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Etwald looked round for a chair, selected the most comfortable, and sat down with great deliberation. "I do love her," cried David, vehemently. "I have always loved her, and shall continue to do so until the day of my death. All the same, I shall never become her husband." Much to Judith's delight she kissed them all around, and then she hustled off after Miss Jinny, leaving them to themselves in the big, comfortable room..

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"Of course; but Isabella does not know that. She thinks--and on the face of it, with reason--that David killed Maurice out of jealousy." Bruce opened his eyes and sat up, piercing Patricia with a keen gaze. Evidently he found no reserve behind her words, for he broke into a laugh and shook his head at her. Lastly Etwald. It is difficult to describe the indescribable. He was austere in face, like Dante, with hollow cheeks, and a pallid hue which told of midnight studies. If he had passions, they could not be discerned in his features. Eye and mouth and general expression were like a mask. What actually lay behind that mask no one ever knew, for it was never off. His slightly hollow chest, his lean and nervous hands, and a shock of rather long, curling hair, tossed from a high forehead, gave Etwald the air of a student. But there was something sinister and menacing in his regard. He looked dangerous and more than a trifle uncanny. Physically, mentally, morally he was an enigma to the bovine inhabitants of Deanminster and Hurstleigh. "No," replied David, shortly. "I didn't!" He flung himself into a chair and resumed in a significant tone, "Lady Seamere didn't ask me, and if she had I couldn't have accepted in this dress. Besides, I am not the man whom she delights to honor. Now if Maurice had been there, Lady Meg--".