“Yes, it is, it is,” she answered; “my best and earliest friend; and yet—and yet——”

She paused, falling into a deep reverie; he roused her by a question:

“Yet what, Lady Monica?”

Again that quick, strange glance.

“Do you believe in presentiments?”

“I am not sure that I do.”

“Ah! then you cannot be a true Trevlyn. We Trevlyns have a strange forecasting power. Coming events cast their shadow over us, and we feel it—we feel it!”

He had never seen her in this mood before. He was intensely interested.

“And you have a presentiment, Lady Monica?”

She bent her head, but did not speak.