of that course of honor which
had hitherto characterized Mr. Howe's principles and actions. He must
not sacrifice these even at the great risk of gaining the happiness of a
young and respected friend.

But the sight of the young lieutenant pleaded more eloquently than the
most glowing and pathetic language. His thoughtful eyes, his pure white
forehead, and clustering ringlets of chestnut hair, had a wealth of
appeal hidden beneath, conveying more subtle beauty than the production
of the countless volumes of mystic ages. Thus situated, the secretary
felt the awkwardness of his position. It was not curiosity that
prompted; it was a secret influence which the young lieutenant
inspired--an influence that held the former bound and enchained with no
means of escape at hand.

CHAPTER X.

THE INTERVIEW.

In a small but handsome reception room adjoining the library of Bereford
Castle sat its stately mistress, with an impatient and eager look upon
her countenance. Trifling with a pretty trinket which she has in her
hand, her ladyship is apparently ill at ease. Something has given cause
for annoyance and grave deliberation. An anxious and hasty glance
towards the door, shows that a visitor is momentarily awaited.

Taking advantage of these moments, I will occupy them in dilating upon a
few of the qualities and characteristics of the distinguished occupant.
Lady Bereford was a woman of shrewdness and capacity, possessing a
subtle weight of influence that bore with irresistible force, and was
stoutly prepared to resist an opposing element in any quarter. The
daughter of a London barrister of considerable reputation, her ladyship
dwelt with pride upon her fond preference for the legal profession. Her
conversation was frequently interspersed with learned remarks, savoring
of the inner temple, its dingy courts, volumes of dust and musty
manuscripts. "Evidence and proof" were leading points always at hand.
Caution was the inevitable watchword, based upon a scrutinizing and at
times heartless penetration. In short, the character of Lady Bereford
might be summed up in a few words--as a cool, clever and calculating
woman of the world--one not to be baffled by ordinary circumstances. On
the present occasion her eye has a fire in its depths that brooks no
interference. Her brows are knotted with an angry frown; as she raises
them hastily, the frown has departed. The small and still plump white
hand is extended. Sir Thomas Seym