From the moment that he had appeared, Ada had never taken her eyes from off his face; she seemed like one fascinated by the basilisk eyes of a serpent, and, with a wild rush of mingled feelings, which she could neither define nor understand, she watched each varying expression of that cold, pale, haughty countenance that wore upon its surface so hollow and so artificial a smile. Learmont was one step below the Honourable Lady he was handing by the extreme tips of her fingers, into his house, when the officer, in what he thought a whisper, said to Ada,— “That’s him.” The guilty heart of Learmont throbbed even at this trifling remark, for it did reach his ears, and he turned suddenly to see who had uttered it, when his eyes met Ada’s, and for the space of about one moment they looked full at each other. The look on Ada’s part was one of intense and indescribable interest and curiosity, but on Learmont’s, it was that concentrated soul-stricken glare, with which a person might be supposed to regard for about a breathing space, some awful blasting spectre, ere nature gathers strength to scream. A wild unearthly cry burst from his lips, and he stretched out his hands towards her as he ascended the steps backwards, crying, or rather shrieking,— “Off—off—off—” Then as he reached the top he reeled into the hall of his house, and was caught by his servants as he fell insensible from the overwrought agony of his mind. CHAPTER LVIII. An Anecdote.—Sir Francis Hartleton’s House at Westminster.—The Reception.—Ada’s Conduct and Feelings. Ada was both astonished and alarmed at the sudden emotion of the man who, her reason told her, was a stranger to her; but who her imagination seemed notwithstanding to recognise as one who she must have seen before. Her memory concerning him was like one of those sudden strange feelings which occasionally come over us all, as we meet particular people who we are quite sure we have not met before, but who nevertheless wear not the aspect of strangers to us; people whom we could almost imagine we had been intimate with for good or evil, in some other state of existence long antecedent to this. On occasions of this singular nature too, there will always be a dim perception in the mind concerning the person so strangely recognised; which enables us to say, with certainty, whether the circumstances connected with him or her quite unremembered, though they maybe, were of a pleasing or a disagreeable character. To Ada, the full sight of Learmont’s face brought a sensation of shuddering horror, which assured her that wherever or whenever she and he had ever taken part together in the great drama of human existence, he was an enemy to be at once loathed and dreaded.