er, was an old man whose sight was
too dim to see the malignant glance of her dark eyes, and the fierce
passion of her face. Knowing that she was coming, he was awaiting
her, and Zillah on looking up saw him. That first sight at once
quelled her fury. She saw a noble and refined face, whereon there was
an expression of tenderest sympathy. Before she could recover from
the shock which the sight of such a face had given to her passion he
had advanced rapidly toward her, took her in his arms, and kissed her
tenderly.

"My poor child," he said, in a voice of indescribable sweetness--"my
poor orphan child, I can not tell how I feel for you; but you belong
to me now. I will try to be another father."

The tones of his voice were so full of affection that Zillah, who was
always sensitive to the power of love and kindness, was instantly
softened and subdued. Before the touch of that kiss of love and those
words of tenderness every emotion of anger fled away; her passion
subsided; she forgot all her vengeance, and, taking his hand in both
of hers, she burst into tears.

The Earl gently led her to a seat. In a low voice full of the same
tender affection he began to talk of her father, of their old
friendship in the long-vanished youth, of her father's noble nature,
and self-sacrificing character; till his fond eulogies of his dead
friend awakened in Zillah, even amidst her grief for the dead, a
thousand reminiscences of his character when alive, and she began to
feel that one who so knew and loved her father must himself have been
most worthy to be her father's friend.

It was thus that her first interview with the Earl dispelled her
vindictive passion. At once she began to look upon him as the one who
was best adapted to fill her father's place, if that place could ever
be filled. The more she saw of him, the more her new-born affection
for him strengthened, and during the week which he spent at Pomeroy
Court she had become so greatly changed that she looked back to her
old feelings of hate with mournful wonder.

In due time the General's will was read. It was very simple: Thirty
thousand pounds were left to Zillah. To Hilda three thousand pounds
were left as a tribute of affection to one who had been to him, as he
said, "like a daughter."

Hilda he recommended most earnestly to the care and affection of Lord
Chetwynde, and desired that she and Zillah should never be separated
unless they themselves desired it. To that l