He grasped her slim wrist in his strong hand. He brought his swarthy face and flashing eyes close to her shrinking face. "Thou didst give me much more than that till _he_ came amongst us--the upstart, the fine gentleman, the fop with the smooth speech and dainty dress! Thinkest thou I have not seen it all--how that thou dost seek to play us one against the other? But thou shalt never make a tool of me; I will have all or nothing! And I will wring the neck of any man who shall dare come betwixt me and my love!" The last words were hissed rather than spoken, and so cruel and fierce was the aspect of the speaker that Linda tore herself suddenly away and uttered a shriek of fear. The next moment the door was quickly opened from without, and Joanna Seaton appeared, with Lotta a little behind her, the latter wearing rather a strange look upon her handsome, haughty face, whilst her gaze glanced rapidly from one to the other of the occupants of the room. "Is aught amiss?" asked Joanna quickly; "methought that I heard a call." Roger turned upon his heel with one sinister glance over his shoulder, and made as if to depart. "I will finish what I have to say another day," he observed, "when thou art in a better frame for listening, fair Mistress Linda, and when thou hast something refreshed thy memory." "What does he mean?" asked Joanna, as Roger clanked down the stairs and Linda sank trembling upon a couch. "He is a bad man--I fear and I hate him!" she cried in panting breaths.--"Lotta, what hast thou done that he should say such things to me? It must have been thy doing! He has the agate heart that once I wore. None can have given him that but thou. And thou must have given him other tender tokens too, for he speaks of things of which I know naught. Sister, thou doest not well to show treachery to thine own flesh and blood!" Lotta tossed her handsome head, and a flush crept into her dusky cheek. Of late the likeness between the sisters had grown somewhat less. A softness and subtile charm had crept over Linda, whilst Lotta, though handsome as ever, had seemed to grow harder and more defiant in her proud beauty. Mistakes between the pair were of less frequent occurrence, and although it would be easy for Lotta to personate her sister of set purpose, the difference between them was becoming more clearly marked day by day. "What now, Linda?" quoth the other; "thou art always fancying some new thing. I have scant patience with thy whims. What do I know of thy trinkets, or of thy lovers? Thou art like a skilful bowman, who has a second string to his bow ready to hand. But when thou dost find that such a game has its perils, and that thou art playing with edge tools, prithee do not seek to drag me in to help thee out of the slough. It is a paltry trick, and unworthy of thy name." "But Lotta--"