on
her face--wonder, indignation, shame, passion, in turn possessed her.

She read the letter a second time, then a third, then a fourth. Her
features became set, her eyes became hard, her hands clenched and
unclenched themselves as though she had no control over them. She threw
the letter from her; but immediately she caught it up again, and then
read it for the fifth time. It was a long letter, plainly and legibly
written, evidently by an educated person.

After she had read it a fifth time, she sat staring into the fire. She
saw nothing, heard nothing. She was oblivious to her surroundings. Her
face, even her lips, were bloodless. She sat thus for a long time.

Presently she aroused herself, and pulled the bell-cord. A servant-maid
appeared.

"Is my father gone to bed?" She did not turn her face towards her, and
she spoke with evident difficulty. Her voice was almost toneless.

"No, miss, he is just saying good-night to Mr. Sackville."

"Will you please go to him, and ask him to go into the library."

"Yes, miss."

"Why are you waiting?"

"Shall I tell him that you will come to him, miss?"

"Yes."

The girl left the room, while Olive continued to look into the fire with
the same stony stare.

Again she read the letter through. This time slowly, word by word,
sentence by sentence, as though she would weigh its meaning carefully
and judicially. When she had finished, she had apparently made up her
mind. She rose to her feet, and took a step towards the door, but she
was unable to proceed further. Her brain whirled, she felt herself
falling. Clutching the back of the chair she held herself for a few
seconds, then, as if by a sudden effort of will, she controlled herself.
Then she walked across the room steadily, opened the door, and went
downstairs slowly. Her face, even to her lips, was still ashy pale, and
in her eyes was a stern set look. There was no sign of weakness in her
movements, and yet she looked as though she had been stunned. When she
reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked slowly around her, as
though she were not quite sure of her whereabouts. There was a dazed
expression in her eyes, which suggested the look in the eyes of a
sleep-walker.

Again she seemed to make a sudden effort, and then she walked to the
library door and opened it. John Castlemaine looked up at his daughter's
entrance, and was startled by her appearance. He was sitting in an
armchair, smoking a last pipe before g