His face was turned from her, and, hoping to escape unnoticed, she was retracing her steps when he rose.

“Come in, Edna.  I am waiting for you, for I knew you would be here some time before day.”

Taking the candle from her hand, he held it close to her face, and compressed his lips tightly for an instant.

“How long do you suppose your constitution will endure the tax you impose upon it?  Midnight toil has already robbed you of your color, and converted a rosy, robust child into a pale, weary, hollow-eyed woman.  What do you want here?”

“The Edda.”

“What business have you with Norse myths, with runes and scalds and sagas?  You can’t have the book.  I carried it to my room yesterday, and I am in no mood to-night to play errand-boy for any one.”

Edna turned to place the copy of Machiavelli on the shelves, and he continued: 

“It is a marvel that the index expurgatorius of your saintly tutor does not taboo the infamous doctrines of the greatest statesman of Italy.  I am told that you do me the honor to discover a marked likeness between his countenance and mine.  May I flatter myself so highly as to believe the statement?”

“Even your mother admits the resemblance.”

“Think you the analogy extends further than the mere physique, or do you trace it only in the corporeal development?”

“I believe, sir, that your character is as much a counterpart of his as your features; that your code is quite as lax as his.”

She had abstained from looking at him, but now her eyes met his fearlessly, and in their beautiful depths he read an expression of helpless repulsion, such as a bird might evince for the serpent whose glittering eyes enchained it.

“Ah! at least your honesty is refreshing in these accursed days of hypocritical sycophancy!  I wonder how much more training it will require before your lips learn fashionable lying tricks?  But you understand me as little as the world understood poor Machiavelli, of whom Burke justly remarked, ’He is obliged to bear the iniquities of those whose maxims and rules of government he published.  His speculation is more abhorred than their practice.’  We are both painted blacker than—­”

“I came here, sir, to discuss neither his character nor yours.  It is a topic for which I have as little leisure as inclination.  Good-night, Mr. Murray.”

He bowed low, and spoke through set teeth: 

“I regret the necessity of detaining you a moment longer, but I believe you have been anxiously expecting a letter for some time, as I hear that you every day anticipate my inquiries at the post-office.  This afternoon the express agent gave me this package.”

He handed her a parcel and smiled as he watched the startled look, the expression of dismay, of keen disappointment that came into her face.

The frail bark had struck the reefs; she felt that her hopes were going down to ruin, and her lips quivered with pain as she recognized Mr. Manning’s bold chirography on the paper wrapping.