Raising his brilliant eyes to the lovely girlish face on the wall, he said slowly, sternly: 

“My Lily, and she shall be broken, and withered, and laid to rest in Greenwood, before any other man’s hand touches hers.  My Lily, housed sacredly in my bosom; blooming only in my heart.”

CHAPTER XX.

Dismissing the carriage at the corner of the square, near which she expected to find Mrs. Mason located in more comfortable lodging, Regina walked on until she found the building of which she was in quest, and rang the bell.  It was situated in a row of plain, unpretending but neat tenement houses, kept thoroughly repaired; and the general appearance of the neighbourhood indicated that the tenants though doubtless poor were probably genteel, and had formerly been in more affluent circumstances.

The door was opened by a girl apparently half grown, who stated that Mrs. Mason had rented the basement rooms, and that her:  visitors were admitted through the lower entrance, as a different set of lodgers had the next floor.  She offered to show Regina the way, and knocking at the basement door, the girl suddenly remembered that she had seen Mrs. Mason visiting at the house directly opposite.

“Wait, miss, and I will run across and call her.”

While standing at the lower door, and partly screened by the flight of steps leading to the rooms above, Regina saw a figure advancing rapidly along the sidewalk, a tall figure whose graceful carriage was unmistakable; and as the person ran up the steps of the next house in the row, and impatiently pulled the bell, Regina stepped forward and looked up.

A gust of wind just then blew aside the thick brown veil that concealed the countenance, and showed for an instant only the strongly marked yet handsome profile of Olga Neville.

The door opened; her low inaudible question was answered in the affirmative, and Olga was entering, when the skirt of her dress was held by a projecting nail, and in disengaging it, she caught a glimpse of the astonished countenance beneath the steps.  She paused, leaned over the balustrade, threw up both hands with a warning gesture, then laid her finger on her lips, and hurried in, closing the door behind her.

“The lady says Mrs. Mason was there, but left her about a quarter of an hour ago.  What name shall I give when she comes home?”

“Tell her Regina Orme called, and was very sorry she missed seeing her.  Say I will try to come again on Sunday afternoon, if the weather is good.  Who lives in the next house?”

“A family named Eggleston.  I hear they sculp and paint for a living.  Good-day, miss.  I won’t forget to tell the old lady you called.”