At the end of half a dozen years the second Lady Pengarvon went the way of her predecessor, fading slowly out of life under the cold, watchful eyes of Miss Barbara and her sister, which seemed to say, "We know you can't last long, and we shall not mourn you over-much when you are gone." She left behind her one little daughter, Isabel by name, who was at once packed off to a sister of her mother, near London; then the two Misses Pengarvon breathed more freely, and felt that Providence had not been unkind to them. Meanwhile, Sir Jasper had resumed his old career in London as though there had never been a break in it. The young ladies saw little more of their father after the second Lady Pengarvon's death than they had before. He went down to Broome occasionally for a few days at a time, but that was all. He lived five years longer; then one morning he was found dead in his Mayfair lodging with a bullet through his heart. Once more he had come to the end of his resources. It was hopeless to think of marrying a third fortune. There stared him in the face an old age of obscure penury away from the haunts he loved so well, and the prospect daunted him. He died as he had lived, an utter pagan. A few years later, the aunt with whom Isabel had gone to live died, and Miss Pengarvon found herself under the necessity of sending Barney Dale for the child, there being no other home for her than Broome. Isabel at this time was a blue-eyed, yellow-haired little lady of seven, the very presentment in features and expression of a certain youthful Miss Pengarvon whose portrait by Sir Joshua graced the gallery at Broome. In truth, the drysalter's little grand-daughter had all the traditional beauty of the women of her father's race--a beauty which had so unaccountably lapsed in the case of her elder half-sisters, niece though their mother had been to an earl. It was in the dusk of an autumn afternoon that Barney Dale and his charge reached Broome. The Misses Pengarvon were awaiting the child in the old oak parlor, which even on the brightest day in summer was gloomy and full of strange shadows. The elder sister came forward a step or two, and taking Isabel by the hand, gazed down in frowning silence on the fair young face, which returned her look with wondering, frightened eyes. A faint momentary color flushed her sallow cheeks. Then she stooped and pressed her thin, cold lips to Isabel's forehead. "So you are come back to Broome, child. They had better have found you another home," she said in her dry, hard voice, in which not the slightest chord of sympathy ever seemed to vibrate. Miss Letitia, who copied her sister in everything, went through a similar formula. Isabel gazed from one stern, sad-faced woman to the other, and her lips quivered. She turned and clung to Barney's arm. "Oh, take me away! take me away! I want to go back!" she cried. Miss Pengarvon turned away in high displeasure, and Barney led the tearful child from the room.