Never had she been more beautiful, even in her youth, than now, as she stood upon the threshold of her new home, where she was destined to reign for long years yet, an honored and idolized wife. Happiness had done much for her during the last few weeks; her face had resumed its rounded outlines; a delicate bloom had come into her cheeks; her lips were like lines of brightest coral; her eyes brilliant with the exhilaration caused by the restoration of blissful hopes. Just behind her, and now attended by Rupert Hamilton, was Virgie, inexpressibly lovely in cream-white silk, with no ornaments save a bunch of fragrant mignonette in her corsage; but, in the eyes of her lover, and to others gathered there, she seemed the fairest vision of youth that they had ever looked upon. Lady Linton afterward confessed that she suffered more than death in the brief interval that elapsed before her brother led his bride cross the threshold and advanced to greet her. But she was a woman of indomitable will, and, though her spirit for a moment recoiled beneath this unexpected blow, she resolutely rallied her failing courage—an almost uncontrollable rage took possession of her as she realized how she had been duped—fooled; how this overwhelming surprise had been deliberately prepared for her, and, though she was as colorless as the costly lace that was fluttering upon her bosom with every pulsation of her fiercely bounding heart, she swept haughtily toward that regal-looking couple until within a few feet of them, when she made a profound obeisance before them, saying with formal politeness: “Welcome, Sir William and Lady Heath, to Heathdale.” She met and bore her defeat superbly, although she was sick at heart and almost in a frenzy of anger, mortification, and humiliation, at being thus triumphantly confronted in her own home by the woman, whom, all her life, she had schemed to crush. To think that she should have made all these elaborate preparations and planned this brilliant welcome but to suffer such an ignominious overthrow in Virginia Alexander’s very presence, was maddening beyond description. But she would rather have died than betray anything of the conflict within her, and, after that one obeisance, she stepped aside to allow others to offer their greetings and congratulations, and by the time supper was announced she had recovered, to all outward appearances at least, entire control of herself. Sir William led the way to the dining-room, and, without one word to his sister, conducted his wife to the head of the table, whispering fondly as he seated her: “Welcome, my darling, to your home and to your position as mistress of Heathdale.” He then sought his own place opposite, while the butler seated the other guests according to their rank. There were two others among that company who had recognized the new mistress of Heathdale with fear and trembling—Mrs. Farnum and her daughter, Lady Royalston.