A few evenings afterwards, Lester Vane presented himself at the door of the house in which Lotte dwelt. A child opened the door, and he, having had a full description from Malcolm of the part of the building in which Lotte was located, ascended the stairs with a noiseless footstep, and paused before her room-door. He listened; all was quiet within. He opened the door, and entered--to find himself suddenly face to face with Helen Grahame. Both started, and uttered an exclamation of astonishment. Perhaps the intensity of surprise was exhibited in a greater degree by Lester Vane than by Helen; yet it flashed through his mind that Malcolm Grahame had appeared fidgetty and uneasy while being questioned respecting his sister, and the place where he said she had gone to pay a visit. A glance at Helen told him that something grave had happened, that she had quitted home under circumstances of an unfavourable kind, though what they could be he was wholly at a loss to divine. He felt, too, that at that moment he was master of the situation, and the revenge he had promised himself was within his reach. How did she feel? She, who had contemplated leading this man on by the small stratagems of a heartless coquette to become her adoring slave, that she might, at an instant, turn on him and crush him with her scorn. Oh! she was humiliated indeed; never did she feel the beauty and the value of truthfulness so much as now. Vane was the first to speak; he fastened his eye upon her with the insulting gaze of an impudent libertine. “Miss Grahame,” he said, “this is a pleasure wholly unexpected. My star is indeed in the ascendant.” Helen drew herself up to her full height. She felt the whole force of the insult conveyed by his eyes, his voice, and his words. She responded with a stern, haughty gaze. “Mr Vane,” she replied, “I am at a loss to account for your presence here; it is unbidden and unwished for, no less than it is intrusive. I request that you will retire.” “Excuse me, Helen----” “Sir----” “Well, if you prefer it, Miss Grahame, Has Miss Grahame so soon forgotten the language her eyes have at times addressed to me beneath her father’s roof? Does she expect that she is to spread her wiles with a result satisfactory only to herself, that she is to ensnare the eagle, and that act is to suffice to tame him too? She tried to take captive my poor susceptible heart; and if she has succeeded, should she wonder and feel insulted that I desire some return----” “You are unmanly--you are contemptibly base. You would not dare thus to insult me, but that you, coward-like, see that I am alone and unprotected. Leave me instantly,” she cried, with a proud, impatient, passionate gesture of her hand.