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The two young people looked steadfastly at the brilliantly-colored figure of the negress, standing in a statuesque attitude near the great iron gate. On either side of her waved the summer foliage of the trees; overhead the sun, like a burning eye, looked down from a cloudless sky, and beyond, the dusty white road showed distinctly through the slender bars of the gate. All was bright and cheerful and English, but in that sinister red figure, with its black face and hands, there was a suggestion of evil which seemed to dominate and poison the whole beautiful scene. Maurice felt Isabella shudder with nervous dread as she pressed closely to his side.,"What I say. It's no use your assuming that innocent air, Maurice. You have not treated Lady Meg well!","Maurice!" muttered Isabella, looking piteously at him.,"Why should it be strange?","Yes, my mother was. So you see, major, she could not have dropped the handkerchief in the bedroom of poor dear Maurice.",Sarby flushed and drew back with cold reserve.,"Well, we're turning another page of our lives," he said with a backward glance at the rooms where they had been so busy and so happy. "Who can say what will be written there?",Then, before I went to bed, I went round my garden and had family prayers with my flowers. I do that because they are all the family I've got, and God knows that all His budding things need encouragement, whether it is a widow or a snowball-bush. He'll give it to us!,Still, living with him might have adventures. I never saw such eyes! The girl he wanted to marry died of turberculosis, and he wears a locket with her in it yet. I'd like to reward him for such faithfulness. But then Alfred's been faithful too! I look at Ruth Clinton and realise how faithful, and my heart melts to him in my breast—my brain feels almost all melted away, too, so I had better keep the heart cold enough to manage, if I want anything left at all for him to come home to.,CHAPTER VII. THE RIVALS.,"Isn't it lovely and mysterious?" murmured Elinor, pausing to enjoy the sense of isolation that the obscurity of the blurred lamps emphasized. "I almost hate to lift the curtain. It may be so disappointing.","Yes. You owe it to me--your second father--to tell the truth. You owe it to your dead brother's memory--for assuredly Maurice was your brother.".