She sighed, and turned restlessly on her pillow. “I believe Craven Black to be a villain,” her thoughts ran presently. “He made love to me when he was already engaged to marry my father’s widow. I am sure he hates me now. Perhaps he has perverted her mind against me? Perhaps she never liked me? I was never allowed to come back to my own home after she entered it, not even when dear papa died, and my heart seemed breaking, until Madame Dalant wrote that my school-days should terminate, and that I ought to be allowed to enter society. Mrs. Black has a caressing manner toward me, and flatters me, but I am sure she does not love me. Perhaps the two are my enemies? If so, how completely I am in their power, having even left my faithful maid behind me, at Mrs. Black’s request. I fear I have been blind--blind!” Poor Neva was now thoroughly alarmed. She remembered a score of incidents, scarcely noticed at the time that went far to confirm the truth of her sudden suspicion that Mr. and Mrs. Craven Black were her enemies and that they were conspiring against her. She struggled with her conviction, calling herself foolish, romantic and ungrateful, but the conviction remained. The fact that the yacht had been engaged for the voyage to Yorkshire, when she expected to go by train, and that she had not been told of the proposed route until her arrival in London, recurred to her unpleasantly, and as something of sinister moment. The fact also, that Mrs. Craven Black had a keen personal interest in Neva’s marriage to Rufus Black, now for the first time obtruded itself upon the young girl. “Rufus is Craven Black’s son,” she said to herself, “and if I were married to Rufus, Craven Black would probably assume control of all my property! I acquit Rufus of any share in the conspiracy, but he is so weak of will that he would not dare to resist his father, who could appropriate half my income to his own use. Can this be Craven Black’s design? Can Craven Black have forged that last letter purporting to come from papa? And does Octavia know his designs, and willingly aid him to carry them out? I must study them closely, without seeming to do so. I must be on my guard.” With thoughts like these, Neva tossed upon her pillow for hours, until long after Craven Black and his bride had retired to their state-room, and silence had fallen upon the cabin, and the creaking of a block, or the rattling of cordage, or a voice or footstep on the little deck, sounded through the night with startling loudness, and as something new and strange. At last she fell asleep, but her slumber was not refreshing, and she was looking very pale and worn when, after a careful toilet in the morning, she came out into the cabin. The breakfast was spread upon the table and Mr. and Mrs. Craven Black were seated upon a divan, conversing in whispers. They started guiltily at Neva’s appearance, and Mrs. Black cried out gayly: