ad, understood and appreciated each
other.

The pure, grave, and gentle expression of Clara's countenance touched
the heart of Capitola.

The bright, frank, honest face of Cap recommended her to Clara.

The very opposite traits of their equally truthful characters attracted
them to each other.

Clara conducted her guest back into the wainscoted parlor, where a
cheerful fire had been kindled to correct the dampness of the air. And
here they sat down unmindful of the storm that came much subdued
through the thickness of the walls. And, as young creatures, however
tried and sorrowful, will do, they entered into a friendly chat. And
before an hour had passed Capitola thought herself well repaid for her
sufferings from the storm and the rebuff, in having formed the
acquaintance of Clara Day.

She resolved, let Old Hurricane rage as he might, henceforth she would
be a frequent visitor to the Hidden House.

And Clara, for her part, felt that in Capitola she had found a frank,
spirited, faithful neighbor who might become an estimable friend.

While they were thus growing into each other's favor, the door opened
and admitted a gentleman of tall and thin figure and white and
emaciated face, shaded by a luxuriant growth of glossy black hair and
beard. He could not have been more than twenty-six, but, prematurely
broken by vice, he seemed forty years of age. He advanced bowing toward
the young women.

As Capitola's eyes fell upon this newcomer it required all her presence
of mind and powers of self-control to prevent her from staring or
otherwise betraying herself--for in this stranger she recognized the
very man who had stopped her upon her night ride. She did, however,
succeed in banishing from her face every expression of consciousness.
And when Miss Day courteously presented him to her guest, saying
merely, "My cousin, Mr. Craven Le Noir, Miss Black," Capitola arose and
curtsied as composedly as if she had never set eyes upon his face
before.

He on his part evidently remembered her, and sent one stealthy, keen
and scrutinizing glance into her face; but, finding that imperturbable,
he bowed with stately politeness and seemed satisfied that she had not
identified him as her assailant.

Craven Le Noir drew his chair to the fire, seated himself and entered
into an easy conversation with Clara and her guest. Whenever he
addressed Clara there was a deference and tenderness in his tone and
glance that seemed very disple