“Miss Harrison, you will, I trust, excuse me for seeking you here.  But my wish to see you was so strong, that, on my way to the White Mountains, I left my party, and turned aside here, to gratify the desire.  You know you gave me permission?”

“I did; but I hardly thought you would take advantage of it.”

“Perhaps I ought not to have done so.  Indeed, I tried hard not to.  Are you very angry?”

“No, I am not angry at all.  I am glad to see you.”  She held out her hand.  “So is Leo, too—­only see him caper.”

The dog was leaping upon Mr. Castrani, with the liveliest demonstrations of joy.  He patted the silky head.

“It is something to be welcomed by a brute, Miss Harrison; their instincts are seldom at fault, I believe.  Have you been well, Miss Harrison?”

“Very well, thank you.  And you?  But I need not ask.  Your looks answer for you.  When did you leave New York?”

“I have been in New York only a fortnight since I last saw you.  Business has kept me elsewhere.  I came from New York three days ago.  What a beautiful spot you have hidden yourself in!”

“I am pleased to hear you say so.  Isn’t it lovely?  But you must tell me about home.  How are all my friends?”

“They are well.  How mellowy the sunshine falls on the rough crags opposite, and what a picture for a painter to transfer to canvas!”

“Yes, I have wished I were an artist, over and over a gain.  But I have no talent in that direction.  My friends are all well, you say?  What of Miss Lee?  Did you see her?”

“Yes.  She is well.  What are you reading?” lifting the book from the ground where it had fallen.

Margie turned suddenly upon him, and regarded him searchingly.

“Why do you evade answering my questions, Mr. Castrani?  It is natural that I should want to hear something of the home from which I have been so long away, is it not?  Why do you refuse to satisfy my reasonable curiosity on that subject?”

Castrani’s handsome face clouded—­he looked at her with tender pity in his eyes.

“Miss Harrison, why will you press me further?  Your friends are all well.”

“I know.  But there is something behind that.  Tell it to me at once.”

“I cannot—­indeed, I cannot!  You must hear it from some other lips.  I would rather die, than cause you one single pang of sorrow!”

“You are very kind, Mr. Castrani—­you mean generously—­but I want to know.”  Some subtle instinct seemed to tell her what she was to hear—­for she added, “Is it of Miss Lee?”

“I told you Miss Lee was well.”

“Mr. Castrani.  I have given you more of my confidence than I have ever bestowed on any other person, because I respect you above all men, and because I have perfect confidence in your honor.  Has this matter, of which you hesitate to tell me, anything to do with—­with Mr. Archer Trevlyn?”

Her voice sank to a whisper, before the sentence was finished, for she had never spoken his name since that fearful night on which his guilt had been revealed to her.