I went at once to the drawing-room, knowing she would be there. She was dressed in the deepest mourning, and her face was very pale. "I knew you would spare me a short time," she said. "I want to ask you a question that I could not ask any one else. Of course you were present when the will was read to-day?" She raised her eyes to mine. I knew not what magnetism, what spell lay in them; but no other eyes were like them. They compelled attention; a man could no more release himself from their glance than he could fly. I was not at all in love with her, yet those eyes held me spell-bound. "I want you to tell me," she said, "if there was any other will. Did--did Miles leave one?" As she put the question to me I saw that her lips were parched and burning, her white fingers so tightly clenched that they left great red marks. "No," I replied; "there was only one will, and that was Sir Barnard's." A great calm fell over her. After some minutes she looked at me again. "Was there any mention in that will of me?" I told her none. Once more she raised those resistless eyes to mine. "Then I am, indeed, alone in the world--alone and forsaken." "Nay, nay!" I cried, eagerly; "do not say so. Clare will take care of you." "And you?" she asked, in a voice that must have melted an anchorite. "I will help her--or, rather, I will take care of you both." "What is your sister like?" she asked, eagerly. "Is she very clever--very beautiful? Shall I be frightened at her?" "She is the sweetest and most gentle of girls--doubly gentle from her great affliction." "What affliction?" she asked eagerly, "you did not tell me there was anything the matter with her." "She has a spinal complaint," I replied, "and is unable to move." "Is it quite incurable?" she asked again. "We hope not; perhaps a change of air may do something for her; but even at the best, it will be years before she is able to go about." "I am so sorry," she said; "so very sorry. How sad for you and for her. I can understand why you want a companion for her; she can take no active share in the management of a large establishment like this." "No, no share at all. We will not decide anything until my sister comes; but it seems to me that she will be most thankful to have you here, that you will be more useful to her than I can say. She would not be able to see guests, give orders or anything of that kind." There was a strange light in her eyes, a strange, suppressed glitter in her face. "When will your sister come?" she next inquired. "I am going to-morrow to fetch her. There will be no need for you to make any alterations. You spoke of going away; there will be no need of that. I leave here to-morrow, and when my sister comes I suppose the sternest British propriety will be satisfied." She smiled. "I suppose so, too. And Sir Barnard has not even left me a mourning-ring? Well, I have so much less to be grateful for. The old servants were all remembered, I hope?"