From the bank the stepping-stones had disappeared from sight, and to the dazzled eyes of the onlookers it seemed as though two disembodied spirits came walking towards them across the waters, their faces lit with an unearthly radiance. When the bank was reached, they turned, and made their way towards the house, unconscious of the existence of the watchers. Hand in hand they crossed the bridge and mounted the sloping path... The Innkeeper hitched his shoulders and drew a trembling breath. "It was a near thing, look you! As near a shave as ever I seen... That was a good thing, missy, that you caught sight of her just at the right moment!" Lilith's heavy eyelids drooped over her eyes. "Yes," she said sleepily, "the very right moment!" CHAPTER FIVE. THE GIRL WHO WISHED FOR POWER. Two men proposed to Lilith Wastneys at the same ball and in the same palm-shaded retreat. She was not surprised, because she had willed that they should speak, and people had a habit of doing as Lilith willed. Very early in her life she had discovered that if she said nothing, and thought hard, that thought had a power to mould others to her will. It was not often that she put forth her power, for her attitude towards her fellows was one of lofty detachment. They were commonplace creatures--weak, vacillating creatures, swayed to and fro by the emotions of the hour. Lilith had never in her life been swayed; never for the fraction of a second had she been uncertain of her own mind; all the temptations in the world could not lure her a step from a premeditated path, but because Nature had cast her in a fragile mould, and given her flaxen hair and a baby skin, and minute morsels of hands and feet, the world adopted protective airs towards her and spoke of her approvingly as "sweet and gentle." Francis Manning, the first of the two men to make a declaration of love, was a big giant of a man with a handsome face, an amiable disposition, and a supreme concern for his own well-being. He had reached the age and position when it seemed desirable to marry, and, that being the case, there was no doubt upon whom his choice would fall. For years past Lilith Wastneys had stood to Francis as a type of all that was sweet and desirable in women. In his eyes she was beautiful, though in reality she had no claim to the title. The love-light in his eyes transformed her pale locks into gold, her colourless eyes into deepest blue; her height was to him "just as high as my heart"; her low voice, her drooping lids, her noiseless movements--each and all appeared to him the perfection of their kind.