"
His eyes light again with a revengeful fire as he calls to mind the
slight praise Florence had bestowed in a very casual fashion on this
coat. Every smile, every kindly word addressed by this girl to his
cousin, is treasured up by him and dwelt upon in secret, to the terrible
strengthening of the purpose he has in view.
"But if you should be seen--be marked," hesitates Dora faintly.
"Pshaw--am I one to lay my plans so clumsily as to court discovery on
even the minutest point?" he interrupts impatiently. "When you meet me
you will--but enough of this; I shall be there to meet you in the
lime-walk, and after that you will take your cue from me."
"That is all you have to say?" asks Dora, anxious to quit his hated
presence.
"For the present--yes. Follow my instructions to the letter, or dread
the consequences. Any blunder in the performance of this arrangement I
shall lay to your charge."
"You threaten, sir!" she exclaims angrily, though she trembles.
"Let it be your care to see that I do not carry out my threats," he
retorts, with an insolent shrug.
The next day, directly after luncheon, as Florence is sitting in her
own room, touching up an unfinished water-color sketch of part of the
grounds round the castle--which have, alas, grown only too dear to
her!--Dora enters her room. It is an embarrassed and significantly
smiling Dora that trips up to her, and says with pretty hesitation in
her tone--
"Dearest Florence, I want your advice about something.
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