r room, she went up the little stairway to his. She
surprised him ready dressed, standing by the fireplace, smiling faintly.
What was he thinking of, standing there with that smile? Was there blood
in him at all?

He inclined his head slightly and said:

"Good! Chaste as the night! Black suits you. Shall we find our way down
to these savage halls?"

And they went down.

Everyone was already there, waiting. A single neighbouring squire and
magistrate, by name Trusham, had been bidden, to make numbers equal.

Dinner was announced; they went in. At the round table in a dining-room,
all black oak, with many candles, and terrible portraits of departed
ancestors, Anna sat between the magistrate and Gordy. Mark was opposite,
between a quaint-looking old lady and a young girl who had not been
introduced, a girl in white, with very fair hair and very white skin,
blue eyes, and lips a little parted; a daughter evidently of the faded
Mrs. Doone. A girl like a silvery moth, like a forget-me-not! Anna
found it hard to take her eyes away from this girl's face; not that she
admired her exactly; pretty she was--yes; but weak, with those parted
lips and soft chin, and almost wistful look, as if her deep-blue
half-eager eyes were in spite of her. But she was young--so young! That
was why not to watch her seemed impossible. "Sylvia Doone?" Indeed! Yes.
A soft name, a pretty name--and very like her! Every time her eyes could
travel away from her duty to Squire Trusham, and to Gordy (on both of
whom she was clearly making an impression), she gazed at this girl,
sitting there by the boy, and whenever those two young things smiled and
spoke together she felt her heart contract and hurt her. Was THIS why
that something had gone out of his eyes? Ah, she was foolish! If every
girl or woman the boy knew was to cause such a feeling in her, what
would life be like? And her will hardened against her fears. She was
looking brilliant herself; and she saw that the girl in her turn
could not help gazing at her eagerly, wistfully, a little
bewildered--hatefully young. And the boy? Slowly, surely, as a magnet
draws, Anna could feel that she was drawing him, could see him stealing
chances to look at her. Once she surprised him full. What troubled eyes!
It was not the old adoring face; yet she knew from its expression that
she could make him want her--make him jealous--easily fire him with her
kisses, if she would.

And the dinner wore to an end. The