Lady Wynde’s eyes glittered like balls of jet. She had estimated rightly the childlike trust of Neva in her father’s love and devotion to her. “She accepts the whole thing as gospel!” thought the delighted schemer. “Our success is certain. But let me see how she takes it, when she finds what the ‘request’ is.” Neva perused the letter slowly, and again and again, with careful deliberation. Her surprise became apparent on her features, but there was no disbelief, no distrust, betrayed on her truthful face. But a wan whiteness overspread her cheeks and lips, and a weary look came into her eyes, as she folded the letter at last and hid it in her bosom. She bent her head as if in prayer, and murmured words which Lady Wynde tried in vain to hear. They were simple--only these: “It is very strange--very strange; but papa meant it for the best. He feared to leave me unprotected, and a prey to fortune-hunters. Who is this Rufus Black? Oh, if papa had only mentioned Lord--Lord Towyn!” The very thought brought a vivid scarlet to Neva’s face in place of her strange pallor, and as if frightened at her own thought, she arose and went to the open window, and leaned upon the casement. Lady Wynde stole back to her couch, and she was sitting upon it the picture of languor when Neva returned, very pale now and subdued, and with a shadow of trouble in her eyes. “Have you finished your letter so soon, dear?” asked the step-mother, sweetly. “I believe I can guess what were the last injunctions to you of your dear father. He often told me of his plans for you. Shall you do as he desired?” Again the glowing scarlet flush covered Neva’s cheeks, lips, even her slender throat. “My father’s last wishes are a command to me,” she said, slowly, yet as if her mind were quite made up to obey the supposed wishes of her father. “It was Sir Harold’s request that you should marry a young man in whom he took considerable interest--one Rufus Black, was it not?” asked Lady Wynde. Neva uttered a low assent. “And you will marry this young fellow?” “My father liked him well enough to make him my--my husband,” said Neva. “I can trust my father’s judgment in all things. I never disobeyed papa in his life, and I cannot disobey him now that he seems to speak to me from Heaven. If--if Rufus Black ever proposes marriage to me, and if he is still worthy of the good opinion papa formed of him, I--I--” Her voice broke down, as she remembered the fair, boyish face, the warm blue eyes, the tawny hair and noble air of Lord Towyn, and again with inward shame the question framed itself in her mind--why could not her father have recommended to her affection young Arthur Towyn, whom her father had loved next to his own son? Why must he desire her to marry a man she had never seen? “You will marry Rufus!” demanded Lady Wynde, as the girl’s pause became protracted. Neva bowed her head--she could not speak.