversion. I know
not why that prayer should displease her."

"Nor I. Who is the stranger?"

"A person who calls himself Margrave. Let me at least entreat you to
avoid him!"

"Oh, I have no desire to make acquaintance with strangers. But, now
Lilian is gone, do tell me all about this dreadful murder. The servants
are full of it, and I cannot keep it long concealed from Lilian. I was in
hopes that you would have broken it to her."

I rose impatiently; I could not bear to talk thus of an event the tragedy
of which was associated in my mind with circumstances so mysterious. I