"Scoundrel!" muttered Ernest, leaning forward so as to interpose a barrier to his insolence. "Did you speak to me, cousin Ernest?" asked Meg, with affected simplicity. He made no reply; and as the stranger did not turn again, I became so interested in the performance as to forget his bold ness. During the interlude between the plays, I begged Ernest to get me a glass of water. Meg made the same request of Mr. Harland, and for a short time we were left alone. The moment the gentlemen had left the box, the stranger rose and stepped into the box behind him, which brought him on a line with us, and close to me, as I was seated next to the partition. I did not look him in the face; but I could not help being conscious of his movements, and of the probing gaze he again fixed on me. I wished I had not asked for the water. I could have borne the faintness and oppression caused by the odor of the gas better than that dark, unshrinking glance. I dreaded the anger of Ernest on his return. I feared he would openly resent an insolence so publicly and perseveringly displayed. We were side by side, with only the low partition of the boxes between us, so near that I felt his burning breath on my cheek,--a breath in which the strong perfume of orris-root could not overcome the fumes of the narcotic weed. I tried to move nearer Meg, but her back was partially turned to me, in the act of conversing with some gentleman who had just entered the box, and she was planted on her seat firm as a marble statue. The stranger's hand rested on the partition, and a note fell into my lap. "Conceal this from your husband," said a low, quick voice, scarcely above a whisper, "or his life shall be the forfeit as well as mine." As he spoke, he lifted his right hand, exhibiting a miniature in its palm, in golden setting. One moment it flashed on my gaze, then vanished, but that glance was enough. I recognized the lovely features of my mother, though blooming with youth, and beaming with hope and joy.