"I would like to see Mrs. Lyon," she said, hesitatingly, to the servant who answered her summons. "Please do not refuse me," she said, clasping her little white hands pleadingly. "I must see her at once. It is a question of life or death with me. Oh, sir, please do not refuse me. I must see her at once--and--all alone!" CHAPTER XXII. In the beautiful drawing-room at Whitestone Hall sat Pluma Hurlhurst, running her white, jeweled fingers lightly over the keyboard of a grand piano, but the music evidently failed to charm her. She arose listlessly and walked toward the window, which opened out upon the wide, cool, rose-embowered porch. The sunshine glimmered on her amber satin robe, and the white frost-work of lace at her throat, and upon the dark, rich beauty of her southern face. "Miss Pluma," called Mrs. Corliss, the housekeeper, entering the room, "there is a person down-stairs who wishes to see you. I have told her repeatedly it is an utter impossibility--you would not see her; but she declares she will not go away until she does see you." Pluma turns from the window with cold disdain. "You should know better than to deliver a message of this kind to me. How dare the impertinent, presuming beggar insist upon seeing me! Order the servants to put her out of the house at once." "She is not young," said the venerable housekeeper, "and I thought, if you only would--" "Your opinion was not called for, Mrs. Corliss," returned the heiress, pointing toward the door haughtily. "I beg your pardon," the housekeeper made answer, "but the poor creature begged so hard to see you I did feel a little sorry for her." "This does not interest me, Mrs. Corliss," said Pluma, turning toward the window, indicating the conversation was at an end--"not in the least." "The Lord pity you, you stony-hearted creature!" murmured the sympathetic old lady to herself as the door closed between them. "One word wouldn't have cost you much, Heaven knows, it's mightly little comfort poor old master takes with you! You are no more like the bonny race of Hurlhursts than a raven is like a white dove!" And the poor old lady walked slowly back to the dark-robed figure in the hall, so eagerly awaiting her. "There was no use in my going to my young mistress; I knew she would not see you. But I suppose you are more satisfied now." "She utterly refuses to see me, does she," asked the woman, in an agitated voice, "when you told her I wished to see her particularly?" The housekeeper shook her head. "When Miss Pluma once makes up her mind to a thing, no power on earth could change her mind," she said; "and she is determined she won't see you, so you may as well consider that the end of it." Without another word the stranger turned and walked slowly down the path and away from Whitestone Hall.