tle cry of gladness broke from her. "Ah, it is
you!" she said, holding out both her hands, and his jealousy and pain
were swept away for the moment.

He clasped her hands in the warm pressure of his own, saying: "Yes, it
is I; and I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you once more."

The room behind her seemed to be filled with a glow, and when they went
in the fire blazed and sparkled and its red light fell across the floor.
Miss Grayson, small, quiet and gray as usual, came forward to meet him.
Her tiny cool hand rested in his a moment, and the look in her eyes told
him as truly as the words she spoke that he was welcome.

"When did you arrive?" asked Lucia.

"But this morning," he replied. "You see, I have come at once to find
you. I saw you when you did not see me."

"When?" she asked in surprise.

"In the carriage with the Secretary and the Harleys," he replied, the
feeling of jealousy and pain returning. "You passed me, but you were too
busy to see me."

She noticed the slight change in his tone, but she replied without any
self-consciousness.

"Yes; Mr. Sefton--he has been very kind to us--asked me to go with Miss
Harley, her brother and himself. How sorry I am that none of us saw
you."

The feeling that he had a grievance took strong hold of Prescott, and it
was inflamed at the new mention of the Secretary's name. If it were any
other it might be more tolerable, but Mr. Sefton was a crafty and
dangerous man, perhaps unscrupulous too. He remembered that light remark
of the bystander coupling the name of the Secretary and Lucia
Catherwood, and at the recollection the red flushed into his face.

"The Secretary is able and powerful," he said, "but not wholly to be
trusted. He is an intriguer."

Miss Grayson looked up with her quiet smile.

"Mr. Sefton has been kind to us," she said, "and he has made our life in
Richmond more tolerable. We could not be ungrateful, and I urged Lucia
to go with them to-day."

The colour flickered in the sensitive, proud face of Lucia Catherwood.

"But, Charlotte, I should have gone of my own accord, and it was a
pleasant drive."

There was a shade of defiance in her tone, and Prescott, restless and
uneasy, stared into the fire. He had expected her to yield to his
challenge, to be humble, to make some apology; but she did not, having
no excuses to offer, and he found his own position difficult and
unpleasant. The stubborn part of his nature was stirred and he spoke