rough the woods, over the bluff, and
along the foot of the hill, coming out on a small plateau some fifteen
feet above the lake. Behind rose a rocky wall, covered with slender
pines and cedars; noble trees shaded the plateau, leaving a clearing
towards the lake; so that one looked out as from a frame of foliage on
the blue waters, the islet of St. Michel, and the wooded cape known as
Cumberland Head.

As Honora entered this lovely place, Edith sat on a stone near the edge
of the precipice, enjoying the view. She faced the newcomer with
unfailing impertinence, and coolly studied the woman whom Arthur Dillon
loved. Sickness of heart filled her with rage. The evil beauty of Sonia
and herself showed purely animal beside the pale spiritual luster that
shone from this noble, sad-hearted maid. Honora bowed distantly and
passed on. Edith began to glow with delight of torturing her presently,
and would not speak lest her pleasure be hurried. The instinct of the
wild beast, to worry the living game, overpowered her. What business had
Honora with so much luck? The love of Arthur, fame as a singer, beauty,
and a passion for the perfect life? God had endowed herself with three
of these gifts. Having dragged them through the mud, she hated the woman
who had used them with honor. What delight that in a moment she could
torture her with death's anguish!

"I came here in the hope of meeting you, madam," she began suddenly, "if
you are Miss Ledwith. I come to warn you."

"I do not need warnings from strangers," Honora replied easily, studying
the other for an instant with indifferent eyes, "and if you wished me to
see on proper matters you should have called at the house."

"For a scene with the man who ran away from his wife before he deceived
me, and then made love to you? I could hardly do that," said she as
demure and soft as a purring cat.

Honora's calm look plainly spoke her thought: the creature was mad.

"I am not mad. Miss Ledwith, and your looks will not prevent me warning
you. Arthur Dillon is not the man he pretends----"

"Please go away," Honora interrupted.

"He is not the son of Anne Dillon----"

"Then I shall go," said Honora, but Edith barred the only way out of the
place, her eyes blazing with the insane pleasure of torturing the
innocent. Honora turned her back on her and walked down to the edge of
the cliff, where she remained until the end.

"I know Arthur Dillon better than you know him," Edith went on,