en."

"What promise?" asked Lilian, absently, as if she had not heard my
words.

"What promise? Why, to refuse all acquaintance with that man; his name
is Margrave. Promise me, dearest, promise me."

"Why is your voice so changed?" said Lilian. "Its tone jars on my ear,"
she added, with a peevishness so unlike her, that it startled me more
than it offended; and without a word further, she quickened her pace,
and entered the house.

For the rest of the evening we were both taciturn and distant towards
each other. In vain Mrs. Ashleigh kindly sought to break down our mutual
reserve. I felt that I had the right to be resentful, and I clung to
that right the more because Lilian made no attempt at reconciliation.
This, too, was wholly unlike herself, for her temper was ordinarily
sweet,--sweet to the extreme of meekness; saddened if the slightest
misunderstanding between us had ever vexed me, and yearning to ask
forgiveness if a look or a word had pained me. I was in hopes that,
before I went away, peace between us would be restored. But long ere her
usual hour for retiring to rest, she rose abruptly, and, complaining
of fatigue and headache, wished me "good-night," and avoided the hand I
sorrowfully held out to her as I opened the door.

"You must have been very unkind to poor Lilian," said Mrs. Ashleigh,
between jest and earnest, "for I never saw her so cross to you before.
And the first day of her return, too!"

"The fault is not mine," said I, somewhat sullenly; "I did but ask
Lilian, and that as a humble prayer, not to make the acquaintance of
a stranger in this town against whom I have reasons for distrust and
aversion. I know not why that prayer should displease her."

"Nor I. Who is the stranger?"

"A person who calls himself Margrave. Let me at least entreat you to
avoid him!"

"Oh, I have no desire to make acquaintance with strangers. But, now
Lilian is gone, do tell me all about this dreadful murder. The servants
are full of it, and I cannot keep it long concealed from Lilian. I was
in hopes that you would have broken it to her."

I rose impatiently; I could not bear to talk thus of an event the
tragedy of which was associated in my mind with circumstances so
mysterious. I became agitated and even angry when Mrs. Ashleigh
persisted in rambling woman-like inquiries,--"Who was suspected of
the deed? Who did I think had committed it? What sort of a man was Sir
Philip? What was that strange story about a