the housekeeper, entering the room,
"there is a person down-stairs who wishes to see you. I have told her
repeatedly it is an utter impossibility--you would not see her; but
she declares she will not go away until she does see you."

Pluma turns from the window with cold disdain.

"You should know better than to deliver a message of this kind to me.
How dare the impertinent, presuming beggar insist upon seeing me!
Order the servants to put her out of the house at once."

"She is not young," said the venerable housekeeper, "and I thought, if
you only would--"

"Your opinion was not called for, Mrs. Corliss," returned the heiress,
pointing toward the door haughtily.

"I beg your pardon," the housekeeper made answer, "but the poor
creature begged so hard to see you I did feel a little sorry for
her."

"This does not interest me, Mrs. Corliss," said Pluma, turning toward
the window, indicating the conversation was at an end--"not in the
least."

"The Lord pity you, you stony-hearted creature!" murmured the
sympathetic old lady to herself as the door closed between them. "One
word wouldn't have cost you much, Heaven knows, it's mightly little
comfort poor old master takes with you! You are no more like the
bonny race of Hurlhursts than a raven is like a white dove!" And the
poor old lady walked slowly back to the dark-robed figure in the hall,
so eagerly awaiting her.

"There was no use in my going to my young mistress; I knew she would
not see you. But I suppose you are more satisfied now."

"She utterly refuses to see me, does she," asked the woman, in an
agitated voice, "when you told her I wished to see her particularly?"

The housekeeper shook her head.

"When Miss Pluma once makes up her mind to a thing, no power on earth
could change her mind," she said; "and she is determined she won't see
you, so you may as well consider that the end of it."

Without another word the stranger turned and walked slowly down the
path and away from Whitestone Hall.

"Fool that I was!" she muttered through her clinched teeth. "I might
have foreseen this. But I will haunt the place day and night until I
see you, proud heiress of Whitestone Hall. We shall see--time will
tell."

Meanwhile Mrs. Corliss, the housekeeper, was staring after her with
wondering eyes.

"I have heard that voice and seen that face somewhere," she ruminated,
thoughtfully; "but where--where? There seems to be strange leaks in
this brain of mine--