produced in her manner thereby, seemingly the result of a rigid determination:  and the total concealment of her reason by herself and her parents, whatever it was.  Then the lady’s course dropped into darkness, and nothing more was visible till she was discovered here at Knapwater, nearly fifty years old, still unmarried and still beautiful, but lonely, embittered, and haughty.  Cytherea imagined that her father’s image was still warmly cherished in Miss Aldclyffe’s heart, and was thankful that she herself had not been betrayed into announcing that she knew many particulars of this page of her father’s history, and the chief one, the lady’s unaccountable renunciation of him.  It would have made her bearing towards the mistress of the mansion more awkward, and would have been no benefit to either.

Thus conjuring up the past, and theorizing on the present, she lay restless, changing her posture from one side to the other and back again.  Finally, when courting sleep with all her art, she heard a clock strike two.  A minute later, and she fancied she could distinguish a soft rustle in the passage outside her room.

To bury her head in the sheets was her first impulse; then to uncover it, raise herself on her elbow, and stretch her eyes wide open in the darkness; her lips being parted with the intentness of her listening.  Whatever the noise was, it had ceased for the time.

It began again and came close to her door, lightly touching the panels.  Then there was another stillness; Cytherea made a movement which caused a faint rustling of the bed-clothes.

Before she had time to think another thought a light tap was given.  Cytherea breathed:  the person outside was evidently bent upon finding her awake, and the rustle she had made had encouraged the hope.  The maiden’s physical condition shifted from one pole to its opposite.  The cold sweat of terror forsook her, and modesty took the alarm.  She became hot and red; her door was not locked.

A distinct woman’s whisper came to her through the keyhole:  ‘Cytherea!’

Only one being in the house knew her Christian name, and that was Miss Aldclyffe.  Cytherea stepped out of bed, went to the door, and whispered back, ‘Yes?’

‘Let me come in, darling.’

The young woman paused in a conflict between judgment and emotion.  It was now mistress and maid no longer; woman and woman only.  Yes; she must let her come in, poor thing.

She got a light in an instant, opened the door, and raising her eyes and the candle, saw Miss Aldclyffe standing outside in her dressing-gown.

‘Now you see that it is really myself; put out the light,’ said the visitor.  ’I want to stay here with you, Cythie.  I came to ask you to come down into my bed, but it is snugger here.  But remember that you are mistress in this room, and that I have no business here, and that you may send me away if you choose.  Shall I go?’

‘O no; you shan’t indeed if you don’t want to,’ said Cythie generously.