They wandered aimlessly over the frosty snow, side by side, and scarce speaking a word, a lowering sky overhead, and a bleak wind in their faces. Margaret had mused over her next step until her thoughts were madness to her; and, as yet, no solution had come of the way out of her position. She had not gathered bravery enough to set another snare for her enemy, and had nervously avoided seeing him since her last discomfiture; and, too, she had heard that he was away in London, basking in the smiles of Lady Juliana. But, while revolving the next step to be taken, she was doomed to meet her enemy face to face at a time she imagined him in London. At a turn of the path the two women came full upon the colonel, shuffling along, with his head bent, and his eyes on a book. He thrust it hastily in a breast-pocket of his overcoat, and accosted them with an insolent leer. "How is the fair lady after her week's seclusion?" snarled he. "Nothing bettered by this interruption to it," returned she, coming to a dead stop from sheer inability to support herself. "Permit me," said the colonel, forcing Margaret to lean upon his arm, "this attack of agitation is so severe that I who have caused it should render my poor services in removing it." He bent with an ogreish smile to look into her eyes. "Leave me," breathed the wretched girl, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. "How dare you molest me sir?" "Dear Margaret," sneered the man, bending near her dead white face, "why will you hold your slave at such a distance? I who hope to be co-heir of that goodly pile beyond us before this year is out? Ten days, my dearest--only ten days to wait, and then the month is out." She could only look at him silently; her lips moved in haughty protest, but no words came to her aid; she walked by his side dumb as death. The good old housekeeper kept by her other side and held her passive hand, comforting her in her kindly fashion by patting and pressing it, or the poor girl's terror would have overcome her altogether. Suddenly Margaret ceased the struggle of attempting to draw her hand from his arm, and turned her averted face toward him. Her eyes stole over him attentively, she marked his dress and his manner with a fixed intensity--an idea bad taken possession of her which she could not drive away. Again and again her eye returned to its scrutiny of the man, and the hand which Mrs. Chetwode was caressing, closed itself convulsively as if it held something it must keep, come life or come death. Her hand which lay upon his arm quivered against his heart as if there was something there she longed to seize. When they reached the griffins now squatting on their snow-covered pedestals, Margaret broke her bitter silence by a forced request. "Honor me by an interview, sir." "Whom have I to meet this time?" he asked, with a boding smile. "No one sir. Are you afraid of meeting strangers, Colonel Brand?" He bowed sardonically, and followed her into the hall.