Serena Lynne laid her book aside with a gesture of impatience, rising to her feet slowly and unwillingly. A tall ungraceful young woman of some six or seven-and-twenty with flaxen hair and pale blue eyes—not a beauty by any means. And it was the sight of her adopted sister's fair young beauty that made her invariably ill-tempered and unkind to Beatrix. She moved slowly and ungraciously to the door, and opened it, making an unlovely picture as she walked, trailing the folds of her slatternly blue serge wrapper over the faded carpet, her feet thrust into a pair of ragged slippers, her hair in an untidy little knot at the back of her head. She wore no collar, none of the pretty little devices which a neat woman always affects, but a soiled white Shetland shawl was huddled about her shoulders, and her sharp, peevish face, with its sallow complexion and wide mouth, did not make a pretty or lovable picture. For a time she stood peering out into the darkness. At last:
"Papa!"—in a tone of suppressed excitement—"I hear the sound of wheels. I think—I believe—yes, it is a wagon, and it is stopping at the gate. There, I suppose your pet Beatrix is home at last, and no harm done."
Doctor Lynne hobbled slowly to the open door. His wife, the personal counterpart of her daughter, glanced up from the pile of mending with which she was occupying herself, and a disagreeable expression settled down upon her hard features.
"Thank Heaven if she has really come at last!" she ejaculated; "that girl is the curse of my life! I only wish that we could get rid of her! I don't see how we are going to support her, now that the money has ceased to come!"
"Silence!"
Doctor Lynne turned sharply upon his wife.
"I will hear no more of this!" he said, sternly. "Beatrix Dane shall stay here as long as she sees fit. Poor child! I imagine that she would not remain long if she had her own way in the matter. Serena,"—making his way to the door as swiftly as he was able—"what is the matter?"
There was a slight bustle upon the broad veranda outside, where a group of dark figures were outlined against the blackness of the sky. A moment later and Beatrix flashed into the room, pale and excited, her eyes shining like stars.
"Oh, papa! papa!"—kissing the old man's haggard face. "Such a strange thing has happened! The river bridge broke just as a gentleman was crossing on horseback. He fell into the water, and I—I helped him all I could, and he got out. And oh, papa, just think! He was on his way to this house—to you. He is outside."
Even as she spoke, the two men made their appearance in the doorway, leading between them the faltering, swaying figure of the young man. Beatrix hastily wheeled forward the easy-chair which Serena had vacated, and the helpless man sank into its capacious depths. Then the men who had brought Beatrix and the stranger hither took their departure.