d Lilias
shivered, and grew pale.

"Go on," said Walter, breathlessly.

"He lifted up his hand, and struck her with a hard, fierce blow, which
sent her reeling away to death in the boiling sea; for death it would
have been, had not a sailor caught her dress and upheld her till the
wave was passed."

"How horrible!" exclaimed Walter.

"Oh, miserable to be thus rescued! Happy--thrice happy had she died,"
said a deep-toned, mournful voice behind her.

Lilias started uncontrollably, and looked round. The words had been
spoken very low, and as if unconsciously, like a soul holding converse
with some other soul, rather than a human being communicating with those
of her own kind; yet she felt that they came from Aletheia, who had been
sitting for the last hour like an immovable statue, in a high-backed
oaken chair, where the shadow of the heavy curtain fell upon her. She
had remained there pale and still as marble, her head laid back in the
attitude that seemed habitual to her; the white cheek seeming yet whiter
contrasted with the crimson velvet against which it lay; and the hand
folded as in dumb, passive resignation on her breast. But now, as she
uttered these strange words, a sudden glow passed over her face, like
the setting sun beaming out upon snow; the eyes, so seldom raised,
filled with a liquid light, the chest heaved, the lips grew tremulous.

"What! Aletheia," exclaimed Walter, "happy, did you say--happy to die by
that cruel blow?"

"Most happy--oh! most blessed to die by a blow so sweet from the hand
she loved."

Her voice died into a broken whisper; a few large tears trembled in her
mournful eyes, but they did not fall; the unwonted color faded from her
face, and in another moment she was as statue-like as ever, and with the
same impenetrable look, which made Lilias feel as if she never should
have either the wish or the courage to address her. Her astonishment and
utter horror at Aletheia's strange remark were, however, speedily
forgotten in the stronger emotion caused her by an incident which
occurred immediately after. Sir Michael had not been in the room since
dinner-time, and now he suddenly entered. He came forward with a rapid
step towards Lady Randolph, and even she seemed to quail beneath the
steady gaze of his angry eye. He stood before her for a moment, as if
the rage that swelled his bosom were too great for utterance; and his
face became of the color of iron white with heat.

"Lady Randol