d he spoken of Viola? And then, in the flight of fancies
which surged through his mind, there was one that he stayed and
detained. It was that he must see her again before she left town. He
looked at his watch: it lacked twenty minutes to ten, and on the impulse
of the moment he hailed a passing 'bus. It was inexplicable to him that
the night before she should have let him go without a word as to her
movements. It seemed to be understood that he was to come again to wish
her a pleasant journey. And when was he to come if not that very
evening? Surely at the time she had forgotten this engagement with the
Wainwarings, and some note had been left for him at the door. And if no
note had been left, then why should he not ask for her mother or wait
till she returned? A bell rang sharply through the vehicle and aroused
him from his reverie. He glanced up, and saw the driver eyeing him
through the machicoulis of glass. It was the fare he wanted, and as
Tristrem deposited it in the box he noticed that the familiar street was
reached.

In a few moments he was at the house. On the stoop a servant was
occupied with the mat.

"Is, eh, did----"

"Yes, sir," the man answered, promptly. "Miss Raritan is in the parlor."

In the surprise at the unexpected, Tristrem left his hat and coat, and
pushing aside the portiere, he entered the room unannounced. At first he
fancied that the servant had been mistaken. Miss Raritan was not at her
accustomed place, and he stood at the door-way gazing about in
uncertainty. But in an instant, echoing from the room beyond, he caught
the sound of her voice; yet in the voice was a tone which he had never
heard before--a tone of smothered anger that carried with it the accent
of hate.

Moved by unconscious springs, he left the door-way and looked into the
adjoining room. A man whom at first he did not recognize was standing by
a lounge from which he had presumably arisen. And before him, with both
her small hands clinched and pendent, and in her exquisite face an
expression of relentless indignation, stood Miss Raritan. Another might
have thought them rehearsing a tableau for some theatricals of the
melodramatic order, but not Tristrem. He felt vaguely alarmed: there
came to him that premonition without which no misfortune ever occurs;
and suddenly the alarm changed to bewilderment. The man had turned: it
was Royal Weldon. Tristrem could not credit his senses. He raised his
hand to his head: it did n