I had left my room, and was going along the corridor, when I met a man the sight of whom made me start and turn quite cold. For he looked so much like the mysterious visitor at the Alders whom Mr. Rayner had described as “a gentleman,” and whom I had seen two nights before going into the stable with Tom Parkes and Sarah, that I thought it must be he. But this man stood aside for me with the stolidly respectful manner, not of a gentleman, but of a servant; and I hurried past him, feeling quite shocked by the strength of the resemblance; for of course a friend of Mr. Rayner’s, however familiarly he might choose to speak to Tom Parkes and Sarah, would not be a man-servant at Denham Court. In the hall I met a maid who showed me into the drawing-room, which was empty; so I walked to one of the windows which led into a conservatory, and peeped in. The flowers were so beautiful, the scents so intoxicating, that I crept in step by step with my hands clasped, as if drawn by enchantment; and I had my face close to a large plant covered with white blossoms like lilies, when I saw peeping through the big fan-shaped leaves of a plant behind it the fair mustache and eye-glass of the gentleman they called “Tom.” He was looking intently, not at me, but at the ornament sparkling at my throat. He looked up when I did, and came round to me. “Nicely-kept place, isn’t it? Sir Jonas is proud of his flowers.” “I never saw any like them. Look at these. Are they lilies?” “I believe this is called ‘_Eucharistis Amazonia_;’ if not, it is something like that. Shall I cut you some?” “Oh, don’t, don’t! It would be such a pity!” “I suppose you wouldn’t condescend to wear them?” “I shouldn’t dare to do so. What would Sir Jonas say if you spoilt his beautiful plants?” “Sir Jonas wouldn’t say anything; he never does. Even the gardener, a much more important person, wouldn’t say anything to me. I’m a spoilt child here, Miss Christie; so you had better make friends with me, and I’ll get you everything you want.” “Make friends! Why, I am not your enemy, am I?” said I, laughing. “Not at present; but you must be careful. Now I will tell you who is my enemy”--and he stooped and looked at the flower at my throat--“the man who gave you that rose.” I started, and his mouth twitched a little, as if he wanted to smile. “How do you know it was a man?” I asked, blushing. “Never mind how I know. I am a magician, and I am not going to give you lessons in the black art for nothing. But look here! I’ll tell you how I know, if you will give it to me in exchange for any flower you like to choose in this place.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to exchange it; and I don’t care to have lessons in your black art, thank you.” “Now that is your nasty pride, Miss Christie. But I suppose one must not expect humility from a lady who wears such diamonds;” and he glanced again at my pendant, as he had done several times while we talked.