w out his pale features
with a remarkable distinctness, and for an instant Thomas wondered if it
had been hung there for the purpose of producing this effect. But the
demand in his brother's face drew his attention, and, bowing his head,
he stammered:

"I am at your command, Felix. I am at your command, father. I cannot say
more. Only remember that I never saw Evelyn, that she died before I was
born, and that I----"

But here Felix's voice broke in, kind, but measured:

"Perhaps there is some obstacle we have not reckoned upon. You may
already love some woman and desire to marry her. If so, it need be no
impediment----"

But here Thomas's indignation found voice.

"No," said he; "I am heart-whole save for a few lingering fancies which
are fast becoming vanishing dreams."

He seemed to have lived years since entering this room.

"Your heart will not be disturbed now," commented Felix. "I have seen
the girl. I went there on purpose a year ago. She's as pale as a
snow-drop and as listless. You will not be obliged to recall to mind the
gay smiles of Parisian ladies to be proof against her charms."

Thomas shrugged his shoulders.

"She must be made to know the full intoxication of hope," Felix
proceeded in his clear and cutting voice. "To realize despair she must
first experience every delight that comes with satisfied love. Have you
the skill as well as heart to play to the end a role which will take
patience as well as dissimulation, courage as well as subtlety, and that
union of will and implacability which finds its food in tears and is
strengthened, rather than lessened, by the suffering of its victim?"

"I have the skill," murmured Thomas, "but----"

"You lack the incentive," finished Felix. "Well, well, we must have
patience with your doubts and hesitations. Our hate has been fostered by
memories of her whom, as you say, you have never seen. Look, then,
Thomas. Look at your sister as she was, as she is for us. Look at her,
and think of her as despoiled, killed, forgotten by Poindexter. Have you
ever gazed upon a more moving countenance, or one in which beauty
contends with a keener prophecy of woe?"

Not knowing what to expect, anticipating almost to be met by her shade,
Thomas followed the direction of his brother's lifted hand, and beheld,
where but a minute before that dismal curtain had hung, a blaze of
light, in the midst of which he saw a charming, but tragic, figure, such
as no gallery in all Eur