For some seconds she resisted the impulse to look; but as she felt the glance withdrawn, she presently turned her eyes in the direction of the half-seen face, and then she started violently. Conrad Fitzgerald, his face pale and sharp, wearing a frightfully malevolent expression, was gazing, or rather glaring, at her husband, with eyes like those of a wild beast, in their fiery, hungry hate. Randolph, seated opposite her, reading the paper, was perfectly unconscious of the proximity of his foe; but Monica recoiled with a feeling of horror she could hardly have explained. The next moment the train had moved on. At least, it was some comfort to know that they were being rapidly carried in opposite directions. Yet it was long before she could forget the vindictive hatred of the gaze she had seen directed towards her husband. Would Conrad Fitzgerald ever do him the deadly injury he had vowed? CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. BACK AT TREVLYN. “Randolph! Can this really be Trevlyn?” The young countess stood in all her radiant loveliness upon the threshold of her old home, and turned her happy face towards the husband who stood beside her, watching with a smile in his eyes for the effect to be produced by his labour of love. “Can this really be Trevlyn?” “You seemed destined never to know your old home again when you have been banished from it, Monica,” he answered, smiling. “Well, is it as much changed as you expected?” “It is perfect,” said Monica simply; adding, after another long look round her: “If only my father could have seen this—could have lived to witness the realisation of his dream!” But he would not let her indulge one sad thought that should cloud the brightness of this happy home-coming. He kissed her gently in token of his sympathy, and then drew her towards the blazing fire, whose dancing flames were illuminating the great hall. “Does it realise your dream, too, my Monica?” he asked softly. She looked up in his face, deep feeling welling up in the glance of her soft dark eyes. “To be with you is my dream, Randolph. That is enough for me.” He saw that she was moved, and knew that the associations of Trevlyn, the old home, were crowding upon her. Without speaking, he led her towards a door, which in old days led to a room vast and empty, save for the odds and ends of lumber that gradually accumulated there. Monica glanced up in a sort of surprise as he turned the handle. Why was he taking her there? She paused on the threshold, and looked about her in mute amaze.