ould have enjoyed had
he lived. And more--far more--does she know of the attack on me three
nights ago? Did she encourage--perhaps prompt--that attack? I must
watch her, study her for myself! The time is at hand, surely."

It was, indeed, for at that moment a knocking at the door told him
that the old man had come back for him. And so he went forth, prepared
to meet his hostess.

His conductor led him down the great stairs and back into the great
hall; then he knocked at a door on the left, and, on being bidden to
enter, opened the door and ushered St. Georges into the room.

A room large and vast, hung with great tapestries--representing here
battle and hunting scenes--with, at the end, a great oriel window over
which more tapestry was drawn, but beneath which could be seen the
brackets, or corbels, supporting it. Near this was the great marble
chimney-piece, the jambs richly carved with figures, the mantel six
feet from the floor, and in the grate a huge wood fire burning. And by
a table in front of this there sat, as he saw by the light of a large
clear lamp, two women, one almost old and the other young.

Coming in out of the sombre hall, the light of the fire and lamp
dazzled him so that at first he could see nothing beyond the fact that
they were two female forms which rose at his entrance; then, while he
advanced to meet them as they came forward, he heard a soft voice say:

"Monsieur St. Georges visits on behalf of his Majesty. He is very
welcome.--Monsieur, let me present you to my daughter, Mademoiselle de
Roquemaure."

In the instant that he was bowing with easy grace before them, and
while they in their turn observed the tall, gallant form of the
soldier, his long, curling hair, long mustaches, and somewhat
weather-worn riding dress, there flashed through his mind the
thought: "Can this be the she-wolf who sends her whelp forth to
midnight murder? Can she have had a hand in that foul attack?" Then,
aloud, he murmured his thanks for her reception, and looking his
hostess straight in the face, observed the features of the woman who,
as he believed, his father had once loved.

Her hair was almost white now, yet rich and beautiful, and still with
some of the original brown left in it, her eyes soft and clear, her
features delicate and telling plainly of the beauty that had been. And
as he gazed at the daughter standing by her side--a girl but just
entering womanhood, a girl whose hazel eyes looked out at