“No, ma’am.”

“See that the lantern over the great gate is lighted, and that some one is ready to take his horse.  And, Peter,” as he was going out, “tell Thomas not to bring in supper until Mr. Aylett returns.”

She moved to the window, bowed her hands on either side of her eyes to exclude the radiance within, and strained them into the black, black night.

“He will have a dark and a disagreeable ride,” she said, coming back to the fire.

Her uneasiness was so palpable as to excite Mabel’s compassion.

“Every step of the road is familiar to him, and he is accustomed to night rides,” she said, encouragingly.  “Yes,” absently.  “But he will be very wet.  Hear the rain!”

It plashed against the north window, and tinkled upon the tin roof of the conservatory, and Mabel, though aware of her brother’s habitual disregard of wind and weather, could not but sympathize with the wifely concern evinced by the sober physiognomy and unsettled demeanor of one generally so calm.  She observed, now, that her sister-in-law was arrayed more richly than usual, and her attire was always handsome and tasteful.  A deep purple silk, trimmed upon skirt and waist with velvet bands of darker purple, showed off her clear skin to fine advantage, and was saved from monotony of effect by a headdress of lace and buff ribbons.  A stately and a comely matron, she was bedight for her lord’s return; weighed as heavy each minute that detained him from her arms.

She was still standing by the low mantel, her arm resting lightly upon it, the fire-blaze bringing out lustrous reflections in her drapery and hair, and tinging her pensive check with youthful carmine, when her husband entered.

CHAPTER XIX.

Nemesis.

It was a peculiarity of Winston Aylett that he was never discomposed in seeming, however embarrassing or distressing might be his position.  In his childhood he was one to whom, to use the common phrase, dirt would not stick.  His face was clean and fair, his hands smooth, and his hair in order after rough and tumble experiences that sent his companions home begrimed, ragged, and unkempt frights.  To-night, he had ridden a dozen miles in the teeth of the storm, and made no pause before appearing before his wife and sister, except to lay off his hat and overcoat in the hall.  But had he expected to encounter a roomful of ladies, his costume could not have been more unexceptionable.

His linen was pure and fresh, even to the narrow line of wristband edging his coat sleeve; his clearly cut patrician features were tranquil in every line and tint; his step was the light, yet deliberate stride of an athlete without passion or bravado.  Conscious power, inexorable will, and thorough self-command were stamped upon him from crown to foot, and his salutation to the small family party accompanied a smile as mirthless and cold as were his eyes.