The feelings with which Douglas Dale prepared for his visit to Hilton House on the day following that on which Victor Carrington had made his full and candid explanation to Miss Brewer, were such as any woman--the purest, the noblest, the best--might have been proud of inspiring. They were full of love, trust, pity, and hope. Douglas Dale had by no means ceased to feel his brother's loss. No, the death of Lionel, and, even more, the terrible manner of that death, still pursued him in every waking hour--still haunted him in his dreams; but sorrow, and especially its isolating tendency, does but quicken and intensify feelings of tenderness in true and noble hearts. He drove up to Hilton House with glad expectancy, and his eyes were dim as he was ushered into the drawing-room in which Paulina sat. Madame Durski's emotions on this occasion were unspeakably painful. So well had Miss Brewer played her part, that she had persuaded Paulina her only chance of escape from immediate arrest lay in borrowing money, that very day, from Douglas Dale. Paulina's pride revolted; but the need was pressing, and the unhappy woman yielded. As she rose to return her visitor's greeting, and stood before him in the cold January sunset, she was indeed, in all outward seeming, worthy of any man's admiration. Remorse and suffering had paled her cheeks; but they had left no disfiguring traces on her perfect face. The ivory whiteness of her complexion was, perhaps, her greatest charm, and her beauty would scarcely have been enhanced by those rosy tints so necessary to some faces. To-day she had dressed herself to perfection, fully conscious of the influence which a woman's costume is apt to exercise over the heart of the man who loves her. Half an hour passed in conversation of a general nature, and then luncheon was announced. When Paulina and her visitor returned to the dreary room, they were alone; Miss Brewer had discreetly retired. "My dear Madame Durski!" exclaimed Douglas, when the widow had seated herself and he had placed himself opposite to her, "I cannot tell you what intense pleasure it gives me to see you again, and most of all because it leads me to believe that I can in some manner serve you. I know how secluded your habits have been of late, and I fancy you would scarcely so depart from them in my favour if you had not some real need of my service." This speech was peculiarly adapted to smoothe away the difficulties of Paulina's position. Douglas had long guessed the secret of her poverty, and had more than half divined the motive of her letter. He was eager to save her, as far as possible, from the painfulness of the request which he felt almost sure she was about to make to him.