IN THE GARDEN OF THE GENTLEMAN-PENSIONER. Upon reaching the open air, Effingston paused for a moment that the shock occasioned by the admission of Elinor might in some degree pass from him. He had gone to her prepared for tears, protests and womanly anger, and despite the suspicion which had seized his heart, it had not been in his nature to believe the words of his father would so soon find confirmation. He felt, indeed, as one about to lay his head upon the block,--that he must cry out, yet his heart was clutched as by a giant hand, benumbing all his faculties so that pain and lethargy paralyzed his will. As he groped half blindly for the railing which flanked the narrow steps, the figure of a man confronted him, who, as he perceived the Viscount Effingston standing upon the threshold of Mistress Fawkes' dwelling, drew back quickly, his face dark with anger. 'Twas Sir Thomas Winter. In that instant all the calmness of the young nobleman returned to him. The sight of Winter, in whom he saw the bitter enemy of his house, and whom he now hated for a double reason, turned his pain into contempt for her who had so illy used him. Pride came to his aid, and he would have passed the other haughtily; but it was in no wise the purpose of Sir Thomas that the meeting should have so peaceful an ending. Rumor had reached him that the Viscount Effingston was too frequent a visitor at the house of one for whom he fostered, if not love, at least a fierce passion, and the presence of his rival, at the very door of the humble dwelling, aroused him to fury. With an angry frown distorting his features he advanced toward the spot where stood the Viscount, who, perceiving he had to deal with one in whom temper had overcome prudence, laid his hand upon the hilt of his rapier. It was not the purpose of Winter, however, to come to blows thus openly with one who was known to be in favor with the King. He therefore contented himself with obstructing the way in so insolent a manner, and with such malice in his eyes, that it sent the blood to the cheeks of Effingston, and he returned the gaze unflinchingly, saying quietly: "Come, if Sir Thomas Winter hath in mind aught to say to me, let it be done quickly, that I may go upon my way." At the same time he moved as though to pass. "Nay! My Lord of Effingston!" replied Winter turning his eyes upon the hand which rested on the jeweled sword hilt. "Fear not that in a street of London I would draw sword against thee, traitor though thou art. Thy royal master----" "Traitor!" cried Effingston, the red of his cheeks changing to the paleness of anger. "Traitor, sayest thou, Sir Winter?" "Aye!" replied Winter. "All London knoweth." The Viscount controlled himself by an effort. "Thy purpose is clear to me," said he coldly, "thou wouldst force a quarrel; so be it. Traitor, sayest thou? Perchance, thy mirror hath shown one to thee so frequently that the word is ever on thy tongue."