"I don't know," replied he, lazily. "Bring it to me; I will see." He was inwardly wondering at her cool acceptance of the situation; and felt inclined to congratulate himself. Seeing her look at the little weapon doubtfully, he laughed and strode to her side, taking it in his hand. "It is not loaded," he said. "Did you ever fire a pistol?" "No; show me how to hold it." He placed it in her hand, and showed her how to manipulate the trigger, and to take aim. "I should like to see it loaded," she said, at last. "And so you shall." He smiled, and crossing the room took from a little inlaid box a handful of cartridges. Madeline watched him attentively, as he explained to her the operation of loading. At length expressing herself satisfied, and declining his invitation to try and load it herself, she turned away. Davlin extracted the cartridge from the pistol, and returned it to its place, saying: "You might wish to practice at aiming, and won't want it loaded." "I shall not want such practice," she replied. A rap at the door, and the servant announced that dinner was come. "I ordered our dinner here, to-day," explained Lucian, "thinking it would be more cosy. You may serve it, Henry," to the servant. Dinner was accordingly served, and Lucian found occasion to criticise, very severely, the manner of his serving man. More than once, his voice took on an intolerant tone. Sitting opposite, Madeline saw the man, as he stood behind his master's chair, dart upon him a look of hatred. Her lips framed a smile quite new to them; and, after dessert was placed upon the table and the man dismissed, she said: "You don't like your servant, I judge?" "Oh, he's as good as any," replied Lucian, carelessly. "They are pretty much alike, and all need a setting back occasionally;--on general principles, you know." "I suppose so," assented Madeline, indifferently, as if the subject had lost all interest for her. Slowly the afternoon wore on, moments seeming hours to the despairing girl. At length Lucian, finding her little inclined to assist him in keeping up a conversation, said: "I am selfish not to remember that you are very tired. I will leave you to solitude and repose for a little time, shall I?" "If you wish," she replied, wearily. "I suppose I need the rest." "Then I will look in upon some of my friends. I have almost lost the run of city doings during my absence. Meantime, ring for anything you may need, won't you?" "I will ring;" and she looked, not at him, but at the bracket beyond. "Then good-by, little sweetheart. It is now four; I will be with you at six." He embraced her tenderly, and went out with that _debonnair_ grace which she had so loved. She looked after him with a hungry, hopeless longing in her eyes.