ion
in a garrison town; the odd scene of his visit to General Pomeroy's
lodgings soon faded into the remote past; and the projected marriage
was banished in his mind to the dim shades of a remote future. As for
the two old men, they only met once or twice in all these years.
General Pomeroy could not manage very well to leave his daughter, and
Lord Chetwynde's health did not allow him to visit Pomeroy. He often
urged the General to bring Zillah with him to Chetwynde Castle, but
this the young lady positively refused to consent to. Nor did the
General himself care particularly about taking her there.

Pomeroy Court was a fine old mansion, with no pretensions to
grandeur, but full of that solid comfort which characterizes so many
country houses of England. It was irregular in shape, and belonged to
different periods; the main building being Elizabethan, from which
there projected an addition in that stiff Dutch style which William
and Mary introduced. A wide, well-timbered park surrounded it, beyond
which lay the village of Pomeroy.

One morning in June, 1856, a man came up the avenue and entered the
hall. He was of medium size, with short light hair, low brow, light
eyes, and thin face, and he carried a scroll of music in his hand. He
entered the hall with the air of an habitue, and proceeded to the
south parlor. Here his attention was at once arrested by a figure
standing by one of the windows. It was a young girl, slender and
graceful in form, dressed in black, with masses of heavy black hair
coiled up behind her head. Her back was turned toward him, and he
stood in silence for some time looking toward her. At last he spoke:

"Miss Krieff--"

The one called Miss Krieff turned and said, in an indifferent
monotone: "Good-morning, Mr. Gualtier."

Turning thus she showed a face which had in it nothing whatever of
the English type--a dark olive complexion, almost swarthy, in fact;
thick, luxuriant black hair, eyes intensely black and piercingly
lustrous, retreating chin, and retreating narrow forehead. In that
face, with its intense eyes, there was the possibility of rare charm
and fascination, and beauty of a very unusual kind; but at the
present moment, as she looked carelessly and almost sullenly at her
visitor, there was something repellent.

"Where is Miss Pomeroy?" asked Gualtier.

"About, somewhere," answered Miss Krieff, shortly.

"Will she not play to-day?"

"I think not."

"Why?"

"The usual cause.