She scarcely knew what she feared, or if she did, she did not like to put her fears into shape. But the warning of the marchioness, coming so soon after her discovery that Lady Sarah’s heart was not in her own home, was distressing to the loyal and straightforward girl. Rhoda was on the terrace that afternoon with Caryl, when the sound of a male voice as well as that of Lady Sarah in the drawing-room attracted her attention. “That’s Jack!” said Caryl. “I thought he’d be here soon. He’s always here when mama comes back.” Rhoda said nothing. But these words did not tend to make her more at ease. There came a hush in the voices when Caryl called out, and then Lady Sarah appeared at the drawing-room window. A moment later the handsome face of Jack Rotherfield appeared over her shoulder. He was looking as merry as ever, and, after turning to say a few words to him, Lady Sarah came out and re-introduced him to Rhoda, whom he greeted with as much apparent pleasure as if she had been an old friend. It was quite impossible not to like him, for he had as much personal fascination as Lady Sarah herself; and it was impossible not to be struck by the fact, when brought thus face to face with them together, that they would have made a much better-matched pair, with their common interest and their liveliness of temperament, than did frivolous, pleasure-loving Lady Sarah and her absent-minded and grave lord. Caryl was sent upstairs with his nurse, against the wish of Rhoda, who was forced to stay to have tea with Lady Sarah and Jack. They all entered the drawing-room together, and Lady Sarah asked Rhoda to pour out the tea. Then Jack Rotherfield came up to take a cup to Lady Sarah. Rhoda turned to him with a smile as he held out his hand. Then Lady Sarah spoke to him and he turned for a moment, answering her. Rhoda, still holding the cup, glanced down at his hand, and perceived that across the back of it, extending from the one side to the other, was a distinct scar. In an instant there flashed back into her mind the remembrance of the night when she left the Mill-house, of the struggle she had heard in the drawing-room, and of the hand she had seen in the moonlight, with the red mark of a cut across it. Unable to restrain her feelings, she uttered a sharp cry. “What’s that?” she gasped, as she pointed to the scar. CHAPTER VII. THE SCARRED HAND Rhoda, with her eyes fixed on the scarred hand, did not see either of the faces turned towards her, did not catch the quick look exchanged between Jack Rotherfield and Lady Sarah, or note their rapid loss of colour. It was quite a long time before anybody spoke. Then Lady Sarah, crossing the room slowly and with apparent carelessness, asked: “What’s the matter?” Rhoda looked up, but there was a mist before her eyes; she said nothing, but rose unsteadily from her chair and took a couple of steps toward the window.