ed
as if the candles suddenly required snuffing, and we ceased to laugh.
All spoke to him with respect, but with an inflection of the voice
which denoted that he was not one of us. As he carelessly passed round
the table all made a movement as he approached, scraping their chairs
on the bare floor, moving their glass of mulled wine, or altering the
position of their arms or legs. An indescribable appreciation of the
impression which he made upon others filled my heart. His isolation
from the sympathy of every person there gave me a pain and a pity, and
for the first time I felt a pang of tenderness, and a throe of pride
for him. But Alice, upon whom he never made any impression, saw
nothing of this; her gayety soon removed the stiffness and silence he
created. The party grew noisy again, except Ben, who had not broken
the silence into which he fell as soon as he saw Charles. The mulled
wine stood before him untouched. I moved to the corner of the table
to allow room for the chair which Charles was turning toward me. Ben
ordered more wine, and sent a glass full to him. Taking it from
the boy who brought it, I gave it to him. "Drink," I said. My voice
sounded strangely. Barely tasting it, he set the glass down, and
leaning his arm on the table, turned his face to me, shielding it with
his hand from the gaze of those about us. I pushed away a candle that
flared in our faces.

"You never drink wine?"

"No, Cassandra."

"How was the ride down?"

"Delightful."

"What about the new horse?"

"He is an awful brute."

"When shall we have a ride with him?"

"When you please."

The boy came in to say would we please go to the parlor; our room was
wanted for supper. An immediate rush, with loud laughing, took place,
for the parlor fire; but Charles and I did not move. I was busy
remaking the bow of my purple silk cravat.

"'I drink the cup of a costly death,'" Ben hummed, as he sauntered
along by us, hands in his pockets--the last in the room, except us
two.

"Indeed, Somers; perhaps you would like this too." And Charles offered
him his glass of wine.

Ben took it, and with his thumb and finger snapped it off at the stem,
tipping the wine over Charles's hand.

I saw it staining his wristband, like blood. He did not stir, but a
slight smile traveled swiftly over his face.

"I know Veronica," said Ben, looking at me. "Has this man seen _her_?"

His voice crushed me. What a barrier his expression of contempt made