Mrs. White started; the words seemed ominous, for she was just then thinking what a dangerous foe to Mrs. King her own brother would prove, as Mary's lover, how he would frustrate her plans. So, from that moment, she began to take a peculiar interest in the game before her. She was possessed by a fancy that whoever would win that game, would win Mary. She remembered the old legend of the Angel and the Demon playing for the man's soul, and she felt a strange awe, when she looked at the dark frowning face of her adversary contemplating the pieces before her. It was soon evident that the game was in Catherine's hands; a few more moves and the Mate was inevitable. Mrs. White was filled with quite a superstitious terror and despair, as the end approached. She was ashamed of her folly, but could not help it in the presence of this woman. Catherine had been observing her face with some amusement; she had, with her peculiar faculty of placing her mind in sympathy with that of another, half-read her thoughts. She divined that Mrs. White was identifying the game with another more important one that was yet to be fought out. Her eccentric mind was seized with a curious inspiration. She suddenly, as if by accident, upset the light chess-table with her elbow, and the pieces rolled rattling to the floor. The eyes of the two women met. Catherine smiled and said, "I should have won I think, but this accident makes it a drawn game. _The Fates won't reveal their secret._ But I must not keep you up any longer, Mrs. White; I know it is long after your usual bed-time," and she rose from her seat as she spoke. "Why, the woman is a witch!" thought the startled little woman, as she showed her guest the way to her room; "but I believe the White Knight will be too strong for her game nevertheless." CHAPTER XX. CATHERINE'S DISCOVERY. Catherine left the cottage with its uncongenial atmosphere of babies and innocence, on the following morning, but before going she expressed a wish to have a quiet talk with Mary. They went out into the garden together, and sat down on the seat under the great beech-tree. For some time neither spoke. Catherine was looking across the moor to the lake, strangely softened by the beautiful view. The sternness faded from her brow and mouth as she gazed at it, and her thought travelled along gentle and unwonted ways for her. But Mary sat motionless with downcast eyes, oppressed by a great fear. It was a dreadful thing for her to think of the confession she was about to make. At last Mrs. King remembered that she had little time to spare, so broke through the silence. "Mary, dear! I wish to talk over a few necessary matters with you, that is if you are sure you are strong enough now, if you think that conversation won't hurt you." Mary indeed felt very ill; a strange sensation came to her heart as if it was about to stop, but she pressed her hand to it, and said firmly,