Instinctively Raymond Challoner’s eyes sought the door for the first glimpse of the woman who had cheated him out of a fortune by wedding the old miser, as his uncle was called--for his gold. He was standing in the shadow of the portières when she entered. One glance, and he could hardly repress the cry of amazement that hovered on his lips. His eyes encountered the tall, willowy figure of Queenie Trevalyn. Challoner hastily turned up his coat collar and pulled his felt hat down low over his eyes, that her eyes, in sweeping around the room, might not recognize him. “Mrs. Brown, I believe,” said the doctor, stepping forward and bowing profoundly to the lovely young woman who came hastily into the parlor, her costly silken robe trailing after her on the velvet carpet. “Yes,” she answered, adding in a hurried voice that somehow had a note of eager expectancy in it: “The servants tell me that my--my husband has met with an accident. I trust it is not of a serious nature.” “Yes--and no, madam,” replied the doctor, bluntly. “For a younger man the accident would be nothing. Your husband’s age is against him. It is all in the attention he receives whether he recovers or succumbs to it.” Was it only the doctor’s fancy, or did he behold a gleam of satisfaction in the eyes of the old man’s bride, as he uttered the last four words? CHAPTER XXX. HIS UNCLE’S BRIDE. The shock of finding Queenie Trevalyn the bride of his aged uncle can better be imagined than described. Raymond Challoner was fairly dumfounded at it. He could almost have believed his eyes were playing him some amazing trick in tracing such a resemblance, until he heard her speak. There was no mistaking that smooth, perfect, melodious voice that every one who heard it at Newport had likened unto the chiming of silver bells, it was so deliciously sweet. But just now there was a harsh, jarring strain in it that revealed all too plainly the nature of her thoughts and hopes. Glancing up at that moment she caught the eye of the young man who stood on the doctor’s left, with his coat collar turned up and his hat pulled so low down over his face that his eyes only were visible. She started confusedly. Where had she seen just such a pair of eyes as were those regarding her so fixedly? Where? The doctor’s voice recalled her to the fact that the old man who called her wife, the old man whom she had wedded for his fortune, was lying before her mortally hurt, and she must pretend great sorrow and anxiety concerning him, though she felt it not. At the first glance at the white old face lying against the pillow, her heart gave one wild leap. What if his injuries were fatal--and he should die? Then, ah, then she would be free to recall John Dinsmore, the man she had found out to her bitter cost that she really loved--and marry him.