Elizabeth neither saw nor heard, for some minutes; they might have been many or few.  Then she became aware that the servant was asking her if he should leave the breakfast-table still for Miss Cadwallader; and her answer, “No —­ take it away!” —­ was given with startling decision.  The man had known his young mistress before to speak with lips that were supreme in their expression.  He only obeyed, without even wondering.  Elizabeth in a whirl of feeling that like the smoke of the volcano hid everything but itself, went and stood in the window; present to nothing but herself; seeing neither the street without nor the house within.  Wrapped in that smoke, she did not know when the servant went out, nor whether anybody else came in.  She stood there pale, with lips set, her hands folded against her waist, and pressing there with a force the muscles never relaxed.  How long she did not know.  Something aroused her, and she discerned, through the smoke, another figure in the room and coming towards her.  Elizabeth stepped out from the window, without altering anything but her place, and stood opposite to Winthrop Landholm.  If it had been Queen Elizabeth of old and one of her courtiers, it would have been all one; the young man’s respectful greeting could not have been met with more superb regality of head and brow.

“I have a letter for Mr. Haye,” said Winthrop, “which my brother left in my charge.  That brought me here this morning, and I ventured to make business an excuse for pleasure.”

“It may lie on the table till he comes,” said Elizabeth with the slightest bend of her stately little head.  She might have meant the letter or the pleasure or the business, or all three.

“You are well, Miss Haye?” said Winthrop doubtfully.

“No —­ I am well enough,” said Elizabeth.  A revulsion of feeling had very nearly brought down her head in a flood of tears; but she kept that back carefully and perfectly; and the next instant she started with another change, for Rose came in. She gave Winthrop a very smiling and bright salutation; which he acknowledged silently, gravely, and even distantly.

“Aren’t you well, Mr. Landholm?” was Rose’s next instant question, most sweetly given.

“Very well,” he said with another bow.

“What have you been talking about, to get so melancholy?  Lizzie —­”

But Rose caught sight of the gathered blackness of that face, and stopped short.  Elizabeth bestowed one glance upon her; and as she then turned to the other person of the party the revulsion came over her again, so strong that it was overcoming.  For a minute her hands went to her face, and it was with extreme difficulty that the rising heart was kept down.  Will had the mastery, however, and her face looked up again more dark than ever.

“We have talked of nothing at all,” she said.  “Mr. Landholm only came to bring a letter.”