She walked slowly, with her hands behind her, and her large, flashing dark eyes bent on the ground, as if in profound thought. Everard Dawn gazed eagerly after Mrs. Varian till she was lost to view among the cedars, then, searching for a gate in the hedge, he entered and turned his steps toward the avenue, so as to meet her on her lonely walk. Slowly they came on toward each other, the echo of their footsteps dulled by the carpet of dead leaves, dank and sodden with last night’s rain, and the face of the man, with its gleaming eyes and deep pallor, bore signs of unusual agitation. Suddenly the lowering clouds parted, and a dull sunset glow sent gleams of light down through the cedar boughs upon the sodden path. The woman lifted her large, passionate orbs to the sky. Then she stopped short and uttered a startled cry. She had caught sight of the advancing man, the intruder upon her grounds. He removed his hat and stood bowing before her in the dying sunset glow, the light shining on his pallid face and the streaks of gray in his thick locks. “Mrs. Varian!” he exclaimed. “Everard Dawn!” she answered, in a hollow voice, and her eyes glowed like live coals among dead embers, so ashy-pale was her beautiful face. Pressing her gloved hand upon her side, as if her heart’s wild throbbings threatened to suffocate her, she called, hoarsely: “Why are you here? How dare you face me, traitor?” “I have not come to forgive you, Mrs. Varian, be sure of _that_!” he answered, sternly. “You do well to talk of forgiveness--_you_!” she sneered, stamping the ground with her dainty foot. “And--you--madame--would--do--well to crave it--not that it would ever be granted you, remember. Only angels could forgive injuries like mine!” the man answered, stormily, with upraised hand, as if longing to strike her down in her defiant beauty. She did not shrink nor blanch, but her face was a picture of emotional rage, dead white against the setting of satin-black tresses and rich seal fur, her eyes flashing as only great oriental black eyes can flash, and her rare beauty of form showing to advantage as she drew herself haughtily erect, hissing out: “Go, Everard Dawn! Take your hated form from my sight ere I summon my servants to drive you from the grounds!” Turning, as if to put her threat into execution, she was arrested by a stern voice that said significantly: “It is more to your interest to listen to me one moment, Mrs. Varian.” She whirled back toward him again, saying, imperiously: “Be brief, then, Everard Dawn, for you should know that it suffocates me to breathe the same air with such as you!” Evidently there was some strange secret between this haughty pair, for he flashed her a glance of kindling scorn, as he returned: “What I have to say needs but one sentence to assure you of its importance. Your son, Mrs. Varian, wishes to wed--_my daughter_!”