looked her steadily in
the face as I spoke. She returned my gaze with a strange stare and a gape,
which haunted me long after; and it seemed as we sat in utter silence that
each was rather horribly fascinated by the other's gaze.

At last she shut her mouth sternly, and eyes me with a more determined and
meaning scowl, and then said in a low tone--

'I believe, Maud, that you are a cunning and wicked little thing.'

'Wisdom is not cunning, Madame; nor is it wicked to ask your meaning in
explicit language,' I replied.

'And so, you clever cheaile, we two sit here, playing at a game of chess,
over this little table, to decide which shall destroy the other--is it not
so?'

'I will not allow you to destroy me,' I retorted, with a sudden flash.

Madame stood up, and rubbed her mouth with her open hand. She looked to me
like some evil being seen in a dream. I was frightened.

'You are going to hurt me!' I ejaculated, scarce knowing what I said.

'If I were, you deserve it. You are very _malicious_, ma chere: or, it may
be, only very stupid.'

A knock came to the door.

'Come in,' I cried, with a glad sense of relief.

A maid entered.

'A letter, please, 'm,' she said, handing it to me.

'For _me_,' snarled Madame, snatching it.

I had seen my uncle's hand, and the Feltram post-mark.

Madame broke the seal, and read. It seemed but a word, for she turned it
about after the first momentary glance, and examined the interior of the
envelope, and then returned to the line she had already read.

She folded the letter again, drawing her nails in a sharp pinch along the
creases, as she stared in a blank, hesitating way at me.

'You are stupid little ingrate, I am employ by Monsieur Ruthyn, and of
course I am faithful to my employer. I do not want to talk to you. _There_,
you may read that.'

She jerked the letter before me on the table. It contained but these
words:--

Bartram-Haugh:

'_30th January, 1845_.

'MY DEAR MADAME,

'Be so good as to take the half-past eight o'clock train to _Dover_
to-night. Beds are prepared.--Yours very truly,

SILAS RUTHYN.'

I cannot say what it was in this short advice that struck me with fear. Was
it the thick line beneath the word 'Dover,' that was so uncalled for, and
gave me a faint but terrible sense of something preconcerted?

I said to Madame--

'Why is "Dover" underlined?'

'I do not know, little fool, no more than you. How can I tell what is
passing in your