ce. What Hilda's feelings were could not
be told by her face. To outward appearance she was calm and unmoved,
and perhaps she felt so in her heart. It was possible that the
thought of Zillah's death did not make her heart beat faster by one
throb, or give her one single approach to a pang of remorse. Her
silence might have been merely the meditation of one who, having
completed one part of a plan, was busy thinking about the completion
of the remainder. And yet, on the other hand, it may have been
something more than this. Zillah in life was hateful, but Zillah dead
was another thing; and if she had any softness, or any capacity for
remorse, it might well have made itself manifest at such a time.
Gualtier sat looking at her in silence, waiting for her to speak
again, attending on her wishes as usual; for this man, who could be
so merciless to others, in her presence resigned all his will to
hers, and seemed to be only anxious to do her pleasure, whatever it
might be.

"Tell me about it," said Hilda at length, without moving, and still
keeping her eyes fixed abstractedly on the sea.

Gualtier then began with his visit to Zillah at Tenby. He spoke of
Zillah's joy at getting the letter, and her eager desire to be once
more with her friend, and so went on till the time of their arrival
at Marseilles. He told how Zillah all the way could talk of nothing
else than Hilda; of her feverish anxiety to travel as fast as
possible; of her fearful anticipations that Hilda might have a
relapse, and that after all she might be too late; how excited she
grew, and how despairing, when she was told that the steamers had
stopped running, and how eagerly she accepted his proposal to go on
in a yacht. The story of such affectionate devotion might have moved
even the hardest heart, but Hilda gave no sign of any feeling
whatever. She sat motionless--listening, but saying nothing. Whether
Gualtier himself was trying to test her feelings by telling so
piteous a story, or whether some remorse of his own, and some
compassion for so loving a heart, still lingering within him, forced
him to tell his story in this way, can not be known. Whatever his
motives were, no effect was produced on the listener, as far as
outward signs were concerned.

"With Mathilde," said he, "I had some difficulty. She was very
unwilling to leave her mistress at such a time to make a voyage
alone, but she was a timid creature, and I was able to work upon her
fears. I t