some moments she ate her dessert in silence.

Before her arose all the horror of that amazing meeting. The words of
the criminal who was her husband rang in her ears, cruel, brutal, and
relentless. He had threatened to call there at the villa, and hand her
letter to Bracondale, a threat which, she knew, he would carry out if
she did not appease him and bow to his will.

She was to exchange those pearls, Bracondale's valued gift, for the
silence of a blackmailer and assassin! Ah! the very thought of it drove
her to desperation. Yet she was about to do it for Bracondale's sake;
for the sake of little Enid, whom she so dearly loved.

Every word the brute had uttered had burned into her brain. Her temples
throbbed as though her skull must burst. But she fought against the evil
and against a collapse. She put on a brave front, and when Bracondale
addressed her she laughed lightly as though she had not a single care in
all the world.

The meal over, she took a scarlet carnation from the silver epergne
between them, broke the stem and, bending, placed it in the lapel of his
coat, receiving as reward a fond, sweet kiss, old Jenner having finally
left the room.

"Now go and rest, dearest," his lordship said. "I have a few letters I
will write before I go out."

And he was about to cross to the door when it suddenly opened, and
little Enid in her white muslin dress danced into the room, rushing up
to her mother's outstretched arms.

Bracondale caught the child and, taking her up, kissed her fondly.

Then, when he set her down again, she rushed to Jean, and in her
childish voice asked:

"Mother, I was so afraid this morning when I saw you talking to that
nasty man!"

"Nasty man!" echoed Jean, her heart standing still.

"Yes, mother. I ran across from Miss Oliver and was coming to you, but
when I got round the rock I saw--oh, I saw a nasty man raising his
hands, and talking. And you were so frightened--and so was I. So I ran
back again. He was a nasty, bad man."

For a second a dead silence fell.

Then Jean, with a supreme effort, collected her thoughts and exercised
all her self-control.

"What was that, Jean?" inquired Bracondale quickly.

"Oh, nothing. A man came along begging--rather a well-dressed man he
seemed to be. And because I refused to give him anything he commenced to
abuse me. But I soon sent him away."

"The child says you were afraid."

"Afraid!" she laughed, with a strange, hysterical little