He modified his plans somewhat on the advice of the smart young builder; but the alterations were to be carried out very much upon his own original lines--the builder's modifications were chiefly in detail. And then they had to fight out the question of time. The builder asked for six months; Bothwell would only grant four. Finally, time and cost were settled; everything was agreed upon; Bothwell having given up his original idea of being his own builder and buying his own materials; and the contract was to be taken to Camelford next day, to be put into legal form. For four hundred and fifty pounds the old cottage was to be transformed into a comfortable house. The two little parlours and the kitchen were to be made into three little studies or bookrooms, communicating with each other. These were for Bothwell and his pupils to work in. A new drawing-room, dining-room, and kitchen were to be built, and over these three good bedrooms. "I shall add a billiard-room with a large nursery over it later on, when I am beginning to make my fortune," thought Bothwell. "I know we shall want a billiard-room; and I hope we shall want a nursery." The builder had gone home to his young wife and baby, in a cheerful red-brick cottage of his own construction; and Bothwell was pacing the old neglected garden alone, in the autumn sunset, when he looked up suddenly, and saw a dark figure standing in the narrow path between him and the rosy western sky. It was the tall slender figure of a woman, robed in black and thickly veiled. That black figure seemed to shut out all the warmth and beauty of the glowing west. Bothwell's heart grew cold within him at sight of it. He had not a moment's doubt or hesitation, though the woman's face was hardly visible under the thick crape veil. "Valeria!" he exclaimed. "Yes, it is Valeria." "How, in the name of all that's reasonable, did you come here?" "A pair of post-horses brought me; that was easy enough when I knew where to find you. I heard at Bodmin Road station that you were here. You had been seen to drive by, and you told the station-master where you were going." CHAPTER IX. TWO WOMEN. They stood face to face in the evening light, Bothwell and Valeria; those two who had loved each other, who had once been wont to meet with smiles and gladness, hand clasped in hand--they stood pale and silent, each waiting for the other to speak. "How could you do so mad a thing as to come here, Lady Valeria?" Bothwell asked, at last. His heart was beating passionately, not with love, but with anger. He was indignant at the unfeminine feeling shown by this pursuit of him, this persecution of a man who had frankly owned a new and wiser attachment.