nce! what do you
mean by that?"

"I hardly know," she returns, trembling. "It was your look, your tone,
I think, that frightened me."

"Put your nerves in your pocket for the future," he exclaims coarsely;
"they are not wanted where I am. Now to business. You want to marry Sir
Adrian, as I understand, whether his desire lies in the same direction
or not?"

At this plain speaking the dainty little lady winces openly.

"My own opinion is that his desire does not run in your direction,"
continues Arthur remorselessly. "We both know where his heart would
gladly find its home, where he would seek a bride to place here in this
grand old castle, but I will frustrate that hope if I die for it."

He grinds his teeth as he says this, and looks with fierce defiant eyes
at the long rows of his ancestors that line the walls.

"She would gladly see her proud fair face looking down upon me from
amidst this goodly company," he goes on, apostrophizing the absent
Florence. "But that shall never be. I have sworn it; unless--I am her
husband--unless--I am her husband!"

More slowly, more thoughtfully he repeats this last phrase, until Dora,
affrighted by the sudden change that has disfigured his face, speaks to
him to distract his attention.

"You have brought me here to--" she ventures timidly.

"Ay, to tell you what is on my mind. I have said you want to marry
Adrian; I mean to marry Florence Delmaine. To-day I disliked certain
symptoms I saw, that led me to believe that my own machinations have not
been as successful as I could have wished. Before going in for stronger
measures, there is one more card that I will play. I have written you a
note. Here it is, take it"--handing her a letter folded in the
cocked-hat fashion.

"What am I to do with this?" asks Dora nervously.

"Read it. It is addressed to yourself. You will see I have copied
Adrian's handwriting as closely as possible, and have put his initials
A.D. at the end. And yet"--with a diabolical smile--"it is no forgery
either, as A.D. are my initials also."

Opening the note with trembling fingers, Dora reads aloud as follows:

"Can you--will you meet me to-morrow at four o'clock in the lime-walk?
I have been cold to you perhaps, but have I not had cause? You think my
slight attentions to another betoken a decrease in my love for you, but
in this, dearest, you are mistaken. I am yours heart and soul. For the
present I dare not declare myself, for the reasons you al