Lillian Linton is a brilliant and beautiful girl of nineteen. She is a clear brunette, with a lovely bloom on her cheeks, vividly red lips, dark eyes and hair. Her features are delicate and regular; she is tall and finely formed, attractive in manner, but in disposition and temperament she is much like her mother. The remaining individual of the group was Rupert Hamilton, Sir William Heath’s ward, and the child of his dear friend, Major Hamilton, who died several years ago. He is now a young man of twenty, tall and stalwart in form, with a well-shaped head set proudly upon a pair of square, broad shoulders. He has a handsome and intelligent face, with a pair of full, wine-brown eyes, which always meet yours with a clear, steady gaze, that proclaims a noble character and a clear conscience. His nose is something after the Roman type, his mouth firm and strong, yet when he smiles, as sweet and expressive as a woman’s. One would know at a glance that he was true and generous, kind and genial. One could perceive also that Sir William loved him like a son by the affectionate glances which he bent upon him, by his answering smile whenever their eyes met, and the confidential tone which he used when addressing him. The young heir to half a million pounds thought his guardian the noblest man in the world, and he would have deemed no service too difficult or disagreeable to perform for him. He knew something of the trouble of his early life, that he had been married and parted from his wife, although he had never heard her name spoken, or asked a single question upon the subject, and he had always felt a peculiar tenderness and sympathy for him on this account. The fact of Sir William’s marriage was no longer a secret, although Lady Linton had tried every way to conceal it. It was not very generally known, however, even now; but in his own household and among his intimate friends it was understood that he had married a beautiful woman while on his first visit to America, and that some cruel misunderstanding had resulted in a separation. He had insisted upon this explanation, for hope was not yet quite dead in his heart that some time he might find Virgie, effect a reconciliation, and bring her home to Heathdale. Those who knew that he was free to marry again, if he chose, sometimes urged him to do so and not allow his name to become extinct. But he always replied, with a heavy sigh: “I have a wife already, and some time, please Heaven, I shall find her. No other shall ever be mistress of Heathdale while I live.” This reply never failed to arouse the fiercest anger in Lady Linton, who grew more bitter with every year toward the woman whom she had wronged, and who had repaid her injuries with such kindness and Christian charity to her everlasting shame and humiliation.