On entering she saw a tall man standing there, with his back turned toward the door, looking up at a portrait of the late Earl. So intently was he occupied that he did not hear her entering; but a slight noise, made by a chair as she passed it, startled him, and he turned and looked at her, disclosing to her curious yet apprehensive gaze the full features and figure of the new Lord Chetwynde. On that instant, as he turned and faced her, she took in his whole face and mien and stature. She saw a broad, intellectual brow, covered with dark clustering hair; a face bronzed by the suns of India and the exposure of the campaign, the lower part of which was hidden by a heavy beard and mustache; and a tall, erect, stalwart frame, with the unmistakable air of a soldier in every outline. His mien had in it a certain indescribable grace of high breeding, and the commanding air of one accustomed to be the ruler of men. His eyes were dark, and full of quiet but resistless power; and they beamed upon her lustrously, yet gloomily, and with a piercing glance of scrutiny from under his dark brows. His face bore the impress of a sadness deeper than that which is usually seen--sadness that had reigned there long--a sadness, too, which had given to that face a more sombre cast than common, from some grief which had been added to former ones. It was but for a moment that he looked at her, and then he bowed with grave courtesy. Hilda also bowed without a word, and then waited for Lord Chetwynde to speak. But Lord Chetwynde did not speak for some time. His earnest eyes were still fixed upon the one before him, and though it might have been rudeness, yet it was excusable, from the weight which lay on his soul. [Illustration: "Hilda Stood There, Calm, Watchful, And Expectant."]