By the low dark table stood a lady, who looked up sharply at the new-comers. She was a great contrast to her surroundings; her fur-lined coat lay on a chair beside her, but she still wore her large beaver hat, and in one hand she held a black muff; her gray velvet dress was open at the bosom on a full white bodice; her attitude was elegant and indolent, she rested against the table with her feet crossed daintily. Perseus and his sister advanced at once to the fire, showing no heed of her, but Jerome Caryl remained in the doorway, loosening his cloak; as it slipped back from his shoulders to the ground, he removed his hat and the dim red light fell full upon his face and disordered hair. The lady looked at him with a frank and slightly insolent admiration; her green eyes traveled consideringly over his tall figure, evidently noting his plain attire and the graceful way he wore it; she gave a quick glance at the two ordinary people by the fire, then stared again at the beautiful face of Jerome Caryl. He gave her one look, grave and calm, from his melancholy hazel eyes, then ignored her obvious scrutiny. “Perseus,” he said quietly, “I must find the woman to know what accommodation she hath—will you come?” They went from the room in silence, leaving Delia by the fire. She glanced with a timid friendliness at the stranger and chafed her numb hands together. The lady looked at her, and to Delia the clear-cut white face with the green eyes and red lips was as sinister as it was lovely; the cold expression prevented her from making any attempt to speak; but the other broke the silence. “Was that gentleman your husband, madam?” she demanded. “Oh, neither of them,” smiled Delia. “Your brother then?” asked the lady. “One,” answered Delia. “My brother and his friend, merely, madam. He in the red coat is my brother.” The other smiled. “I hav’na’ seen before sic a fair face on a man as your friend carries,” she said. “Who are ye, mistress? I am Margaret Campbell o’ Breadalbane.” Delia caught her breath; the position had become suddenly a perilous one, she reflected swiftly that her name was unknown, and gave it as frankly as she was able. “Ah,” said the Countess, “and your lovely friend?” Delia collected herself with an effort. “Your ladyship must ask him yourself,” she answered. “I cannot rob him of that honor.” The Countess lifted her brows and accepted the rebuff. “We no’ intended to stay here,” she remarked with an easy change of subject. “But the storm coming on and my lord havin’ a weak chest that I should na wish him to catch cold on—we stopped at the first inn we came to.” So Breadalbane was with her! Delia’s heart sank; she wished she could warn Jerome and her brother, but she was too confused to invent a decent excuse for leaving the room, and as she stood trying to collect herself to some definite plan of action the Countess crossed over to the fire and took off her hat.