name of Lillian wrought a subtle change in her. The color died out of
her face, her black eyes burned with a gloomy fire, and her voice was
relentless as she answered, while her frail hands held him fast, "I will
not let you give it up. We are as innocent as they; we have suffered
more; and we deserve our rights, for we have no sin to expiate. Go on,
Paul, and forget the sentimental folly that unmans you."

Something in her words seemed to sting or wound him. His face darkened,
and he put her away, saying briefly, "Let it be so then. In an hour we
must go."

On the evening of the same day, Lady Trevlyn and her daughter sat
together in the octagon room at the Hall. Twilight was falling and
candles were not yet brought, but a cheery fire blazed in the wide
chimney, filling the apartment with a ruddy glow, turning Lillian's
bright hair to gold and lending a tinge of color to my lady's pallid
cheeks. The girl sat on a low lounging chair before the fire, her head
on her hand, her eyes on the red embers, her thoughts--where? My lady
lay on her couch, a little in the shadow, regarding her daughter with an
anxious air, for over the young face a somber change had passed which
filled her with disquiet.

"You are out of spirits, love," she said at last, breaking the long
silence, as Lillian gave an unconscious sigh and leaned wearily into the
depths of her chair.

"Yes, Mamma, a little."

"What is it? Are you ill?"