How strange, Brownie thought, that the note should thus have fallen into her hands. “Surely, there is Providence in it,” she murmured, as, with one swift glance to see that Lady Ruxley was not observing her, she hid it in her bosom, and then hurriedly completed her task. The operetta was sent to Lady Randal, and the box of papers returned to their accustomed place; but all day long Brownie felt as if a mountain was crushing her heart, with that little paper lying in her bosom. She felt she could not breathe in the same house and under the same roof which sheltered the woman who had deliberately planned to entrap a young and guileless girl into disgracing both herself and her lover, that she might separate them forever, hoping to win him for herself. She wondered if Lady Ruxley knew of her share in the event, or if Lord Dunforth had ever found it out. Probably not, since they were still good friends, and had he known of it he could not have forgiven so bitter a wrong. The more she thought of these things, the more her heart rebelled against them, until she grew so restless and nervous that she nearly cried out with pain whenever any one spoke to her. About four o’clock, finding that Lady Ruxley was sleeping, she stole out, thinking to get away into the sunshine and calm herself, and perhaps Adrian would come ere long, and she could share her burden with him; at all events, he would comfort her. She opened the door and passed noiselessly out into the hall. She had nearly traversed the long corridor leading to the grand staircase, when she almost ran against some one who suddenly came out of a room she was passing. “I beg your pardon,” Brownie murmured, and then looked up to see who it was. It was none other than Isabel Coolidge! Instantly the two girls braced themselves for the encounter, and looked the surprise which neither of them for the moment could speak. “You here?” Isabel exclaimed, at length, growing white, while her eyes emitted a lurid light. “Yes, Miss Coolidge,” gently replied Brownie, yet with lifted eyebrows and a calm, scornful look into her enemy’s face. “How came you here?” “Pardon me, but I have neither the time nor the inclination to relate the train of circumstances which brought me here,” she said, coldly. “Insolence! Then it was you whom I heard singing down at Lady Ruxley’s villa the other day!” “Doubtless, since I sing to her ladyship every day.” “What an appreciative listener you must have in that old, crooked back,” sneered Isabel. Brownie’s eyes blazed, dangerously. “I presume Sir Charles Randal would be much edified with Miss Coolidge’s remark regarding his aged aunt,” she said. Isabel looked frightened for a minute, then replied, with a short laugh: