ope
to see him in shadowy dreams.

Rachael Closs saw all this, and it filled her with bitter rejoicing. How
would her powerful old enemy receive the intelligence that a brother of
hers had won the heart of the future Lady Carset? that he would be lord
of the proud old castle, which must go with the title, and mingle the
blood she had so often denounced as base with that which had turned
against her, with such hot scorn, ever since she entered England as Lord
Hope's wife?

The very thought of that haughty old peeress so humiliated was
wonderfully pleasant to the wounded pride of Rachael Closs. But far
beyond this was the yearning, almost passionate fondness she felt for
her brother and the beautiful girl who had been to her at once a Nemesis
and an infatuation.

This was what Lady Hope had hinted at when Hepworth first came. The
great wish of her heart had grown to be the union of these two persons,
next to one supreme object of love, the dearest beings to her on earth.
It seemed to her that those long, weary intervals, which grew more and
more frequent, when Lord Hope left her alone in the desolate splendor of
that great house, would be more endurable if she were certain that these
two persons would always be near her. She was not ambitious for her
brother. That feeling had died out years ago; but her love sprang to
him, like a freshly-kindled flame.

With Lady Hope, as with Rachael Closs, there was no moderation in her
feelings, which were tenacious as they were powerful and exacting. But
Rachael, with all her impetuosity, had strong contradictory qualities.
She was sagacious, and could rein in her passion of love or hate as an
Arab controls his desert steed. That which her soul most desired she
could wait for.

One night, when the moonbeams lay like silver on the stone terrace, and
the shadow of the peacock fell from the balustrade like a second bird,
Lady Hope complained of fatigue, and retreated into her own room,
leaving Hepworth and Clara sitting upon a flight of steps which led down
to a flower-garden, somewhat neglected of late years, which lay beneath
the stone terrace and brightened the grounds nearest to the lady's
apartments. Not far from these steps was a noble old cedar of Lebanon,
rooted deep, where the drawbridge had been hundreds of years before.
Beneath it was a rustic seat, and in its branches innumerable birds were
sleeping.

There never was, perhaps, a finer contrast of silver light and blac