Margaret started, and turned her flashing eyes upon the smiling interrogator. "By what unworthy means have you ascertained my movements?" she demanded. "Why, dear Miss Walsingham, your housekeeper informed me, when I asked her the cause of your abrupt departure from me, that you had gone to see Mr. Davenport." The girl sat staring at him in dumb indignation. She had communicated her design to no one in the house and the colonel was telling her a lie to her very face. It was perfectly patent to her that he had dogged her footsteps. "Are you coming up to Castle Brand?" asked Gay, nervously staving off an expected explosion. "I--think not," answered the colonel, with a glance baleful as dead lights on a grave; "Miss Walsingham evidently is indifferent to my society. Why, do you know, doctor, I came here to-day expecting a delightful afternoon with her in the library, where first we met, and, like the lonely Marguerite of wicked Faust, she melted from my view, and I found but Mephistopheles taunting me at my elbow in the shape of old memories of years which might have been better spent--called up by the associations of the room." "She's shy yet--she's shy," said the doctor, in a prompting tone. "Ar'n't you, dear?" It was utterly out of Margaret's power to do anything but look at St. Udo Brand, as represented by the man among the withered leaves, with a cold stare of scorn. "The bleak wind is injuring Miss Walsingham's complexion," said the sneering voice again. "I will release her from the freezing process, and myself from Paradise. Good-evening." Dr. Gay drove his impassive ward up to the steps of Castle Brand, and set her down between the griffiths couchant, and she stood forlornly there clinging to his hand. "I am afraid to stay here alone," she whispered. "Do come and stay with me, dear doctor, until that terrible man is taken away." "I--I'm afraid Mrs. Gay might object to such an arrangement, dear; she is a person who--who generally objects--who is opposed to leaving her own home under any circumstances." "I did not think of Mrs. Gay. Well will you please ask Mr. Davenport to come? Will you implore him to come? He has nothing to keep him, and I am so defenseless here." "I will mention your request, but I think he will say what I feel without saying--it is a pity you left my house the way you did." With that parting shot, the little doctor bade his adieu, stepped into his gig, and cheerfully drove away. Oh, this horrible Waaste! Listen how the harsh wind moans over it, and rises into savage shrieks. The old trees creak and sigh like the surge of an angry sea; the ancient windows rattle in their stone sockets; the ghostly Brands all down the gallery seem to shudder in their massive frames, as if an ominous Present were casting its shadows back to their centuried Past: the face of Ethel, the beautiful, looks down upon the companion she once loved and cherished as if she would say, in the limitless pride of her heart: