But supposing she was in error in thinking she had left the mask at Rockmount? In that case only one conclusion was open to her--that it was not Mr. Ellerslie, but Mr. Dare, who had returned it. One or the other of them it must be. If Mr. Dare were the sender of it, how woefully in error she must have been in assuming that he had not recognized her when they met accidentally at Lawn Cottage! And yet, by not so much as the flicker of an eyelid had he betrayed any knowledge, or even suspicion, of their ever having met before! If he did recognize her on that occasion, then of course her secret--the secret of her sex--was equally in his keeping. Perhaps he had known or guessed it from the first! Had he not, when she reeled and all but swooned in the saddle, caught her in his arms? and had she not, with wandering senses, lain for a little while--a very little while--in his embrace! Was it then he made the discovery, supposing it to have been made at all? Hardly had she asked herself the question before a delicious thrill went through her from crown to foot, and all the pulses of her being began to palpitate with a strange, new, sweet life, far sweeter than anything she had hitherto known. She felt as a chrysalis may feel when it bursts its husk and first spreads its wings to the sun. She sat for some little time, her face hidden in her hands, although she was alone, and her veins aglow with something that almost frightened her. Then on a sudden her mood changed: she sprang to her feet, and with clenched hands and hard-set face took to pacing her room from end to end, doing silent battle with herself meanwhile. Never had she been so assailed before, and she brought all the forces of her womanly pride to bear on the insidious foe that was undermining her outworks one by one. She had deemed herself invulnerable; she had, as it were, set herself on a pedestal as a being apart, whom the one great weakness of her sex--for such it seemed to her--could never touch. And now nature was beginning to revenge itself by proving to her that she was no stronger in some ways than the weakest of her weak sisters. But she would not yield, she would not give way, she told herself again and again with a sort of fierce despair, while conscious all the while that one bastion after another was crumbling before the enemy's assaults. "Shall not a woman remain mistress of her own fate?" she cried despairingly. In some things she shall, my dear Nell, but not in all, as you are proving to your cost. There is a power within you that is stronger than yourself. At length, sick and weary at heart, she cast herself on her bed and buried her face in the pillows. "Never, never will I submit!" she moaned. But even as the words escaped her some traitor in the garrison hauled down the flag which had flaunted itself so defiantly, and the citadel was won. But who the sender of the mask was remained as much a mystery as before. CHAPTER XIV. A FRESH ACTOR ON THE SCENE.