of an eye.

They were strangers to each other still, and yet this cruel, terrible
thing called love had broken down all the barriers in her heart, melted
the disdainful ice, and turned it to fire. She felt she wanted to caress
him, and take away the stern, hard look from his face. She wanted to be
gentle, and soft, and loving--to feel that she belonged to him. And she
passionately longed for him to kiss her and clasp her to his heart.
Whether he had consented originally to marry her for her uncle's money
or not, was a matter, now, of no further importance. He had loved her
after he had seen her, at all events, and she had thrown it all away.
Nothing but a man's natural jealousy of his possessions remained.

"Oh, why did I not know what I was doing!" she moaned to herself, as she
rocked in the chair. "I must have been very wicked in some former life,
to be so tortured in this!"

But it was too late now. She had burnt her ships, and nothing remained
to her but her pride. Since she had thrown away joy she could at least
keep that and never let him see how she was being punished.

And to-night it was her turn to look in anguish at the closed door, and
to toss in restless pain of soul, on her bed.

CHAPTER XXVII

A bombshell, in the shape of Lady Betty Burns, burst into the bedroom of
Emily and Mary next morning, while the two girls were sitting up in
their great bed at about eight o'clock, reading their letters and
sipping their tea.

"May I come in, darlings?" a voice full of purpose said, and a flaxen
head peeped in.

"Why, Betty, of course!" both girls answered and, in a blue silk
dressing-gown and a long fair plait of hair hanging down, Lady Betty
stalked in.

None of the Council of Three, going to deliver secret sentence, could
have advanced with more dignity or consciousness of the solemnity of the
occasion. Emily and Mary were thrilled.

"Be prepared!" she said dramatically, while she climbed to the foot of
the bed and sat down. "It is just what I told you. She's been the
heroine of a murder--if she did not do it herself!"

"Heavens! Betty, who?" almost screamed the girls.

"Your sister-in-law! I had to come at once to tell you, darlings. Last
night, Aunt Muriel (the young Lady Melton was her uncle's second wife
and chaperoning her to the party) would drag me into her room, and I
could not get to you. You would have been asleep when I at last escaped,
so I determined to come the first thing this