"Indeed, yes, Fred; but you must not stay. If our father were to return there would be such a scene." "He will not. He is on the pier, and won't be back these two hours. Where's Morton?" "Out, dear." "Then we are all right. Did you expect me?" "No, dear. Let me make you some tea." "No; stop here. Didn't you expect this?" He drew a note from his breast. "That note? No, dear. Who is it from?" Fred Denville looked his sister searchingly in the face, and its innocent candid expression satisfied him, and he drew a sigh full of relief. "If it had been May who looked at me like that, I should have said she was telling me a lie." "Oh, Fred!" "Bah! You know it's true. Little wax-doll imp. But I believe you, Claire. Fate's playing us strange tricks. I am James Bell, Major Rockley's servant, and he trusts me with his commissions. This is a _billet-doux_--a love-letter--to my sister, which my master sends, and I am to wait for an answer." Claire drew herself up, and as her brother saw the blood mantle in her face, and the haughty, angry look in her eyes as she took the letter and tore it to pieces, he, too, drew himself up, and there was a proud air in his aspect. "There is no answer to Major Rockley's letter," she said coldly. "How dare he write to me!" "Claire, old girl, I must hug you," cried the dragoon. "By George! I feel as if I were not ashamed of the name of Denville after all. I was going to bully you and tell you that my superior officer is as big a scoundrel as ever breathed, and that if you carried on with him I'd shoot you. Now, bully me, my pet, and tell your prodigal drunken dragoon of a brother that he ought to be ashamed of himself for even thinking such a thing. I won't shrink." "My dear brother," she said tenderly, as she placed her hands in his. "My dear sister," he said softly, as he kissed her little white hands in turn, "I need not warn and try to teach you, for I feel that I might come to you for help if I could learn. There--there. Some day you'll marry some good fellow." She shook her head. "Yes, you will," he said. "Richard Linnell, perhaps. Don't let the old man worry you into such a match as May's." "I shall never marry," said Claire, in a low strange voice; "never." "Yes, you will," he said, smiling; "but what you have to guard against is not the gallantries of the contemptible puppies who haunt this place, but some big match that--Ah! Too late!" He caught a glimpse of his father's figure passing the window, and made for the door, but it was only to stand face to face with the old man, who came in hastily, haggard, and wild of eye. Fred Denville drew back into the room as his father staggered in, and then, as the door swung to and fastened itself, there was a terrible silence, and Claire looked on speechless for the moment, as she saw her brother draw himself up, military fashion, while her father's face changed in a way that was horrible to behold.