As she raised her voice, the stranger turned his head, and again I met them,--those strange, basilisk eyes. They seemed to drink my heart's blood. It is scarcely metaphorical to say so, for every glance left a cold, deadly feeling behind. "Come, Gabriella," said Ernest; "if Miss Melville wishes it, she can remain with Mr. Harland. I will send back the carriage for them." "To be sure I wish it," cried Meg. "They say the best part of the amusement is to come. Gabriella has a poor opinion of my nursing, so I will not cast my pearls away. I am glad _I_ have not any nerves, my dear little sensitive plant. It _is_ a terrible thing to be too attractive to venture abroad!" The latter part of the sentence was uttered in a whisper, while suppressed laughter convulsed her frame. Ernest did not open his lips as he conducted me from the theatre to the carriage, and not a word was spoken during our homeward ride. The rattling of the pavements was a relief to the cold silence. Instead of occupying the same seat with me, Ernest took the one opposite; and as we passed the street lamps they flashed on his face, and it seemed that of a statue, so cold and impressive it looked. What did he suspect? What had I done to cause this deep displeasure? He knew not of the note which I had concealed, of the words which still hissed in my ears. The bold gaze of the stranger would naturally excite his anger against him, but why should it estrange him from me? I had yet to learn the wiles and the madness of his bosom enemy. When I took his hand, as he assisted me from the carriage I started, for it was as chill as ice, and the fingers, usually so pliant and gentle in their fold, were inflexible as marble. I thought I should have fallen to the pavement; but exerting all the resolution of which I was mistress, I entered the house, and passed under the dim glitter of the silvery drapery into my own apartment. I had barely strength to reach the sofa, on which I sunk in a state of utter exhaustion. I feared I was going to faint, and then they would loosen my dress and discover the fatal note. "Wine!" said I to the chambermaid, who was folding my opera cloak, which I had dropped on the floor; "give me wine. I am faint." I remembered the red wine which Dr. Harlowe gave me, after my midnight run through the dark woods, and how it infused new life into my sinking frame. Since then I had been afraid to drink it, for the doctor had laughingly assured me, that it had intoxicated, while it sustained. Now, I wanted strength and courage, and it came to me, after swallowing the glowing draught. I lifted my head, and met the cold glance of Ernest without shivering. I dared to speak and ask him the cause of his anger.