unsden said, as he opened it. "I
like my letters with my breakfast."

"Any for me, papa?" Harriet asked.

"One--from your governess in Paris, I think--and half a dozen for me."

He glanced carelessly at the superscriptions as he laid them down. But
as he took the last he uttered a low cry; his face turned livid: he
stared at it as if it had turned into a death's-head in his hand.

"Oh, papa--"

She stopped in a sort of breathless affright.

Captain Hunsden rose up. He made no apology. He walked to a window
and tore open his letter with passionate haste.

His daughter still stood--pale, breathless.

Suddenly, with a hoarse, dreadful cry, he flung the letter from him,
staggered blindly, and fell down in a fit.

A girl's shrill scream pierced the air. She sprung forward, thrust the
letter into her bosom, knelt beside her father, and lifted his head.
His face was dark purple, the blood oozed in trickling streams from his
mouth and nostrils.

All was confusion. They bore him to his room; a servant was dispatched
in mad haste for a doctor. Harriet bent over him, white as death. The
two young men waited, pale, alarmed, confounded.

It was an hour before the doctor came--another before he left the sick
man's room. As he departed, Harriet Hunsden glided into the apartment
where the young men waited, white as a spirit.

"He is out of danger; he is asleep. Pray leave us now. To-morrow he
will be himself again."

It was quite evident that she was used to these attacks. The young men
bowed respectfully and departed.

Sir Everard was in little humor, as he went slowly and moodily
homeward, for his mother's lecture.

"There is some secret in Captain Hunsden's life," he thought, "and his
daughter shares it. Some secret, perhaps, of shame and disgrace--some
bar sinister in their shield; and, good heavens! I am mad enough to
love her--I, a Kingsland, of Kingsland, whose name and escutcheon are
without a blot! What do I know of her antecedents or his? My mother
spoke of some mystery in his past life; and there is a look of settled
gloom in his face that nothing seems able to remove. Lord Ernest
Strathmore, too--he must come to complicate matters. She is the most
glorious creature the sun shines on; and if I don't ask her to be my
wife, she will be my Lady Strathmore before the moon wanes!"

CHAPTER XII.

MISS HUNSDEN SAYS "NO."

Sir Everard found his mother primed and loaded; but she nursed h